"Why don't you rest when you get home? Why are you still running to the garden?" Quentin asked softly, affectionately brushing away a stray curl that danced in the wind.
Amanda smiled, lifting her flower basket for him to see. "You planted so many beautiful flowers, Quentin. I thought I should pick a few to show off in the house."
Quentin's eyes warmed with a quiet happiness. He was about to reply when his phone shattered the moment. Amanda didn't wait for him to ignore it; she pursed her lips and playfully pushed him away, turning toward a stone table a few yards off.
Quentin felt a pang of regret as he let go of her waist. His face darkened the moment he saw the caller's name. "What?"
"Get over here," Derrick said, his voice dripping with his usual lazy malice. "Hurry up, or I might just kill your nephew right now."
Quentin's lips curled into a cold, sharp line. "You caught him?"
"He's in the bag. I'm heading to the rendezvous now. Don't keep me waiting."
"I'll be there."
As he hung up, Quentin's eyes turned like flint. He had systematically stripped Javier of everything—his money, his influence, and his pride. He had used Carla Smith as the final piece of bait to drag him out of the shadows and away from the protection of the law. Now, the trap was ready to snap shut.
He turned to walk back to Amanda, unaware that her phone had just vibrated with a message of its own. The smile on her lips died instantly, replaced by a gaze so cold it seemed to steal the warmth from the garden. She looked up as Quentin approached.
"Hubby," she said, her voice steady. "Come with me to a place."
"I have to go," Quentin said at the exact same time.
They stared at each other in surprise. Quentin noticed the icy resolve in her eyes and frowned. "Where is it you want to go?"
Without a word, Amanda raised her phone. The screen displayed a single line: Road 13, Warehouse 6.
Quentin's eyes narrowed, his voice rising in a rare flash of anger. "Amanda! I told you to stay out of this!"
That warehouse was a known Kent family stronghold. The thought of her following a lead into such a hornet's nest made his blood run cold.
Amanda didn't flinch. She reached into her basket, picked up a single red rose, and studied its petals. "Husband," she said slowly, "do you know that even a rose raised in a greenhouse grows thorns? It is its nature."
She looked up, meeting his gaze as she held the flower out to him. "And I am the same. Even though I am loved and protected by you and my family, I will become thorny when someone dares to touch the people I love."
She pressed the rose toward him. "I am a thorny flower that will use these sharp edges to stab my enemies to death. Knowing that... will you still accept me?"
She had spent two lives trying to be the "little bird" under his wing, hiding her stubborn, vengeful nature to keep him happy. But today, the mask was off.
Quentin's chest heaved as he processed her words. The anger in his heart didn't disappear—it transformed into a profound, helpless acceptance. He reached out and pulled her, flowers and all, into a fierce embrace. "As long as it's you," he whispered into her hair, "I can accept anything."
Amanda smiled brilliantly, leaning back to brush the rose against his nose.
Inside the musty, dimly lit warehouse, a disheveled Javier was frantically trying to pull a sobbing Laura Wills toward the back exit.
"Big brother, please!" Javier pleaded, looking toward the shadows. "Save me this time!"
"Shut up," Tim Wills growled, his voice rasping. "The only way out is across the border. If we don't move, the police will be on us."
Javier looked nothing like the arrogant heir he once was. His clothes were stained with grime, and his hair was a matted mess. He watched as Tim Wills lit a cigar, the smoke curling around his scarred face.
"What's the rush?" Tim asked coldly. "Wait a while. Someone is coming to take you away."
Javier felt a surge of desperate hope. He was penniless, a fugitive with his face on every news station in the country. He was being hunted like a stray dog. If I can just get on that ship... I'll come back for Quentin later. I'll kill them all.
The sound of tires on gravel interrupted his thoughts. A black Mercedes-Benz glided into the warehouse, followed by two SUVs. A dozen men in black shirts, radiating a lethal aura, stepped out.
Tim Wills didn't move. He watched with one cold eye as a subordinate opened the Mercedes' door.
"Hey there, Mr. Harris! Still playing the part of the stray dog, I see?" Derrick stepped out of the car, his smile as bright and annoying as a summer sun.
"It's you!" Javier panicked, his hand flying to his waist, only to remember that Tim's men had disarmed him at the door. "Shoot him! Kill him now!" he screamed at Tim's subordinates.
But no one moved. They stood like statues, watching Javier scramble like a clown. Derrick burst into laughter, turning to Tim Wills. "Tim, is this really the best you could find to do your dirty work?"
Tim Wills exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. He looked at Javier with pure contempt.
"You sold me out!" Javier roared, realization finally dawning on him. "I gave my life to your cause, and you sold me out!"
"You've got it backward, you dog," Tim spat, tossing his cigar aside and kicking Javier squarely in the chest. "You betrayed me first."
Immediately, subordinates swarmed Javier, pinning him to the dirty floor. Laura Wills was shoved roughly aside. Derrick watched the scene with a bored expression, tapping his nose. "Where is that damn Quentin? I'm not here to watch a domestic dispute."
As if on cue, a Bentley rolled into the warehouse, its headlights cutting through the gloom. The kicking stopped as everyone turned toward the car. Javier went pale; he knew exactly who was inside.
Quentin stepped out first, dressed in sharp, imposing black. He turned and offered a hand to Amanda. As she stepped down, her vibrant red dress slashed through the grey, stuffy atmosphere of the warehouse. Standing together—one in black, one in red—they looked like a pair of beautiful, terrifying gods of vengeance.