Jomiloju's POV
The days bled together inside the beach house.
Outside, the ocean raged. Inside, it was quieter—but no less dangerous. Every glance between us felt like a loaded gun, every silence another trigger we were too afraid to pull.
Steve hadn't touched me since the night he almost kissed me. He hadn't said much either. He was always watching, always pacing. Like something was coming.
Or maybe it already had.
It was strange—how captivity no longer felt like shackles. The only prison left was the space between us. A cell built of words we hadn't said, of touches that stopped just short of desire.
And yet…
I'd never felt so alive.
And never more confused.
I stood by the window, watching the waves crash and boil. My mind wandered. What was my family doing now? Did they even know I was alive? Had they given up hope?
Did they care?
Steve was at the table, cleaning his gun. His movements were rhythmic, precise. Almost peaceful—if it wasn't so terrifying.
"You were in my dream last night," I said.
He didn't look up.
"What was I doing?"
"Staring at me like I was the last good thing in the world."
His hand paused, just slightly.
"And how did the dream end?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I woke up."
That finally made him glance up—eyes dark, unreadable.
"Sometimes," he said, "waking up is worse than the dream."
Steve's POV
She was getting to me.
Not just because she was beautiful—though she was. Not just because of her mouth or her eyes or the way she challenged me without fear.
But because she was still here.
Still soft.
Still stubborn.
Still looking at me like I wasn't the monster I'd spent years becoming.
I wanted to protect her. But I also wanted to keep her. And that was the part I couldn't let happen. Keeping her meant breaking her. Taming her. Caging her.
And she wasn't the type to stay in a cage for long.
"You should hate me by now," I said.
She turned from the window, arms crossed.
"I did," she said simply. "Back in the beginning."
"And now?"
She walked toward me—slow, deliberate, like she wasn't afraid of anything. Like she should be, but wasn't.
"Now I'm not sure what to feel."
That was the most dangerous answer of all.
Jomiloju's POV
I should've run a hundred times.
And maybe I still would.
But I hadn't. Not yet.
Because beneath the tattoos and guns and walls of iron, Steve had shown me something fragile. Something cracked and bleeding behind all that armor.
He kept calling me a prisoner.
But lately, I wasn't so sure who was more trapped.
Me?
Or him?
I leaned against the table, close enough to see the faint scar near his temple. A bullet graze, probably. He had dozens more. I'd traced one once with my eyes when he was asleep—across his ribs, angry and pink, like a memory that never faded.
"I don't want to be your weakness," I whispered.
"You already are," he said.
Steve's POV
She left the table before I could take the words back.
I didn't mean to say it. Not out loud.
But it was true.
She made me hesitate. She made me feel. And in our world, that was a death sentence.
I stood and moved to the window. The ocean glared back, violent and loud.
Then I heard her scream.
It was sharp. Real.
"Steve!"
I ran.
Jomiloju's POV
I was in the hallway, heading toward the bathroom, when I saw it.
A shadow at the edge of the window. A flicker. A flash of something—movement, not wind.
Then the tap of metal against glass.
I screamed without thinking.
Steve was there in seconds, gun drawn.
He shoved me behind him, back toward the main room, eyes scanning every surface like a predator on instinct.
"Stay down!" he barked, low and sharp.
He reached for the curtain, yanked it open—nothing.
But the window wasn't just glass anymore.
There was something taped to it.
A photograph.
Of me.
Taken through a scope.
A red X drawn across my chest.
Steve's POV
I ripped the photo down, jaw locked so tight I could taste blood.
This wasn't a threat.
This was a promise.
I turned to Jomi, whose face had drained of color.
"Pack a bag," I said. "Now."
She didn't argue.
She didn't cry.
She just moved.
And I realized then—
She wasn't fragile anymore.
She was transforming.
Because in our world, fear wasn't weakness. Fear was fuel.
Jomiloju's POV
We didn't speak much as I shoved a few things into a bag—water, cash, the bracelet he gave me.
I didn't ask where we were going.
I didn't need to.
Anywhere but here.
But just as I grabbed my shoes, I saw something beneath the bed.
A folded piece of paper.
I pulled it out.
It wasn't paper.
It was a page from a classified file.
My name was typed at the top.
Beneath it: "PROPERTY OF CHIEF KOLEOSHO."
I froze.
Property?
What the hell did that mean?
Steve's POV
I returned to the room just as she stood up, eyes wide, holding the file.
I cursed under my breath.
I'd hidden it.
Poorly, apparently.
"You knew about this?" she said, voice sharp.
I nodded once.
"Steve, what the hell does it mean? Property of—?"
"It means your father isn't the man you think he is."
"Explain."
I paused.
And then I told her the truth.
Koleosho hadn't kidnapped her to get revenge.
He already owned her life—in a deal, years ago. A political bargain sealed with blood.
And her father?
He'd traded her future to protect his empire.
Jomiloju's POV
The room spun.
Not because of the photo on the window.
Not because we were being hunted.
But because suddenly…
I wasn't even sure who I was anymore.
"My father… gave me up?" I whispered.
Steve looked like he wanted to hold me.
But didn't.
"I was supposed to kill you," he said. "But I couldn't."
Tears burned, but I refused to cry.
Not now.
Not for him.
Not for any of them.
"You're not a queen in a cage, Jomi," Steve said quietly.
"You're a queen in a warzone."