Belinda's POV
What if the war is over?
The question echoed in the silent, revolving room. If the war was over, I would cease to be Belinda the Strategist, Belinda the Vengeful, Belinda the Immovable. I would just be… Belinda. An unguarded woman with a terrifying yearning for a simple life. A husband. A baby. A home with no locked doors. He saw it. He somehow saw the raw, hidden dream.
My gaze snapped to the page. The pen felt like a surgical tool.
I uncapped it.
Jackson reappeared then, walking with that slow, deliberate grace that always made my breath catch. He didn't hover, he simply placed his hand over mine, the heat of his palm seeping through my skin, a connection more grounding than any anchor.
"Focus, love," he murmured, the use of the shortened name a potent, intimate command. "No company names. No ledgers. What do you own, right now, that can't be taken away?"
I swallowed hard. My mind raced, searching for the standard list: my offshore accounts, my safe houses, my knowledge of the network. But his pressure on my hand forbade it.
I finally let the walls crumble. I lowered the pen, then lifted it again, letting the truth flow from a well I thought was dry.
I wrote one single word on the virgin page. The paper was crisp beneath the silver tip.
HIM.
The word was barely legible, a nervous tremor in the ink. I listed Jackson first, not as an asset to a mission, but as a person I owned in my soul. My truth. The only thing I wanted to keep.
He looked down, his eyes scanning the word. A slow, quiet wave of triumph passed over his face, quickly masked by a deeper tenderness. He let go of my hand, but not the connection.
"Good," he whispered. "Now the next one. What makes you feel safe?"
I hesitated, then wrote: My intelligence.
And then, with a bolder, less shaking hand: The view of the Carina Nebula.
And finally, the terrifying truth: My ability to disappear.
He nodded, reading the last line with a seriousness that chilled me. He knew exactly what it meant.
"The first one is all you need," he said, his voice dropping to a low, seductive register. He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear, making the hairs on my neck stand up. "You own me and I don't want you to ever forget that. I'll handle the disappearance. Now, come here. We have a lot of work to do, but it can wait until morning. Right now, I need you to just exist."
We then drove home. It was a quiet drive but the connection we shared on my dream date was enough to keep my mind company.
He led us into the guest suite and we both got comfortable and immediately jumped into bed.
The room was vast, luxurious, and completely silent. The only sound was the low, steady thrum of the building's air conditioning and the rhythmic, deep beat of Jackson's heart against my back.
I was lying in the expansive bed, wrapped in a blanket of sheer, unguarded relief.
His arms were wrapped tight around me, his chin resting against the top of my head. It was an embrace that demanded nothing and promised everything. The kiss in the observatory had been a deliberate claim; this was a quiet, unshakable declaration of possession. My possession of him, and his of me.
I turned in the circle of his arms, pushing my face into the warm, solid anchor of his chest. He smelled of cold air, expensive wine, and a sharp, clean scent that was uniquely his.
"I didn't lie about the altitude," I murmured against his skin, my fingers tracing the hard line of his ribs. "I was shaking because I was afraid of what you were asking me to see."
He didn't respond with a strategist's explanation, just with a simple, profound movement. He shifted, pulling the duvet over my shoulder, then tilted my chin up until my eyes met his in the dim light.
"I know," he said, his voice husky. "And I'm not asking you to forget the war, Bel. Just to remember what you're fighting for. I'm giving you a target. Us."
His lips met mine, a soft, slow pressure that wasn't about heat or urgency, but about staking a territory. It was a kiss of quiet assurance, a reassurance that the man who demanded vulnerability was also the man who would protect it with a ruthless efficiency.
My hands slid up his chest, past the silk of his pajama shirt, until they rested at the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Tonight, the cold, perfect sphere of the observatory was gone. There was only the warm, imperfect sphere of this bed, this moment. The unguarded creature he'd fought a private war to protect finally, truly, let go.
We slept for only 5 hours, but it was a deep, restorative sleep free of the nightmares that usually stalked my rest. He eases me when I'm awake…and somehow eases me when I drift off to sleep as well. It's like a part of me felt like having him sleep next to me…would be like bringing him into my dreams with me. It's like I knew he'd protect me no matter what state I'm in.
I woke to the light, thin scent of coffee.
Jackson was already dressed, the navy of his suit a stark contrast to the darkness of the room. He was fastening the cufflink on his left wrist…a simple, polished piece of silver…and his face was a mask of focused intensity. The tenderness of the night was replaced by the steel of the morning.
"Morning," I said, the word coming out a bit rough.
He turned, the intense focus immediately softening as he saw me. He walked to the bed, already pulling the curtains back, flooding the room with the first golden light of the day.
"Good morning, love," he said, his voice a low counterpoint to the city sounds below. He placed a steaming cup of coffee on the bedside table and then handed me a small, sealed envelope. "Drink this. We leave in an hour. We'll be gone for 3 weeks."
"An hour? Where are we going? And what is this?" I asked, gesturing to the envelope.
"The jet is fueled," he confirmed, leaning over the bed, giving me a final, quick, devastating kiss that tasted of mint and coffee. "We're leaving the country. Consider this a temporary withdrawal. As for the envelope…" He paused, his expression serious. "It's the first step of your disappearance. It contains a new passport, a new identity, and the flight path. I need you to study it. Everything you've been working on, the network, the General, the Knight crest…it's all coming with us. We just need a clear view to launch the final strike."
Wait…he knows about the crest?
He picked up a small, structured handbag from the floor, placing it next to the envelope. "I took the liberty of getting Rosline and Ronda to pack a few essentials. The rest is disposable. Our security protocols have been compromised. We need to move fast."
I looked from the envelope to his unyielding, determined face. He was burning the earth behind us. He had planned this extraction in less than 24 hours. He was moving mountains for a chance at that clear view of the night sky…and for me.
"And your father?" I asked, a sudden cold fear gripping me. I'm worried he'll be suspicious before we get out of here.
Jackson's eyes clouded with a deep, private sorrow. "My father is now a variable in the equation, not a constant. He changes nothing about our objective. He only accelerates the timeline. I also need you to know that I had no idea he had a double life and knew your father." He traced the line of my jaw, a familiar, possessive gesture. "I need you to trust me for one final, monumental leap, Love. I'll protect you from all of it. Even from my own family."
He looked down at my hand, then back up into my eyes.
"Just remember what you wrote in the logbook. You own me. Let me be your asset. Now, read that packet. I'll meet you in the car in forty-five minutes. You'll shower on the jet. I need to get you out of here immediately."
He turned, his movements sharp and purposeful, and left the room.
I reached for the coffee, the warmth of the mug familiar and comforting, then tore open the envelope. The passport was crisp, the photo a stunning, unfamiliar reflection of myself. A new name. A new home. A new life.
A life where I was not Belinda, the Immovable.
I looked up at the window, not at the beautiful garden, but at the sliver of clear, pale blue sky above. I didn't know how he planned to tell me about my father, or how I would ever forgive him for the secret I knew he was carrying, but right now, only one thing mattered. I had listed him as my asset. And I would ride his strategy to the ends of the earth.
I trust him.
I took a deep breath, letting the scent of coffee and ozone fill my lungs, ready to read the coordinates for my final disappearance.
It's not like Brian and Lola can't handle the company while I'm away anyways.