The week following the hospital encounter was a slow-motion car crash. I had moved Leo and Maria to a "safe house"—a luxury rental I'd leased under a corporate pseudonym—but the silence from Asher was more terrifying than a direct attack.
A week of nothing. No black SUVs. No midnight phone calls.
I almost let myself believe I had imagined the look in his eyes in that parking garage. I went back to work, my spine stiff and my eyes scanning every corridor of the hospital. I operated on three more patients, my hands steady as stone, while my mind was a chaotic mess of "What if?"
Then, on the seventh day, the "Gift" arrived at my office.
It wasn't a bomb. It wasn't a threat. It was a small, velvet-lined box containing a vintage fountain pen—the exact model I had admired in a boutique window on our honeymoon, a lifetime ago.
There was no note. Only a receipt from the boutique, dated that morning. He was telling me he was close enough to see what I looked at. He was telling me he hadn't forgotten a single detail of the woman I used to be.
"Doctor? Your 4:00 PM is here," my receptionist paged. "He doesn't have an appointment, but he says he's the primary donor for the new pediatric wing."
My stomach dropped. I didn't need a name.
"Send him in," I said, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.
The door opened, and Asher Reed walked in. He wasn't the disheveled, grieving man from the ICU. He was the Titan. He wore a charcoal three-piece suit that fit his broad shoulders like armor. He looked healthy, lethal, and entirely too comfortable as he sat in the chair across from my desk.
"You're a hard woman to find, Dr. Valentine," he said. His voice was a smooth, low rumble that brushed against my skin like a physical touch. "Or should I say, you've become very good at building walls."
"I'm a busy woman, Mr. Reed. And as you can see, I have a schedule to keep." I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes on the medical chart in front of me, though the words were a blur. "How is your brother?"
"Elias is awake. He's asking for the 'Angel' who saved his life." Asher leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The scent of sandalwood and cold rain filled the small office. "I told him the Angel was a Ghost I'd been chasing for five years."
"I am a surgeon, Asher. Nothing more."
"Is that so?" He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a photograph. He didn't hand it to me; he laid it face down on my mahogany desk. "Because I spent the last week looking into 'Dr. C. Valentine.' It's a fascinating story. A brilliant woman who appeared out of nowhere with a medical degree from a European university that usually takes eight years to finish. You did it in four."
"I've always been a fast learner."
"And the boy?" His voice dropped an octave, turning thick with a dangerous, raw emotion. "Did he learn how to walk as fast as his mother learns how to lie?"
I finally looked up. My vision tunneled until there was nothing but his charcoal eyes. "He is my son. He has nothing to do with you."
"He has my face, Chloe." Asher stood up, his presence suddenly overwhelming the room. He walked around the desk, stopping just inches from my chair. "He has the Reed jaw. He has the eyes of every man in my family who ever fought for what was theirs. Did you really think you could hide a King in a sandbox?"
"He is not a King! He is a child!" I snapped, standing up to face him. My heart was thumping so hard I was sure he could see it vibrating against my ribs. "He is happy. He is kind. He doesn't know what a 'Reed' is, and I will die before I let you teach him."
Asher's hand shot out, not to strike, but to grip the back of my chair, pinning me between his arms. He didn't touch me, but the heat radiating from him was a brand.
"You already died once, Chloe," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "I spent five years in a hell of my own making because of that cliff. I won't lose him. And I won't lose you again."
"You never had me," I hissed, though my breath was hitching. "You had a 'breeding vessel.' Remember?"
He winced, a flash of genuine, agonizing pain crossing his features before the mask of the Mafia don slid back into place. "I remember everything. That's your curse, Chloe. I remember the way you taste. I remember the way you look when you're afraid. And I remember that I owe you a debt that can't be paid in money."
He straightened up, his shadow looming over me.
"I'm coming for dinner tonight. At the rental on 5th Street. The one with the blue door."
My blood turned to ice. The safe house. He knew.
"If you're not there," Asher said, walking toward the door with a terrifyingly calm stride, "I'll have my men bring the boy to me. And we both know how much Leo hates strangers."
The door clicked shut behind him.
I sank back into my chair, my legs giving out. He wasn't just hunting me anymore. He had invited himself into the sanctuary I had spent five years building, and he had done it with a smile.
*********