2

Chapter 2

The next morning, Ethan's calls practically blow up my phone. Messages flood in. I don't respond. I just power down, shutting out the world along with my phone.

That afternoon, a massive crash shakes the entire apartment—someone's kicked in the iron door.

I whip my head up to see several men in black tactical gear bursting in. The leader moves with steady, icy precision. That sharp-angled profile—I know it too well.

Lancaster Group's Chief Security Officer—Damien Holt.

His gaze sweeps over me, cold and hard as a weapon.

"Lana. The boss wants to see you."

I clutch my coffee cup, tone calm: "I'm busy right now."

Before I finish, Damien's already stepped forward, gripping my arm and hauling me up from the chair.

"This isn't a request," he says. "It's an order."

They practically drag me out, shoving me into a black armored SUV. The door slams shut behind me, cutting off my last escape route.

The vehicle speeds through the city until it finally slows as we enter the Lancaster Group's private estate.

When I'm escorted into the main building, my steps freeze.

The tactical lab I designed, the weapons testing range, the simulated battlefields—everything I created with Ethan over the past decade, all evidence of our ten years of collaboration and understanding—gone. Erased.

In their place: swaths of white silk, expensive candelabras, ornate classical furniture, and cold fragrance.

I recognize it immediately—Miranda Volkov's taste.

Footsteps approach.

Ethan appears at the end of the hall, impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, a young woman in white beside him. Pale skin, noble bearing, like a statue carved from ice.

The heir to the Volkov Defense Group.

His fiancée.

"Lana, come here." Ethan's voice is a soft command.

I approach. He raises a hand, introducing me to his future wife: "This is the corporation's chief weapons engineer, Lana Cruz."

Miranda appraises me, amusement flickering in her eyes. "I've heard so much about you. Ethan mentions you often—says without you, his arsenal system would fall apart."

She pauses, her gentle smile carrying a barb: "Dealing with all those dangerous, dirty technologies must be exhausting."

I meet her gaze, voice steady. "Maintaining the group's weapons systems at zero failure rate is my responsibility."

Ethan gives a small nod, clearly satisfied.

At the banquet, I sit quietly in a corner. Ethan takes Miranda's hand, accepting the gazes and well-wishes of onlookers. They're like royalty bathed in spotlight—a king and his future queen.

And me? I'm just a shadow in their light.

When the event ends, I'm assigned to the same car with them, heading to the next location.

Halfway there, the vehicle jolts violently.

A squad of heavily armed mercenaries bursts from the darkness ahead—black market guns-for-hire with rocket launchers, assault rifles, and tactical gear. Flames instantly light up the entire street.

"Ambush!"

I barely have time to react before I see an explosion bloom like a flower in the air.

Bullets rain down on the vehicle.

"Miranda, get back!" Ethan pulls her into his arms, his body completely shielding her.

Then his eyes land on me—

For a split second, I think he's going to rush toward me.

But he doesn't.

In the next instant, he reaches out—

And shoves me directly into the line of fire.

In the thundering blast, I'm thrown to the ground, searing pain tearing through my shoulder and back. Blood runs down my fingers.

Through blurred vision, I watch Ethan hold Miranda, shielding her as they escape to the safe zone without a single backward glance.

Not one word.

Not one look.

The world begins to collapse. I lie in a pool of blood, vision rapidly going dark.

...

When I wake again, the air reeks of antiseptic. This is the corporate medical bay.

Damien stands at the door.

"You almost died," he says. "I'm the one who pulled you back."

My throat is parched. "Where's Ethan?"

"Next door. He's comforting Miranda. She was shaken up."

I smile faintly, not even sure what that smile looks like. Bitter? Mocking? Utterly absurd?

I push off the blanket and get out of bed.

As I reach the next room, the door is ajar.

I see Ethan kneeling in the lamplight, his usually severe profile softened beyond recognition. He holds a dazzling white diamond ring, his voice so gentle it makes the air tremble.

"Miranda Volkov, I love you. Marry me."

In that moment, all the air is sucked from my lungs.

Miranda sobs and throws herself into his arms. "Yes!"

The world shatters silently.