No luck. It was only one percent, what was I even waiting for. Damn it.

"I know what you did," I said. "Three years ago."

His face twitched. "What are you talking about?"

"You killed an innocent woman," I said evenly. "And your stepmother buried it."

His confidence cracked, fear and rage mixing together. "Where did you hear that?"

"Did you know she kept the footage?" I pressed. "Dash cam. Clear as day."

He blinked. "She hid it?"

"Leverage," I said. "She never destroys something useful. You step out of line, she owns you."

He shook his head, breaths coming quick and shallow. "You're lying."

"Am I?" I said, keeping my voice low, calm, like we were the only two people in the quiet coffee shop. "Because you look terrified, Tom. Because… you know her better than I do."

He dropped his chin, hair falling forward, hiding his face from me.

Then it came: a low, dry chuckle, an ugly one… like he'd been holding it in too long. He lifted his head slowly, eyes locking onto mine. The fear was still there, buried deep, but now it was coated in something vicious, something that made the air between us feel poisoned.

His lips curled into a slow, filthy smile.

"Oh, Evan," he murmured, voice barely above the music, intimate, like he was telling me a bedtime story. "I'm gonna love fucking Kim. In that same living room. We'll only hear the fire crackling, and her wet pussy taking me in." He leaned in a fraction, close enough that I caught the bitter trace of his coffee breath. "Real slow. Deep. With your baby kicking inside her belly while I'm buried all the way in. She'll feel every twitch of it, and for just a second she'll think of you—right before she remembers she's mine."

He laughed again, quieter, nastier, and dropped one hand below the table without a shred of shame. I heard the faint rustle of fabric, saw the slow roll of his wrist as he grabbed himself, stroking once, twice, mocking me.

"That kid's gonna call me Daddy," he went on, eyes half-lidded, voice dripping. "Won't even know you ever existed. You'll be air. Nothing. And Kim—I'll take her every morning before work, every night when I get home. Whenever the mood hits. She'll hate it at first, yeah, whisper your name in her head while she cries—but she won't have a choice. She'll spread for me like she's supposed to. And eventually?" He shrugged, still grinning, still moving his hand. "She'll crave it. She'll be my wife. Pregnant, barefoot, waiting for me to come home and fill her up again. I'll even share her. She probably won't want it, but, hey, if I want it, she has to do it. I'll jerk off while they rape my wife… God, saying it makes me hard."

The rage hit me like a freight train.

My fist connected with his jaw before I even registered moving—hard, solid, the crack echoing in the quiet shop. His head snapped sideways, chair scraping back. I was on him in a heartbeat, hands clamping around his throat, slamming him down against the small table. Cups shattered, hot coffee splashing across the floor, the wooden surface groaning under our weight.

"You son of a bitch!" I roared, squeezing until his eyes bulged. "I'll fucking kill you! I'll kill you, you sick cunt—hear me? I'll fucking kill you! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

He wheezed out a wet, choking laugh, fingers clawing uselessly at my wrists.

Footsteps pounded from the back—someone bursting into the chaos. Strong arms hooked under mine from behind, hauling me backward with a fierce yank. "Evan! Stop—let go, now!"

I bucked hard, elbow driving back into ribs. A sharp grunt escaped, and the grip loosened. "Let me fucking go!"

They stumbled, hit the tiled floor hard with a pained gasp. I didn't look—I surged forward again, eyes locked on Tom, ready to finish him.

But he was gone. The barista and another customer had already yanked him up, dragging him toward the front door. His bloody grin flashed one last time before the bell jingled and he vanished into the night.

Only then did I twist around to see who'd tried to stop me.

Sophia. The security girl, tight ponytail half-undone now, sprawled on the floor with one hand pressed to her side. Her dark eyes locked on mine—anger flaring hot, mixed with something like shock, or maybe hurt.

But I didn't fucking care.

The shop went dead silent except for my ragged breathing and the low music still playing overhead. Everyone backed away, giving me a wide circle. My chest heaved. Blood thrummed in my ears.

I turned to the nearest empty table and drove my fist into it—once, twice, three times, four. Wood cracked. Pain exploded up my arm, but the adrenaline burned it away. Blood smeared across my knuckles, dripping onto the floor. I stood there panting, fists trembling, staring at the door he'd disappeared through.

"It's on, you fucking cunt," I whispered to the empty air. "Watch me take your little 'mommy' from you."

❤︎❤︎❤︎

I couldn't sit still after what he said. I paced the penthouse balcony with my hands locked behind my back, boots scraping softly against the stone tiles. Tom. That spineless piece of shit. He was already on thin ice, but after what he pulled in the mall, after the things he dared to imply, he was finished. Completely finished. There were only two names bouncing around my head now, over and over, like a bad echo. Tom. Carrie.

I tried tailing him after we left the mall, but he vanished into the crowd the second things went south. He ran. Of course he did. Tucked his tail and disappeared the moment pressure showed up. Typical.

I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked the time. Eleven. I still had a window before I needed to show up at Esme's family thing with Cora. And the weather was not on my side anymore. The snow was gone. The wind had died down. The sky was clearing fast, way too fast. Every minute that passed made it easier for Carrie to move Kim out of the city.

"You wait," I muttered under my breath, still pacing. "Just wait."

"Master," Minne said softly as the glass door slid open behind me. "You'll catch a cold. Please come inside."

"I'm fine," I replied without stopping. "You go in."

"O-okay," she said quietly, retreating back inside.

Carrie Beldenwary. I needed to know where she lived. Where she actually stayed when she didn't want eyes on her. And Tom would be there too. He had to be. He didn't have the spine to live on his own.

For a moment, I considered calling Cora. She could probably find an address in minutes if she wanted to… probably? Eh, maybe not. But the thought made my stomach twist. I didn't want to turn this into some unspoken transaction. I didn't agree to help her because I wanted leverage. I did it because she asked. Dragging her into this now felt wrong.

"No," I muttered. "Not Cora."

I stopped pacing.

Wait.

Something Tom said earlier clawed its way back into my head. Not the insults, not the threats. The phrasing. The setting. I replayed his words slowly, carefully, stripping them down to the details that mattered.

"In that same living room. We'll only hear the fire crackling…"

My blood went cold.

Not the city. Not a penthouse. The summer house.

The one we stayed at months ago. The one outside the city. Remote. Isolated. Where the rain trapped us inside for days. Where Tom suddenly "had to leave" in the middle of the trip, disappearing without explanation.

Fireplace. Same living room. Same place.

That was it.

"Fuck," I whispered.

I spun around and rushed inside, sliding the balcony door shut behind me. Minne yelped softly as I passed her, nearly colliding with the tray in her hands.

"Master?" she asked. "I was bringing you tea."

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, already grabbing my jacket. "I know where they are."

She froze. "Where… where they live?"

"Yes," I said, fishing my keys from the counter. "I'm going there."

"Master, please don't go alone," she said, panic creeping into her voice. "What if something happens?"

I stopped, turned back, and walked to her. I kissed her forehead gently, then held her shoulders so she had to look at me.

"I'll bring Kim back," I said firmly. "I swear it. And when I do, we'll talk. About everything you told me before. About the future."

Her eyes softened. "Please be safe."

"I will," I said. "I promise."

I called the valet as I left the penthouse and headed for the elevator. He answered on the second ring.

"Get my car ready," I said. "I'm in a hurry."

"Yes, Mr. Marlowe. One minute."

The elevator ride felt too slow. Every second stretched. The doors finally opened and I jogged through the lobby, out into the open air just as my car rolled up front. I nodded once to the valet, slid inside, and slammed the door shut.

The engine purred. I floored it.

"I'm coming," I muttered. "Just hang on."

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