THE BILLIONAIRE'S DANGEROUS PROTECTOR

The building is sealed. I know this because I've already tried three exits and found them all locked down. The power cut exactly forty-seven seconds ago, plunging the Vale Foundation Ball into darkness before the emergency lights flickered on, casting everything in a bloody red glow. Amateur hour. Victor wanted us to see. "Adrian, I've lost visual on Isabella." Marcus's voice crackles through my earpiece. My second-in-command. My most trusted man. The traitor. I shove through the panicked crowd, guests in tuxedos and gowns screaming as armed men pour through the underground tunnels. My shoulder aches where I took a bullet two weeks ago—the art auction rescue. The night I first kissed her. Focus. "Where's Sebastian?" I bark into the comm. "Vault level. With Isabella." Of course. The old man would drag her to the one place he thinks is impenetrable. The one place where the original succession documents are stored. The truth about who she really is. I'm already running. --- The vault level is three stories below the ballroom, accessible only through a private elevator that requires Sebastian's biometrics. I don't have Sebastian's biometrics. But I have C4. The blast throws me back against the corridor wall, but I'm moving before the debris settles, stepping through the twisted metal of what used to be a security door. My ears ring. The red emergency lights strobe. And there she is. Isabella stands in the center of the vault, chestnut hair falling loose from its elegant updo, emerald eyes blazing with a fury I've come to know intimately. She's holding a leather portfolio—the succession documents. Sebastian lies crumpled against a wall, blood seeping through his tailored suit. "You're late," she says. "I was busy." "He shot my father." I look at Sebastian. The old bastard's still breathing, but barely. "Adrian." Isabella's voice cracks. Just slightly. Just enough. "Victor's coming. He has men everywhere. Daniel—" "Daniel freed me." Her eyes widen. "What?" "Turned on Victor. Gave me access to the security network." I pull her behind me, positioning my body between her and the vault entrance. "We need to move. Now." "I'm not leaving him." "Isabella—" "He may be a controlling bastard who used me as a bargaining chip, but he's still my father, Adrian. I'm not leaving him to die." Stubborn. Impossible. Perfect. I don't have time to argue. Because that's when Victor Vale walks through the vault entrance like he owns the place—which, technically, he's spent fifteen years trying to. "Adrian Cross." Victor's polished voice echoes off the metal walls. He's dressed like a statesman, silver hair immaculate, pale eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a man who's finally cornered his prey. "The disgraced operative. The failed protector. I've heard so much about you." "All bad, I hope." Victor smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "You know, I offered your brother a similar choice once. Work for me, or die. He made the smart decision." My blood turns to ice. "You're lying." "Am I?" Victor steps closer, gun raised. "Lucas Cross. Gray eyes like yours. A scar on his left hand from a mission gone wrong. He's been my eyes and ears inside your precious security firm for three years." Three years. Three years of security breaches. Three years of operations compromised. Three years of— "Don't listen to him." Isabella's hand finds mine. Squeezes. "He's manipulating you. That's what he does." "I'm not manipulating anyone." Victor's gun swings toward her. "I'm simply telling the truth. Something your father should have done years ago." Sebastian groans from the floor. "Victor... please..." "Please?" Victor laughs. "You begged me to spare her life when she was a baby. Begged me to let Evelyn raise her as her own. And what did you get in return? A daughter who hates you. A company you can barely control. A legacy built on lies." "She's my daughter," Sebastian rasps. "Blood or not." "She's a threat." Victor's finger tightens on the trigger. "And threats get eliminated." Time slows. I see Victor's finger move. I see Isabella's eyes widen. I see my entire life—every failure, every regret, every moment I spent pushing her away because I was too afraid to admit what she'd come to mean to me—flash before my eyes. Not her. Anyone but her. I move. The bullet catches me in the shoulder—the same shoulder, because apparently the universe has a sick sense of humor—and I feel it tear through muscle and bone. But I'm already on top of Victor, driving him to the ground, my fist connecting with his face once, twice, three times. He's stronger than he looks. We roll, and I lose my grip on my weapon. His gun comes up. "Adrian!" Isabella's scream. A shot rings out. Victor goes still. I look up. Daniel stands in the doorway, a smoking gun in his hand, his face pale as death. "He killed her," Daniel says. His voice is hollow. "He killed the woman who raised me. I thought... I thought she was my mother. But she was just another pawn." Victor laughs weakly from beneath me, blood bubbling on his lips. "You... you think this changes anything? Black Meridian is bigger than me. Bigger than all of us. You've stopped nothing." "We've stopped you," Isabella says. She's at my side now, helping me up, her hands shaking as she presses them against the wound in my shoulder. "That's enough for now." "Love..." Victor's eyes find mine. "You think you've won? Your brother... he's still alive. Still mine. And when he finds out what you've done..." "Lucas can find me himself," I say. "And when he does, I'll be ready." Isabella's fingers are in my hair, her face inches from mine. "You're bleeding." "I noticed." "You i***t. You complete, reckless—" "Isabella." She stops. Looks at me. "I meant it," I say. "What I said before. I fell in love with you the moment you challenged me in the penthouse hallway. Protecting you was my assignment. Loving you became my choice." Her eyes glisten. "Adrian—" "I'm not your protector anymore." I reach up, cup her face with my bloodied hand. "I'm your partner. If you'll have me." She kisses me. It's not gentle. It's desperate and terrified and relieved all at once, and I taste copper and salt and something that might be tears. I don't care. I've spent months denying myself this. I'm done denying. When she finally pulls back, she's smiling. "You're still bleeding." "Worth it." "Idiot." "Your idiot." --- The police arrive twenty minutes later. Victor is arrested. Sebastian is rushed to surgery. Daniel gives a full statement, implicating Black Meridian, Nathaniel Brooks, and half a dozen other conspirators in the succession fraud. The media descends on the Vale Foundation like vultures, but Isabella handles them with a grace that makes me fall even harder. She doesn't leave my side while the paramedics patch up my shoulder. "You need a hospital," she says. "I need a drink." "You need rest." "Rest is for people who don't have enemies." She laughs. It's a broken, exhausted sound, but it's real. "You're impossible." "Takes one to know one." She takes my hand. "I meant what I said too, you know. I don't need a protector who controls me. I need a partner who trusts my strength." "I know." "So you're going to have to learn to follow my lead sometimes." "Is that so?" "Mm-hmm." She kisses my knuckles. "Starting with this: you're going to the hospital. That's an order." "I don't take orders." "You do now." I look at her—this impossible, infuriating, brilliant woman who has somehow become the center of my universe—and I realize I've lost this argument. I've lost the war. And I've never been happier about it. "Fine," I say. "But only if you stay." "Where else would I go?" I don't have an answer to that. Because the truth is, I don't want to imagine a world where she isn't beside me. Three months ago, she was just a contract. A job. A way to pay off a debt. Now she's everything. --- The next morning I wake up in a hospital bed with a bandaged shoulder and Isabella curled up in a chair beside me, her hand wrapped around mine. Sunlight streams through the blinds, painting her face in gold. My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it, careful not to wake her. The message is from an unknown number. A photograph. A man with my eyes. My jaw. A scar on his left hand. The text reads: You stopped Victor. You have not stopped us. The game is just beginning. I stare at the photo of my brother—alive, apparently working with whoever sent this—and I feel something cold settle in my chest. Isabella stirs. "Adrian? What is it?" I should lie. I should protect her from this, the way I've protected her from everything else. But she's not a client anymore. She's not a mission. She's my partner. So I hand her the phone. She reads the message. Looks at the photo. Then she looks at me, and there's no fear in her eyes. No panic. Just a fierce, determined calm that makes me remember why I fell in love with her in the first place. "Whoever is coming next," she says, "will face us together." I take her hand. Together. It's not a promise. It's a vow. And I intend to keep it.