The first night back in Adrian's house felt like sleeping inside a war zone that hadn't exploded yet. Nothing had happened. But everything was waiting to. The mansion was silent, the kind of suffocating silence that made your ears ring. Security had doubled since my kidnapping. Cameras now blinked red from every corner. Guards rotated every four hours. I knew because I couldn't sleep. I lay in Adrian's bed - our bed - staring at the ceiling while he stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in a low voice that carried more threat than sound. "I don't care who's backing him," he said quietly. "Find him." A pause. Then colder: "Alive." My chest tightened. I didn't need to ask who. The man who ordered my kidnapping. The man who had pressed a gun to my temple and to

