Elira’s pulse thundered in her ears as she stepped off the private jet onto Monaco’s tarmac. The warm night air clung to her skin, and the lights of the city glittered below like a promise and a threat all at once. She pressed a hand to her abdomen—still carrying the life that had nearly been stolen—and forced her breath steady. Behind her, Damien Soren Thorn Blackwood watched with a cool intensity that made her heart both ache and ignite.
No words passed between them as they were led to a black sedan. Their driver—an ex-military operative loyal to Damien—slid them inside. Elira caught Damien’s gaze in the rearview mirror: unwavering, protective, desperate.
They arrived at the penthouse in silence. The doors opened onto a grand foyer hung with modern art and marble floors that reflected
