Liam's POV
The moment Fiona lifted her head…
The moment I saw that soft, heartbreaking smile on her lips…
I knew I had destroyed something I could never repair.
She had heard everything.
Every word.
Every hesitation.
Every second of silence where she waited for me to choose her… and I didn't.
John stammered beside me, trying to explain himself, but I couldn't hear him. All I could hear was my own heartbeat slamming against my ribs like a dying animal.
Fiona's eyes were calm—too calm.
Like she had already accepted death, even welcomed it.
When she whispered, "Grace is pregnant… you made the right choice", it felt like someone drove a knife straight through my spine.
I wanted to shout that she was wrong.
That I didn't mean it.
That I chose Grace because of the child, not because I valued Fiona less.
But I couldn't speak.
I couldn't even breathe.
Because she wasn't angry.
She wasn't screaming.
She wasn't begging.
She was smiling.
A quiet surrender.
A final goodbye hidden behind softness.
The kidnapper pushed us out of the room and locked the door, dragging Grace away so she could be transported to safety.
I tried to fight them.
I tried to return to her.
But John held my arm with shaking hands.
"She'll… she'll be fine. He won't kill her," he tried to convince himself. "He only wanted to scare us…"
But I saw the kidnapper's eyes.
He didn't want fear.
He wanted payment.
And we had paid with her life.
An hour later, Grace was in the hospital, surrounded by doctors and crying family members. John didn't leave her side.
Everyone thanked me.
Everyone said choosing Grace was the right thing to do.
But inside my skull, Fiona's small smile replayed over and over like a curse.
"You made the right choice."
I wanted to punch walls, tear the world apart, scream until something broke — but instead, I stood silently, letting everyone think I was calm.
Because the decision I made…
I made because of duty.
Not because of want.
And now—
I couldn't breathe until I saw her again.
"There's been no confirmation of Fiona's release," one officer said softly.
Something inside me snapped.
I didn't wait.
I didn't tell anyone.
I just left.
I drove like a madman back to that warehouse, my heart beating so violently that my hands wouldn't stop shaking.
I chose wrong.
And I was going to fix it.
The warehouse was silent.
Too silent.
My gun was drawn the second I stepped inside. I moved with dragging footsteps, each step heavier than the last. The rusted metal door creaked open, and I exhaled sharply as the stench of blood hit me.
Then I saw them—
Kidnappers.
All scattered across the floor.
Some unconscious.
Some groaning.
Some bleeding from deep cuts like they had been taken down by a trained killer.
Not by Fiona.
Not by police.
By someone… dangerous.
My heart seized.
"Fiona!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the broken building.
Nothing.
Only the wind, whistling through cracks.
"FIONA!"
Not even an echo came back.
My lungs tightened painfully.
I ran deeper into the warehouse, stepping over bodies, searching every corner, every shadow.
But the chair where she had been tied was empty.
Ropes cut.
Blood drops on the floor.
Her shoes abandoned nearby.
She had been moved. Dragged. Or carried.
My vision blurred with panic.
She's gone.
A groan came from the floor behind me.
One of the kidnappers — the youngest — was still conscious, his shoulder bleeding where someone had dislocated his arm.
I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
"WHERE IS SHE?!"
He winced, choking on his breath.
"Who… who the hell are you?" he croaked.
"I'm the man whose life will end if she isn't found."
My voice was cold, unrecognizable. "Answer me."
He shivered under my grip.
"She—she was taken…"
"By WHO?!"
"Him… the army general…"
My blood turned to ice.
"WHAT general?! Give me a name!"
"I—I don't know! He came out of nowhere! Black uniform… insignia… a badge with a hawk—something like that. He moved like a ghost."
I froze, heart hammering in my throat.
A general.
Highly trained.
Special forces.
Someone with power — enough to walk into a kidnapping den and take Fiona without even harming her.
"What did he say?" I demanded.
The kidnapper swallowed, fearful.
"He said… she wasn't supposed to be harmed. She belonged to him now. And he has orders."
Orders.
From who?
My skin crawled.
"Where did he take her?" I hissed.
The kidnapper shook his head frantically.
"I don't know! There was a helicopter—military one! Dark grey! No markings! They lifted her up and vanished into the clouds!"
A helicopter.
My heart slammed painfully.
"And you don't know where?!"
He sobbed, terrified.
"I swear! He never told us! He just said… 'If anyone comes looking, tell them she's under military custody. Classified.' That's all!"
Classified.
The word buzzed in my skull like poison.
Someone with rank.
Someone with authority.
Someone who had been watching Fiona.
Someone who had taken her out of my reach.
I walked back to the deserted room slowly.
Her rope was still on the floor.
The chair she sat on was still warm.
I touched the backrest with shaking fingers, imagining her small body trembling there, imagining her smile when she accepted I didn't choose her.
My throat tightened painfully.
"I didn't choose her…" I whispered to myself, voice breaking.
"I didn't choose her, and someone else took her."
Someone powerful.
Someone dangerous.
Someone who wanted her enough to steal her from under my nose.
My jaw clenched so tightly I could taste blood.
I will find her.
I don't care if I have to tear apart every military base in the country.
I don't care who that general is.
I don't care if I have to start a war.
Fiona heard me abandon her.
And someone else claimed her in that exact moment.
No.
No.
NO.
I stepped out of the warehouse, eyes burning like fire.
"This isn't over," I whispered into the night.
"Fiona… wherever you are… I'm coming for you."