The silence in the car was thick enough to choke on.
Stephanie sat rigidly in the back seat, arms folded tightly over her chest, her jaw clenched as the city lights flashed across her pale face. Nathan sat beside her, a fortress of brooding tension, though his eyes flicked toward her every few seconds.
She hadn't said a word since they left the hospital.
Not when his men escorted her gently out. Not when he insisted she come home with him. Not when Leo clenched his jaw and demanded, "You take care of her, Voss—or I swear, I'll make sure you regret it."
Nathan had met Leo's glare evenly. "I'd die before I let her get hurt again."
Leo didn't look impressed. "You'd better."
Anita, worry etched across her face, had pulled Stephanie aside before she got in the car. "You okay? You're shaking."
"I'm fine," Steph had muttered. "Just want to get away from all this."
Anita touched her arm gently. "He looks like a storm, but… he didn't even blink before rushing in there. He looked like the world could burn if something happened to you."
Stephanie hadn't replied. Just slid into the car, holding her hurt like armor.
Now, inside Nathan's estate, the silence cracked as she stepped into the foyer and turned on him.
"You should've told me," she said, her voice like broken glass. "The gallery. You knew who I was that night. You recognized me."
Nathan closed the door behind them, his expression unreadable. "I did."
"And you said nothing." She threw her bag onto the nearby chair. "You acted like I was a stranger—cold, smug, watching me like I was a game."
"I was watching you," he said evenly. "Because I needed to know how much you knew. If you remembered me. If your father ever told you what happened."
She scoffed, pacing away from him. "You think that makes it better? You think being cold and manipulative and… you is justified because you were scared I might know something?"
"I was trying to protect myself!" His voice rose with sudden fire. "Everything I care about is a target. And when you walked in that night, everything in me—everything—screamed that you were more than you said. And I was right. You're not just anyone, Stephanie."
Her name in his voice was both a weapon and a plea.
She faced him again, fury softening into something raw. "You let me fall into this… this mess, with people trying to kill me, and my mother almost dying tonight—and you kept things from me. I don't even know who I am to you."
Nathan stepped forward, close enough to feel her breath. "You're everything to me."
She froze.
"I didn't know how to protect you without pushing you away. But that ends now." His voice dropped, softer but laced with steel. "My men saved your mother tonight. I sent them the second Samson told me what happened. They're keeping her safe now, at a private facility no one can trace."
Stephanie blinked, startled. "You… you saved her?"
"I did what I should've done sooner. Protected what matters." He exhaled, lowering his forehead to hers. "They were sent by Damien. And Victor."
Her lips parted. "Why?"
"They think you know something. Something you don't even realize."
"I don't," she whispered. "I swear. I don't know what they think I have."
"I believe you," he murmured. "But they don't. Which means they'll keep coming."
A heavy beat of silence. Her eyes were wide, searching his face.
"I won't let them touch you again," he said. "Or your family. I swear it."
Stephanie's breath hitched, her walls crumbling in a quiet tremble. "I was so scared…"
"I know," Nathan whispered.
He leaned in and kissed her—softly at first, like an apology. Then deeper, fiercer, like a man anchoring himself to the only thing that kept him from falling. She kissed him back, her hands fisting in his jacket, all the pain and confusion and unspoken affection pouring out between them.
When he finally pulled away, he touched her cheek gently. "You need rest."
"I'm fine—"
"You're shaking," he said quietly. "Come on."
He led her upstairs and helped her into bed. She didn't fight him this time. Just curled under the sheets, eyes heavy but still watching him.
"You'll be here?" she asked, her voice small.
"Always."
She closed her eyes.
Nathan waited until her breathing evened out, then left the room silently.
Downstairs, he entered his study, sat behind the desk, and unlocked the files Luisa had given him. Dozens of documents flicked across the screen—emails, transfers, encrypted recordings.
But it wasn't just business.
It was blood.
And betrayal.
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Let's see what you bastards have been hiding."
⸻
Elsewhere that night…
Elizabeth Quinn stared at the ceiling of the unfamiliar hospital room. The smell of antiseptic lingered, but it wasn't what haunted her.
It was the sound of fists. The blur of pain. The voice of one of the men—"We've got to go. Now!"
Then the chaos stopped.
She'd been pulled into a waiting car. Two strange men. Sharp suits. Hard eyes. Gentle hands.
"We were sent by Nathan Voss," one had said. "You're not safe here."
That name had struck like lightning in her chest.
"Voss?" she'd rasped. "As in… Victor?"
"No," the other man had said. "His nephew."
But the name still sent terror slicing through her.
Victor Voss.
He was the reason they died. The reason she ran. The reason she hid all these years.
And if he had found her again—
"Ma'am," one of the men said gently, interrupting her memory, "we've moved you. New hospital. Secure. No trace."
She looked up at him, chest rising slowly. "I need to speak with Nathan Voss."
"He'll come," the man said.
Elizabeth turned her face toward the window. Night cloaked the sky. But the ghosts had returned. And she could no longer bury what she knew.
Secrets were rising.
And the storm was far from over.