CELESTE
The Hamptons estate of the Cross family was not a home; it was a limestone monument to old-money power. Surrounded by a ten-foot wrought-iron fence and patrolled by men in tactical gear who looked like they belonged in a war zone, it was the most beautiful prison I had ever seen.
I stood on the balcony of the west wing, watching the Atlantic waves crash against the private beach below. Gabriel was inside, finally distracted by a playroom the size of our entire Brooklyn brownstone. Miranda had filled it with every toy imaginable, an unsubtle attempt to buy a three-year-old's loyalty.
"You look like you're plotting a prison break," Miranda's voice drifted from the doorway.
I didn't turn around. "You kidnapped us, Miranda. My brother and my parents are at the penthouse with the police, and you sneaked us out the back like we were stolen luggage."
"I saved you from a media execution," Miranda stepped up beside me, her profile as sharp as a diamond. "The Lawsons would have had Gabriel in a foster care 'evaluation center' by midnight just to spite Allen. Here, he is a prince. Here, he is safe."
"Safe from who? His father?" I looked at her, my eyes burning. "Allen gave up everything for us today. I saw the news alerts on the ride here. He resigned. He blew up his entire legacy to stop the blackmail."
Miranda's hand tightened on the stone railing. For a second, her composure wavered. "He is impulsive. He has his father's temper and a martyr complex he inherited from no one. He thinks he can fight the world with a press release. He's wrong. The board is already meeting to strip him of his shares."
"Then let them," I said. "He's free now. We could be free."
"Free to go where, Celeste? Back to a life of hiding? You are a Lawson by blood and a Cross by association. There is no 'normal' for you anymore. There is only power, and who holds it."
A black SUV tore up the gravel driveway, its tires screaming. My heart leaped into my throat. I knew that driving style. I knew that car.
ALLEN
I didn't wait for the security team to open the gate; I punched in the override code I hadn't used in five years. I blew past the fountain and slammed the car into park, barely waiting for it to stop before I was out and charging up the front steps.
The heavy oak doors swung open. My father, Doncan, stood in the foyer, a glass of scotch in his hand and a look of grim satisfaction on his face.
"Where are they?" I roared, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
"They are safe, Allen. Which is more than I can say for your career," Doncan said, his voice like rolling thunder. "Stepping down? Publicly claiming a scandal? You've turned Apex into a laughingstock."
"I don't give a damn about the stock price, Dad. I want my son. And I want Celeste."
"She's upstairs," a new voice said.
I looked up. My mother was standing at the top of the grand staircase. She looked down at me with a mixture of pity and pride that made me want to break something.
"She's safe, Allen. But the house is surrounded. The Lawsons have filed a 'writ of habeas corpus.' They're claiming we've abducted them. If you take them out of those gates right now, the police will be forced to intervene. The only way to win this is to stay behind the line."
I didn't listen. I took the stairs three at a time. I found the west wing, pushing through the double doors.
Celeste was standing in the middle of the room. She looked small against the backdrop of the ocean, her hair windblown and her eyes wide with relief.
I didn't say a word. I crossed the room in four strides and pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her neck. She was shaking, her hands clutching the back of my shirt as if she were drowning.
"I thought I lost you," I whispered, the words raw and honest.
"You gave it all up," she sobbed into my chest. "The company... your life..."
"It wasn't a life, Celeste. It was a ledger," I pulled back, cupping her face in my hands. "I spent three years building walls. I'm done with them. If we have to fight the Lawsons and the board from this house, fine. But we do it together."
I looked past her to the playroom, where Gabriel was sitting on the floor, looking up at us with those big, curious blue eyes. He stood up, wobbling slightly, and ran toward us.
"Dada?" he chirped, the word tentative and new.
The world stopped. The "Ice King" didn't just melt; he shattered. I dropped to my knees, catching the boy in my arms, feeling his small heart beating against mine.
"Yeah, Gabe," I choked out, my eyes stinging. "It's Dada. I've got you."
But as I held my family, the sound of a helicopter began to thump in the distance. The spotlight of a news chopper swept across the room, ill
uminating us in a blinding, white glare.
The siege had begun.