Looking out over the glittering Boston skyline beyond the ballroom windows, I knew with absolute certainty that we were finally and permanently safe. The past had been a terrifying crucible, a descent into darkness that almost swallowed me whole. But Charles’s cruelty had become the spark of his own destruction. We had risen from the ashes stronger, wiser, and beautifully unbroken.
As we turned to walk toward the exit hand in hand, the foundation’s private phone buzzed urgently inside my clutch.
I stopped and pulled it out.
The screen lit up with an emergency message from our secure hotline. It was from a terrified young mother in Philadelphia.
“My ex-husband just served me with emergency custody papers. He locked me out of the bank accounts. He says his family practically owns the judge in this district. Please. I have nowhere else to go. Please help me.”
I stared at the glowing words, feeling the ghostly echo of my own terror from three years earlier.
But this time, I was not helpless.
A fierce, burning, protective light ignited in my chest.
I looked up at Benjamin. He saw the change in my eyes, the battle-ready set of my jaw, and immediately understood. He didn’t sigh.
He smiled.
A lethal, thrilling smile.
“Get the private jet ready, Benjamin,” I said, my voice slipping into the cool, commanding tone I had learned from the man standing beside me. “We have another family to save.”
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