Sophia's POV
You need to leave. Damien's voice was cold steel. Now.
Eleanor Cross didn't move. She stood in the balcony doorway, tears streaming down her face, staring at Damien like he was a miracle.
Please, she whispered. I've been searching for you for so long. After your parents died, after you and Julian went into foster care, I tried everything to find you. But the system
I said leave. Damien's hand was trembling against my back. Actually trembling. I'd never seen him lose control before.
Damien, I said quietly. Maybe you should hear what she
This is none of your business.
The words stung, but I understood. This woman claimed to be his family. The family he'd lost. The family he'd spent six years avenging.
Eleanor took a tentative step forward. I know you have no reason to trust me. But I loved your father. He was my baby brother. When he died, when you boys disappeared into the system, it destroyed me. I've hired investigators, I've searched records, I've done everything
If you cared so much, why didn't you find us sooner? Damien's voice cracked. Julian needed you. He needed someone. Where were you when he was in jail? When he killed himself because no one believed him?
The pain in his voice broke my heart.
I didn't know. Eleanor's face crumpled. I swear, I didn't know about Julian until it was too late. By the time I found out, he was already gone. And you—you'd changed your name, built Cross Capital, made yourself untraceable. I only found you six months ago.
Six months? Damien repeated. You've known where I was for six months and you're just now approaching me?
I was scared, Eleanor admitted. Scared you'd reject me. Scared I'd waited too long. And scared of who might be watching me. The people who killed your parents
Robert Wellington. Damien's voice was flat. Say his name.
Eleanor glanced around nervously. Not here. Please. If we could talk somewhere private
No. But I could see the conflict in Damien's eyes. The desperate hope fighting against years of abandonment and rage.
She might have information, I said softly. About your parents. About what really happened.
Damien's jaw clenched. Fine. Not here. My penthouse. One hour. He pulled out his phone and showed Eleanor the address. Security will verify your identity. If anything about your story doesn't check out, you're done.
Thank you, Eleanor breathed. Thank you so much
Don't thank me yet. Damien took my arm. We're leaving.
He practically dragged me back through the gala. People stared, whispered, but he didn't slow down. We were in his car within minutes, the privacy screen up, the driver pulling away from The Plaza.
Are you okay? I asked.
No.
At least he was honest.
Do you believe her? That she's your aunt?
I don't know. He rubbed his face. She looks like my father. Has his eyes. But that doesn't mean anything. The Wellingtons could have sent her to get close to me.
Or she could be telling the truth.
Or she could be telling the truth, he agreed quietly. Which is almost worse.
Why worse?
Because if she's real, if she's family, then I've been alone for six years for no reason. Julian died thinking no one cared. And I built this entire empire on rage and isolation when I could have had— He stopped. It doesn't matter.
It does matter
No, it doesn't. His voice hardened. What matters is the mission. Destroying the Wellingtons. Getting justice for Julian and my parents. That's all that matters.
But I could see the cracks in his armor. This man who seemed invincible was breaking right in front of me.
Without thinking, I took his hand.
He looked down at our joined hands, then at me. You don't have to
I know. I squeezed his fingers. But you're not alone anymore. Whether Eleanor is real or not. Whether your family finds you or not. You have me.
Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes. For six months.
For six months, I agreed. But that's still more than you had yesterday.
He pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine. You're dangerous, Firecracker. Making me feel things when I can't afford to feel anything.
Maybe that's exactly what you need.
His lips brushed mine—soft, questioning, nothing like our desperate kisses before. This was tender. Careful. Like I was something precious instead of useful.
Damien, I whispered.
I know. Bad idea. Terrible idea. But he kissed me again anyway. We should stop.
We should, I agreed, even as my fingers threaded through his hair.
The car pulled up to his building. We broke apart, both breathing hard.
Eleanor will be here in an hour, Damien said. I need you there when I talk to her.
Why me?
Because you see through people's lies. You spent years surviving your stepmother's manipulations. If Eleanor is playing me, you'll spot it.
It was a compliment and a weapon at the same time. Very Damien Cross.
Okay, I said. But after, you need to rest. You look exhausted.
I'll rest when the Wellingtons are destroyed.
Typical.
Fifty-three minutes later, security called up. Ms. Cross is here, sir. Her identification checks out. Background is clean.
Send her up, Damien said.
He'd changed out of his tuxedo into dark slacks and a button-down. I'd changed into jeans and a sweater, trying to look less like we'd just come from a gala and more like normal people.
Whatever normal meant anymore.
The elevator doors opened. Eleanor stepped out, clutching a worn leather bag.
Thank you for seeing me, she said.
Sit. Damien gestured to the couch. His voice was all business. You have thirty minutes to convince me you're who you say you are. Start talking.
Eleanor sat, pulling papers from her bag. These are birth certificates. Marriage licenses. Photos. She spread them across the coffee table. This is your father, Michael Cross—at his wedding. That's me beside your mother. I was her maid of honor.
I looked at the photos. A young man who looked exactly like Damien, smiling beside a beautiful woman in a wedding dress. And next to them, a younger version of Eleanor.
Photos can be faked, Damien said, but his voice wavered.
This can't. Eleanor pulled out a small wooden box. Your father made this for me when we were kids. Before our parents died, before foster care separated us. He carved our initials inside. MC and EC.
She opened the box. Inside, carved into the wood, were the letters. And beneath them, a child's handwriting: Family forever.
Damien's hand shook as he took the box.
He gave this to me the day before the car accident, Eleanor continued. He'd been investigating fraud at Wellington & Associates. He knew he was in danger. He told me that if anything happened to him, I needed to protect you boys. But then— Her voice broke. Then he died, and by the time I got to you, you were already in foster care. They wouldn't tell me where. Said I had no legal rights. I fought for years, but
But you gave up, Damien finished coldly.
I never gave up! Eleanor's voice rose. I searched for twenty years. I lost my marriage, my career, everything because I couldn't stop looking for you. And when I finally found Julian— Tears streamed down her face. It was too late. He was already dead. And it destroyed me all over again.
Silence.
Damien stared at the box in his hands.
Why now? I asked gently. Why approach him now?
Because the Wellingtons know I exist. Eleanor looked terrified. Six months ago, my apartment was broken into. Nothing was stolen except my files on Michael's case. My investigation into Wellington & Associates. Then I started getting followed. Phone calls with no one on the other end. I realized if I didn't find Damien soon, they'd kill me before I got the chance.
So you're in danger, Damien said flatly. And you came to me for protection.
I came to warn you, Eleanor corrected. They know you're building a case against them. Robert Wellington knows exactly who you are—Michael Cross's son, Julian Cross's brother. He's been watching you for years, waiting for you to make a move so he can eliminate you like he eliminated your father.
My blood ran cold.
How do you know this? Damien demanded.
Because three weeks ago, Robert Wellington himself called me. He said if I valued my life, I'd stop looking for my nephew and forget the Cross family ever existed. Eleanor's hands trembled. He's planning something, Damien. Something big. And it involves you.
Let him plan, Damien said coldly. I'm ready for whatever he
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his expression changed.
What? I asked.
Alex. There's been an accident at Chen Industries. He stood, already moving toward the door. A fire. Your father's building is burning.
The world tilted.
What? I grabbed my phone. Missed calls from Maya. News alerts flooding in.
BREAKING: Fire at Chen Industries Headquarters. Cause Unknown. CEO Victor Chen Missing.
Missing.
My father was missing.
We need to go, Damien said.
I'm coming with you
No. Too dangerous. He turned to Eleanor. Stay here. Security will watch the penthouse. Sophia
I'm not staying behind. I was already grabbing my coat. That's my father. Whatever he's done, he's still my father.
Damien's jaw clenched, but he nodded. Fine. But you stay in the car. You don't go near that building until I know it's safe.
We rushed to the elevator. As the doors closed, Eleanor called out: Damien! This is what I was warning you about. The Wellingtons are making their move. And they're using the people you care about as weapons.
The elevator descended.
My heart hammered. My father's building was burning. He was missing
This was my fault. I'd pushed too hard tonight. Made myself too visible. And now
This isn't your fault, Damien said, reading my mind.
Isn't it? I stood beside you at that gala. I publicly chose you over my family. And now my father
Is probably exactly where Robert Wellington wants him. Damien's voice was grim. This is a message, Sophia. They're showing us what they're capable of.
Then we show them what we're capable of.
His smile was sharp. That's my Firecracker.
But as the car sped through Manhattan toward the burning building, one thought kept circling my mind:
What if we were already too late?
What if in trying to destroy the Wellingtons, we'd given them exactly the ammunition they needed to destroy us first?
My phone buzzed. Unknown number. Another text.
Told you he couldn't protect you. Your father is just the beginning. Walk away now, or everyone you love burns. —RW
Robert Wellington wasn't hiding anymore.
He was declaring war.
And he'd just fired the first shot.