"She's good. Everything's quiet, domestic, and good out here in the world of Anchor Drive," Dash said.
The comforting sound of his voice was abruptly swallowed by the scream. It was a single, piercing, terrified shriek—unmistakably Clover Bolt's—followed by a violent, sickening thud of impact that made Vesta's phone line go instantly dead.
Dash didn't hesitate. He dropped his phone onto the pavement without looking, the plastic cracking in a useless, final report, and spun around.
Standing just beyond the edge of the driveway, having just scrambled over the neighbor's fence, was a figure Dash hadn't seen in years. Silas Bolt. Gaunt and predatory, the man looked desperate, but the rage burning in his eyes was familiar and terrifying.
Clover stood frozen, her hands clamped over her mouth, her body trembling. Ridge was a few feet behind her, shock locking him in place with his phone already pulled out.
Dash moved, a primal instinct overriding all logic, placing himself directly between his mother and his father.
Silas, moving with the cold economy of a professional threat, pulled a black handgun from the waistband of his jeans. It settled into his grip with an unnerving familiarity.
"Don't even think about it," Dash commanded, his voice a low, hard rumble of contained fury.
Silas's lips stretched into a cruel, dry smile. "You made a mistake, boy. I sent you repeated letters demanding the money I'm owed. You ignored your own flesh and blood. You know the price of disobedience."
"Letters?" Dash bit out, confusion momentarily eclipsing the fear. "I received no letters."
The denial snapped Clover out of her paralysis. "I burned them, Dash!" she cried, tears instantly streaming down her face. "I threw them away. I didn't think they were important enough to—to taint our life with!"
Silas's face tightened into a mask of pure violence. He leveled the gun, the black aperture staring directly at Dash's chest. "Now, now, Clover. Let's not push the issue. You know I'm a steady hand. You don't want to see what happens to your precious son, do you? Hands up. Both of you. Now."
Dash raised his hands immediately, his gaze locked onto the gun. "Mom," he ordered, his voice unwavering, "do exactly what I do." Clover slowly, shakily, raised her arms.
"And any weapons you might be carrying," Silas pressed, his eyes darting toward the street corner. "Be thorough."
Dash reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, folding pocket knife—a tool of his trade—and let it fall onto the concrete. The metallic clink was the sound of complete submission on their quiet street in Aethelgard.
"Good," Silas hissed, a look of satisfied hunger washing over him. "With all of you dead, the house and everything else becomes mine. So, let's play a quick game. Who earns the bullet first? The disobedient son, or the disrespectful mother? A truly interesting corporate decision, wouldn't you say?"
The game was purely for show. Silas checked his wrist, his final act of malice before retreat. "My time is up. Ridge has already called the police, I imagine. I'll come back to finish this. But before I leave..."
He delivered the final, chilling threat.
"Btw, Dash, you and your little plaything look cute together." With a swift, practiced motion, Silas tossed a small, tightly folded paper airplane toward Dash and then scrambled violently over the fence, disappearing into the dark shadows of the working-class district.
Dash, adrenaline surging, took a reflexive lunge, but Silas was already gone. Dash turned back immediately to his mother. Clover was already on her knees, the terror and guilt finally crushing her. She was sobbing uncontrollably.
"I should have said earlier, Dash! It's all my fault..."
Dash picked up the photo airplane, went to his mother, and supported her up, his arm tight around her waist. Ridge, though terrified, focused on the immediate threat: the note in Dash's hand.
Ridge pointed to the crumpled paper. "Open the plane, Dash. What is it?"
Dash unfolded the precise, origami-like creases. It was a faded, grainy picture: him and Vesta laughing on the beach during a rare, stolen moment away from Aethelgard and their companies.
"Now even that poor girl is being dragged into our mess," Ridge said, facepalming himself, the exhaustion of the whole family tragedy etched on his face.
Dash's world, built on precision and control, dissolved instantly. His only thought was Vesta.
He slammed his hand onto his earpiece mic, his voice a raw command cutting through the chaos of the police sirens just arriving on the scene. "Code Black, Level Four. Anchor Point: Vesta Steele's residence. I need a bulletproof sweep team and the armored vehicle now."
He spared a single glance for his mother and brother, leaving them to the immediate care of the first ChronoNexus security personnel on the scene. He sprinted toward his car, his bodyguards—the silent, high-tier operatives he trusted implicitly—already moving into position.
"Call Vesta. Patch me through, now," Dash ordered Shadow Marshal as they reached the armored vehicle.
Vesta answered on the first frantic ring. "Hello? Dash, what happened?!"
Dash wrenched the car into drive, peeling out onto the quiet Aethelgard street. "Vesta, it's me. Listen carefully. I'm almost there, but I need you and your friends to lock every door and window immediately. I promise to explain once I'm there. Do not open the door for anyone or anything. Only open the door if the code I give you is correct. The code is Shield Key."
Shadow Marshal, witnessing the naked fear in Dash's eyes as he drove with reckless abandon, terminated the call. Dash was genuinely terrified, a terrifying realization for the man whose persona was built on contained strength. They drove like a hostile military escort, the armored vehicle followed by more security personnel, slicing through the late-night traffic.
Dash was assured enough to leave Clover and Ridge under the protection of the initial security net, knowing his mother's current location was less of a priority than Vesta's, the newly-exposed vulnerability.
They screeched to a stop in the apartment's underground garage. Dash rushed for the elevator, but Night Raptor's voice stopped him cold.
"Mr. Bolt, I suggest the stairs," the guard said, his tone flat. "We don't know if the elevator systems have been compromised."
"You're right. Move!" Dash ordered.
Dash and the three bodyguards—Shadow Marshal, Night Raptor, and Void Guardian—took the emergency stairwell three steps at a time. When they reached her door, Dash knocked sharply. Silence.
"Shield Key," Dash called out.
The door opened just a crack, the eye-level peephole used to confirm his identity before Vesta pulled it wide, ushering Dash and his intimidating entourage into the sanctuary of her apartment. The bodyguards fanned out instantly, eyes scanning, before Shadow Marshal closed the reinforced door behind them.
Dash walked straight to the opposite couch, the physical distance necessary to regain control. He finally let the adrenaline drain, looking at Vesta, Aura, and Echo, who were huddled together.
"Explain. Everything. Now," Vesta demanded, though her voice still carried a tremor.
Dash explained Silas's appearance—the gun, the threats, and the damning photograph. Aura gasped, burying her face in a cushion. Echo simply stared, utterly petrified.
Dash looked at Vesta. "Silas sees you as leverage. If any attack happens on your dad, will his security detail be enough?"
"He took his top security people with him to the cruise," Vesta confirmed. "They're fine. The threat is here, now, and it's personal."
Dash nodded, then gestured to his men. "These are my assets. Shadow Marshal," he pointed to the silent, vigilant one, "Night Raptor," the agile one, "and Void Guardian," the largest, most immovable. "Sweep again."
Void Guardian rapped his knuckles on the floor-to-ceiling window. "Bulletproof window glass, Mr. Bolt. And I don't think anyone could climb up to this floor without a crane."
Night Raptor checked the smart home systems. "Safety systems are in check and not faulty." Shadow Marshal finished the perimeter check. "Nothing is compromised."
Shadow Marshal then faced Dash. "Marshal suggests you bring Mrs. Bolt and Ridge here, sir. It will be easier with more people and everyone to protect properly."
Dash looked at Vesta for confirmation. She nodded once, her expression unwavering. Dash immediately called Ridge, relaying the instructions to come with the remaining security detail.
As he hung up, Echo leaned toward Vesta, whispering her question about the bodyguards' alarming codenames. Dash overheard and sighed, stepping into the space to address the fear directly.
"Shadow Marshal got his name because he moves like a shadow—silent, vigilant, and always in the right place to protect," Dash explained, his gaze finding Vesta's. "Night Raptor earned his title for striking swiftly from the shadows, preempting danger with razor-precision. Void Guardian was named for his unseen shield—calm, inexhaustible, and unwavering even when darkness closes in. Moreover," he added, a flicker of pride, "these are the candidates recommended by your dad's security people. They're the best there is."
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang again.
"Gatekeeper!" Shadow Marshal called out the new code.
Void Guardian opened the door, and Clover and Ridge stepped inside, their eyes wide and nervous as they took in the opulence and the armed guards. Clover was still visibly shaking.
Dash and Vesta ran to them. Dash pulled his mother into a fierce, necessary hug.
"Mom," he whispered.
"I'm sorry, Dash. I should have told you earlier..."
"No, Mom, it's fine. It's not your fault. Trust me, I will protect you and everyone, no matter what."
They broke the hug, and Vesta welcomed them. Clover, seeing the elegant girl and the expensive apartment, immediately began to examine Vesta from head to toe, a complicated mix of awe and inferiority in her eyes. Ridge nudged his mother, signaling her to stop, hoping Vesta and the others hadn't noticed.
Aura, Echo, and Vesta retreated to the kitchen. Aura immediately launched into tips on how to impress one's future mother-in-law, prompting Vesta to shut her up by assigning a task.
"Go give Mrs. Bolt and Ridge glasses of water," Aura directed.
"Thank you," Ridge said, accepting the glass gratefully. Clover, however, was hesitant.
"Mom, have water," Dash insisted, kneeling beside her. "You had a hard day today." Clover finally took the glass and drank.
Dash stood up. "Look at the time. It's late. I think we should all go to sleep. We'll keep tomorrow's plan for tomorrow." He called out for Vesta. "Ves, how are we dividing the rooms? This place has three bedrooms."
"Me, Aura, and Echo in my bedroom," Vesta said. "You and your brother in one room, and Mrs. Bolt in the other guest bedroom."
Clover immediately objected. "No, no, this couch is fine for me. I'll be comfortable here itself. You all take the beds. This is enough for me."
Vesta felt the sudden, acute weight of Clover's self-punishment. Mrs. Bolt wasn't being polite; she was feeling inferior in this setting, convinced all of this chaos was her fault and refusing comfort as penance. Vesta walked over and sat beside her, her voice soft but grounded.
"Mrs. Bolt, I don't know what you have been through, but I think you shouldn't be blaming yourself and punishing yourself for something which wasn't even your fault," Vesta said, practicing the empathy her father had lectured her on. "I might be sounding rude, but let's face the reality: nothing here is your fault. You are not selfish for keeping the peace, or for escaping a cruel man. You do not have to sleep on a couch to prove you don't belong here. You belong with your son, safe."
Echo stepped forward, lending weight to Vesta's words. "Yes, Mrs. Bolt, Vesta is right. You don't have to blame yourself."
Dash held his mother's hands, his eyes full of tenderness. "Mom, trust me, everything will be alright. I will solve everything. That sick man decided to target my vulnerabilities. You will see how I will make his life miserable."
Ridge stood up. "Okay, Dash. I'll make Mom sleep and go to bed too. Come on, Mom." He gently led a subdued and slightly comforted Clover to the guest room.
Aura and Echo, respecting the emotional cleanup, quietly said their goodnights and retreated to Vesta's bedroom.
The heavy door to the guest room clicked shut, leaving Dash and Vesta alone in the cavernous living room. The silence was absolute, broken only by the faint, regular tick of Vesta's ancestral grandfather clock and the low, nearly imperceptible hum of the security system.
Dash walked to the nearest sofa and collapsed onto it, immediately burying his head in his hands. He was physically exhausted, but the real weariness was etched in the tension of his shoulders and the defeated slump of his posture. He was no longer the confident CEO or the reckless driver; he was just a son, haunted.
Vesta sat down next to him in silence. She didn't rush to touch him or offer immediate, empty reassurances. She simply let her presence be the anchor he needed.
After a few agonizing minutes, Dash looked up, his eyes red and raw.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the word thick with shame. "Sorry for pulling you into this."
Vesta shook her head immediately. "Dash, stop. Why are you and your mom apologizing for something which wasn't even your fault? This isn't a corporate merger you miscalculated. This is terror inflicted by a cruel man."
He leaned his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly. "I don't know, Ves. Why is this happening all over again? That man... I thought he was a ghost. But his eyes looked exactly like they did when he would come to hit Mom. He still overpowered her in ways that had nothing to do with physical strength."
His voice cracked. "The way Mom went still and visibly shaking after seeing him... it means he left a big scar on all of us. When I thought everything was alright, clean, and safe, he shows up again. I don't know what to do anymore. Maybe if I'm flying too high, I'm just being pulled down."
A single, hot tear escaped Dash's eye and slid down his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it away.
"I remember," he continued, his voice barely audible. "I remember how Ridge and I used to hide behind the couch to protect ourselves while that man beat her mercilessly. Every hit, every word is still printed on my mind. It never goes away."
Vesta didn't speak. She immediately reached out and gently wiped the tear from his face with her thumb.
"Dash, listen to me," she said, her voice soft but unwavering, grounding him like the ballast he claimed she needed. "You don't have to go through this alone. I might be your girlfriend, but I'm your friend first. The strongest container in the world is useless if the fire inside tries to carry the weight of the entire world. I will be here for you through all the ups and downs, thick and thin. You don't have to contain this by yourself anymore."
She patted his broad back, a simple, soothing gesture of solidarity. Then, she gently leaned in, pressed a soft, warm kiss to his forehead, and gave him a gentle, supportive push toward the hallway.
"It's done for the night, Dash. You need to sleep now. You need rest to keep that flame alive and steady for tomorrow."
Dash finally relinquished control. He stood up, gave her a long, grateful look that contained more sincerity than any oath he could swear, and nodded.
"Good night, Vesta."
"Good night, Dash."
They retreated to their respective rooms, the darkness closing in. For Vesta, falling asleep was an impossibility, but she lay awake, assured in the knowledge that she was finally embracing her new role as the unwavering Shield Key for the man she loved.