From the journal of Pheobe Thorne — if I ever get to keep one.
I should've known he'd go nuclear.
Kidnapping me from the Golden Moon Lounge was only the start. But what Killian Cross did next?
That was war.
Not between nations.
Between us.
And I wasn't sure who'd survive it.
I didn't even know we'd left Aurelia City until the roads got too quiet.
No streetlights. No cell towers. No reception.
Just black trees peeling past the windows like shadowy ghosts, and Killian at the wheel — his jaw sharp enough to cut steel, his eyes colder than presidential press releases.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"I swear, if this is your version of a romantic getaway—"
"Shut up, Pheobe."
The way he said it?
Calm. Controlled. Final.
Like he wasn't just done with my games.
Like he was seconds away from inventing a few of his own.
Two hours later, the SUV wound up a gravel road, headlights spearing into the thick fog.
That's when I saw it.
Not a cabin.
Not a bunker.
But a goddamn fortress.
A sleek, angular villa carved into the side of the mountain like a modern-day lair for a billionaire villain. Steel walls. No visible windows. Reinforced doors. No neighbors. No signal.
No escape.
"Where the hell are we?" I whispered.
"Safe House Nine," he said.
"That sounds like a prison."
"Good. Because you're grounded."
He didn't even wait for the engine to cool.
He yanked the door open and marched around to my side.
I stayed put.
Because if there was one thing I was better at than causing chaos?
It was surviving it.
"You can't just drag me here like some hostage," I hissed.
"Then stop behaving like one."
He reached for me.
I slapped his hand away.
His eyes flicked to mine. A silent warning.
But I didn't care.
"Does my father know?"
He didn't answer.
"Killian. Does. He. Know?"
"No."
My heart froze.
"Then this is off-books?"
He nodded once.
And it hit me — hard.
If my father didn't authorize this… then I wasn't just outside the mansion.
I was outside the system.
No cameras. No files. No backup.
Just me.
And him.
And a silence thick enough to choke.
He led me inside, hand pressed to a biometric scanner.
The door slid open with a hiss like we were boarding a spaceship.
Inside, everything gleamed — black glass, concrete floors, silent motion sensors.
Every step echoed.
Every breath felt stolen.
And every second that passed?
My skin prickled harder.
Because this wasn't a sanctuary.
It was a trap.
He pointed to a hallway.
"Bedroom's at the end. You'll stay there."
"You're not serious."
His stare made my blood fizz.
"No outside contact. No phone. No laptop. No messages. Until I figure out who leaked your location tonight, you're staying off-grid."
"You don't get to decide that."
"I already did."
I crossed my arms. "What if I refuse?"
He stepped closer.
One step. Two.
So close, I could see the gold flecks in his eyes under the overhead lights.
"If you refuse," he said softly, "I'll zip-tie you to the bed until you understand how real this is."
My breath caught.
Not because I was afraid.
But because I didn't know which part of that sentence turned me on more — the threat, or the fact that he meant every word.
When he finally left me alone, I stood in the middle of the room and screamed.
No one heard me.
Because no one could.
This wasn't lockdown.
This was exile.
And Killian Cross?
He was judge, jury, and executioner.
I didn't sleep that night.
Not really.
I paced the room.
Tried the windows. Shatterproof.
Tried the door. Locked from the outside.
Tried the Wi-Fi. Password protected and offline.
There was a camera in the top corner — subtle, disguised as a smoke detector. But I saw the lens flicker.
He was watching me.
Probably laughing.
Or maybe not laughing.
Maybe just staring.
Like he always did when I got too close.
Like he wanted to devour me but hated himself for wanting it.
I stripped naked just to piss him off.
Then wrapped myself in a towel and stood in front of the camera.
"Enjoy the show, Grim," I whispered.
And then dropped the towel.
A full minute passed.
Nothing.
No door.
No footsteps.
No shouting.
Just… silence.
By morning, I cracked.
I opened the door and screamed into the hallway.
"Killian! Come out and hit me or hug me, but I swear to God if you make me sit in this concrete coffin for another minute, I'll burn it to the ground!"
No answer.
Just the hum of electricity and the faint whir of security locks.
I wandered deeper into the house.
Found a kitchen the size of a ballroom. A hallway lined with mirrored glass. A gym with weapons mounted like art.
And then, finally—
Him.
In the garage.
Shirtless.
Boxing with a sandbag like it owed him blood.
His back was slick with sweat. His muscles moved like water over stone, graceful and brutal.
I hated how my lungs forgot how to work.
"Staring is rude," he said, without turning.
"You were watching me last night," I replied.
He spun.
Walked toward me.
Each step slow. Heavy.
I backed up — just a little.
He stopped inches away.
"You want to play dangerous, Pheobe?"
His voice was gravel soaked in gasoline.
"You want to bait me with games and nudity and see how far you can push before I snap?"
I swallowed.
"I don't want anything," I lied.
He laughed — dark and low.
"You want control," he said. "And I'm not going to give it to you."
"Then what will you give me?"
"Nothing."
He turned away.
I followed.
"Then why did you bring me here?"
"To keep you alive."
"Bullshit."
He stopped again.
"You don't risk your career for a spoiled brat," I said. "You don't defy the President for safety. You did this for you. So own it."
His hands curled into fists.
"You're wrong," he said.
But his voice was cracking.
Like glass under pressure.
"You don't hate me," I whispered. "You're afraid of what I make you feel."
He turned.
I thought he was going to grab me.
Slam me into the nearest wall and silence me with his mouth.
But instead… he said three words I never saw coming.
"Get dressed. Now."
"Why?"
"Because we're not alone anymore."
Panic bloomed in my chest.
"Who's here?"
He didn't answer.
Just pulled a gun from the wall.
Handed me a black duffel.
"Put everything in. We're leaving."
I didn't ask questions.
Not this time.
Because the last time I ignored his warnings, I ended up nearly surrounded by traitors in a red velvet lounge.
I packed fast.
Killian stayed armed.
He checked every corner, every window, every hall.
And when we stepped out into the morning fog, I saw it.
A drone.
Watching the villa from above.
Then, in the driveway—
A flash drive in a manila envelope.
No note.
Just my name.
And the words written in red marker:
"DOES HE KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO THE LAST BODYGUARD?"