Chapter 29
Marlo’s face went pale. He shook his head like I asked him to shoot a priest.
“Sir, with respect… he’s just a special kid-”
“He’s her blood,” I growled. “She’ll come running. She always fuckin‘ does.”
Still, he hesitated. So I stood up, grabbed the nearest mirror on the wall, and slammed my fist through it. Glass cut deep, blood spilling all over my shirt and carpet, but I didn’t flinch. I shoved the bleeding hand in his face and snarled, “DO IT!”
He nodded quickly after that.
I sat back down, panting, whispering Harmony’s name like a prayer.
I told myself once I get Aziel, she’d come. And once she does, I’ll chain the doors, silence the world, and make her remember exactly who she belongs to.
But that night, I waited.
And waited.
And the call never came.
Instead, Marlo called me, sounding like a corpse. “Sir… someone intercepted. Cassian. He took the boy before we got there. He knew.”
I didn’t answer.
I just sat there with the whiskey glass shaking in my hand, staring at her photo while my soul rotted inside my own skin.
CELESTE’S POV
Looking at myself wearing black silk and standing under the bright studio lights, I didn’t flinch. My hair was slicked back. My heels were sharp. My shoulder still carried the scar Margaret gave me, and I didn’t hide it. I wanted the world to see. I wanted every camera flashing to remember this version of me–head high, voice calm, and no longer running. The host smiled gently, her eyes flicking between her cards and the monitor, then leaned closer toward me.
“Celeste, your advocacy for women in political and mafia–tied industries has shaken the table, globally. But tell me, where does that fire come from? What made you speak now, not before?”
I kept my gaze steady and spoke without blinking. “It came from silence. Years of it. I used to think being quiet would protect the people I loved, but it only made the monsters louder. The truth is, when you’ve already been buried alive, you stop fearing fire. You become it.”
The crowd murmured. I caught pieces of it drifting through the low hum of the studio: “She’s so powerful.”
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“Her voice doesn’t even shake.”
“Iconic, that’s real elegance,”
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“She’s not just an actress, she’s history in motion.”
The host leaned back, visibly moved. “And to those who accuse you of being too bold? Too vengeful?”
I leaned forward, eyes locked on her. “I’d rather be called too bold than live one more day shrinking to make my abusers comfortable. If my truth scares them, maybe they shouldn’t have created it.”
Applause broke out–raw, loud, not staged. People clapped like they’d been holding something in too long. Some even stood. I heard someone whisper, “She’s speaking for all of us.”
Cassian stood behind the scenes, arms folded, jaw tense. His voice hummed through the earpiece: “All clear so far. Keep going. They’re with you.”
I nodded slightly to myself and turned back toward the audience, preparing for the next
segment.
And that’s when everything went wrong.
Lights flickered. Not enough to panic anyone yet, but enough to wake
Then I heard it.
Screeching tires outside the studio.
my instincts.
Cassian’s voice snapped through the line. “Something’s coming. Get ready to move.”
Before I could react, four mercs in tactical suits stormed the side entrance. Shouting. Weapons drawn. Cassian’s men moved to intercept but it was already too late.
My eyes caught movement in the corner.
And then I saw him.
Hakeem.
Leaning casually against the curtain shadows like he belonged there. He didn’t look like a man–he looked like something sick and untouchable. His eyes found mine instantly. His hand lifted. There was a soft pop.
A dart hit my neck.
Instant heat rushed through my veins, then cold. My legs gave out. My jaw clenched, trying to hold in a scream. I saw the floor coming closer.
Chaos exploded around me. The crowd screamed. The host ducked under the table. Security scattered, cameras kept rolling.
And Hakeem walked up to me. I couldn’t move but I felt everything. His arms cradling me. His lips pressed a kiss on my forehead. His voice whispered at my temple.
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“You can change your name. You can change your face. But your soul will always come
back to me, mi amore. Say goodnight. You’re coming home now.”
Cassian’s roar filled the space next. “Let her go, Hakeem!”
I heard a gun click. Hakeem snarled.
“Move, Cassian,” he spat, “and I’ll paint the fucking floor with her skull.”
Cassian didn’t move. I could feel the war happening in his silence.
And then everything faded again.
They dragged me out under flashing lights and panicked news anchors. My body limped in his arms. My voice was trapped in my throat. My scream stuck somewhere between rage and drugged sleep.
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CASSIAN’S POV
The second that dart hit her neck, my world fucking shifted.
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The second that the bastard’s arms wrapped around her and he kissed her forehead like she was still his, like she wasn’t already mine–I stopped being human.
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“Track the SUV. Full chase. We don’t stop until she’s in my arms again,” I barked into my comms, voice hoarse, chest burning, already pushing through the panic and the blood and the bullets still flying across the studio doors.
I don’t remember breathing.
I don’t remember blinking.
All I knew was that she collapsed in front of the world, and I didn’t catch her fast enough.
We were on the road in under two minutes. Five armored SUVs. Three armored bikes. Four drones in the sky. Snipers ready on rooftops. I gave one order: I want Hakeem’s fucking convoy flattened. I want the ground to eat their tires and the sky to rain bullets. I want my woman back or I’ll bury this city in smoke.
