OLIVIA‘S POV
It wasn’t until the third unfamiliar turn that my heart started to pound.
The streetlights here flickered in a pattern I didn’t recognize, and the roads felt too empty, too quiet. I had memorized the routes to both my home and the packhouse by heart—not out of habit, but out of necessity. Survival had taught me to keep track of exits, to always know the way home. But this? This wasn’t either.
Frowning, I leaned forward a bit in my seat. “Dominic,” I said carefully, keeping my voice low so I wouldn’t alarm the kids, “where are you taking us?”
His hands stayed firm on the wheel, his posture relaxed, but his lips curled into that infuriatingly calm smirk that only made my nerves itch. “Relax, Olivia,” he said. “I’m not kidnapping you or the kids.”
That wasn’t fun
