The midnight bell had rung.

Like a command from hell, Lydia trembled in his arms, her body instantly tensing like a board.


One second.

Two seconds.

One minute.


Ten minutes.

...


Nothing happened.

No intruders broke down the door. No rough dragging. Not even unusual footsteps in the hallway.

The world remained terrifyingly quiet—only the clock's ticking and their intertwined breathing.

Time passed second by second, each feeling like a century. Lydia's nerves remained taut; like a startled bird, she listened for any sound, waiting for the sword that could fall any moment.

Caleb remained silent, only holding her tighter. His warmth, heartbeat, and steady strength were the only reality in this suffocating silence.

After an eternity, dawn's first hint appeared on the horizon.

Dawn had arrived. She was still alive.

Immense confusion and exhaustion swept over her. Her night-long tension finally broke at the first ray of sunlight. In his arms, she fell into deep sleep.

This was her first nightmare-free sleep in six months.

When Lydia woke, she was no longer in the dilapidated motel.

She lay on a clean, comfortable bed under a soft cotton quilt, breathing the familiar soap scent of Caleb's apartment.

Her phone sat charging on the bedside table.

She sat up and turned on her phone.

The moment it powered on, news notifications, missed calls, and messages flooded in like a tidal wave.

Each headline proclaimed something she could hardly believe.

"Sterling Group Suspected of Serious Financial Fraud, Raided by Federal Agencies This Morning!"

"Stock Price Plummets Overnight, Century-Old Dynasty May Collapse!"

"Exclusive: Damian Sterling Arrested While Attempting to Flee Country at JFK!"

"Socialite Ella Vance Detained for Questioning as Key Person of Interest..."

Lydia stared blankly at her screen, reading the headlines repeatedly. She touched her cheek, then pinched her arm hard.

It hurt.

This wasn't a dream.

The whistleblower letter she'd sent played a funeral dirge for her enemies at what should have been her own "funeral."

She had won.

She had survived.

An immense, exhausted calm enveloped her. She set down her phone, lay back, and buried her face in the pillow that carried his scent, surrendering to peaceful darkness.