Chapter 1 - The Shadows on the ThresholdThe glow of Priya’s iPhone illuminated the quiet living room in a harsh, cold blue. On the screen, the caller ID flashed with unrelenting speed: COLTON BECKETT.
Outside the window, a heavy autumn rain rattled against the glass, masking the low, rhythmic hum of an idling V8 engine parked down the street. Inside, the only sound was the soft, fragile snuffle of seventeen-day-old Ren sleeping soundly in her portable bassinet beside the sofa.
Priya’s hand trembled as she held the phone. Her hazel eyes darted from the screen to me, filled with a sudden, suffocating panic.
"Lauren..." Priya whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm outside. "I never gave him my personal cell number. I haven't spoken to Colton since your baby shower six weeks ago."
I sat on the edge of the velvet armchair, wrapped in an oversized knit cardigan, my postpartum body aching with a dull, persistent throb. Inside my chest, my heart beat against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Colton didn't call people directly when he wanted answers. He used his security apparatus, his intelligence network, and his endless reach to track down signals, vehicle registrations, and cellular towers. If he was calling Priya's private line, it wasn't a guess.
He already knew I was in her apartment.
BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ.
The phone went quiet for three terrifying seconds. Then, a new text message flashed onto Priya’s screen:
I am standing in the driveway, Priya. Open the door, or Marcus will use the master key.
Priya’s breath hitched. "Lauren... Marcus is his chief of security. He carries a tactical team."
"He won't hurt us, Priya," I spoke softly, though my own voice sounded thin, fractured by thirty-six hours of sleeplessness and devastating grief. "Colton won't break down a door while his daughter is inside. He knows better."
I stood up slowly, clutching my stomach where the surgical soreness lingered. I walked past the bassinet, gently resting my hand over Ren’s tiny chest for a brief second to ground myself. Then, I walked into the foyer, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the front door open.
Standing beneath the halogen porch light in the pouring rain was Colton Beckett.
At thirty-four, the ruler of Atlanta's most formidable commercial and underground shipping syndicate stood six-foot-three, his broad frame encased in a dark, wet cashmere overcoat. His sharp jawline was covered in dark stubble, his dark hair soaked from the rain, his grey eyes wide, bloodshot, and burning with a terrifying, unhinged agony.
Behind him, parked along the quiet residential curb, sat two black armored SUVs. Marcus Vance, his six-foot-four chief of security, stood by the driver's door, holding an umbrella, his expression grim and completely unreadable.
Colton didn't push his way across the threshold. He stopped two feet away, his broad shoulders trembling violently, his chest heaving as if he had run twenty miles through the dark.
"Lauren..." Colton rasped out, his voice cracking into a raw, broken thread that sounded entirely unsuited for the most feared man in Georgia. "Dear God... Lauren... please... tell me Ren is okay."
"Ren is sleeping, Colton," I answered, my hazel eyes locking onto his with an absolute, diamond-hard clarity. "And she will stay sleeping."
Colton took one short, frantic step forward, his hands reaching out unconsciously toward me before freezing mid-air.
"Why did you leave?" he wept, tears mixing openly with the rain tracking down his severe features. "You took her clothes... you took her papers... you left the house without saying a word... I came home from the docks and the nursery was empty! I thought someone had taken you!"
"I found the envelope in your desk, Colton," I said, every word dropping between us like a block of frozen lead.
Colton froze as if struck by lightning. His gray eyes dilated in pure, catatonic horror.
"The envelope..." he whispered.
"Atlanta to Lisbon. Eleven days from now. One-way," I continued, my voice smooth as silk, completely devoid of tears. "Colton Beckett and Jade Foresight. Seat 2A and 2B."
Colton dropped flat onto his knees right on the wet wooden boards of Priya’s porch. The feared billionaire Don of Atlanta buried his face in his hands, a guttural, shattered sob tearing from his chest right there under the falling rain.
"It's not what you think, Lauren!" Colton sobbed, looking up at me with an absolute, groveling desperation. "I swear on my father's grave! I swear on Ren's life! I am not leaving you for Jade!"
"Then why do you have a one-way business class ticket out of the country with the woman who calls your phone at one in the morning?" I asked softly.
Colton opened his mouth, his throat working frantically, but before he could utter a single word, Marcus Vance stepped onto the porch behind him, holding a satellite tablet.
"Boss," Marcus interrupted grimly, his baritone sharp and urgent. "The European ports just executed an emergency lockdown. Donald Foresight has moved the assets."
Colton didn't look back at Marcus. He kept his eyes locked on my pale face, his chest rising and falling in violent gasps.
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"Send me away, Lauren," Colton pleaded, his hands reaching out to touch the hem of my cardigan. "Lock the door. Hate me for the next ten days. But do not divorce me... do not sign anything... until I come back from Lisbon."
I looked down at the man I had loved more than my own life, pulled my cardigan away from his grip, and slowly closed the door in his face.
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