The hospital corridor was quiet. Too quiet.
Aurelio leaned against the pale green wall, arms folded, jaw locked. Inside the room, Raven slept—exhausted from everything that had come crashing down in the past twenty-four hours. The forced proximity hadn't been a choice. The city's blackout had sealed them into a secure wing after her collapse. The doctors hadn't wanted to risk moving her. So, he stayed.
He hadn't planned to sit beside her for hours, watching her breathe, memorizing the rhythm like he might lose it again.
But Luna…
She was curled on the cot beside the window, her tiny arm wrapped around a stuffed wolf one of his men had hastily bought from the gift shop. She hadn't said much. But her silence screamed volumes.
He had a daughter.
And Raven had kept her hidden.
That betrayal burned in his chest like acid. He had a right to be furious. To demand answers. To rage.
But every time Luna looked at him—those wide gray eyes, so much like Raven's and yet not—he couldn't find the strength to be anything but undone.
A quiet knock broke his thoughts. Isabella stood at the doorway, her brows furrowed, phone in hand.
"She's safe for now," she whispered. "But I think you need to see this."
He took the phone. A video played. Grainy security footage—too familiar.
Raven. Her office. Rummaged. A shadowy figure moving in the background. Pausing just before slipping something under her desk drawer.
"What the hell is that?"
"Someone planted a listening device. She was being watched. Before she even came back to the country."
His blood chilled. "How long has this been going on?"
"We're tracking the source," Isabella said. "But there's something else... the man in the footage—he's one of ours. Or at least, he was."
Aurelio's fists clenched.
This wasn't just about secrets anymore. Someone had infiltrated his world. Someone close.
"Keep digging," he muttered, handing the phone back.
Isabella hesitated. "She didn't keep Luna from you to hurt you, Aurelio. She was protecting her. From all of this."
He said nothing. Because deep down, he already knew. But knowing didn't erase the ache. Or the fury.
Inside the room, Raven stirred. He turned as her eyes fluttered open—confused, disoriented, then suddenly focused.
"You stayed," she rasped.
He crossed the room without a word and sat beside her.
"There are things you don't know," she whispered.
"And I'm going to know them all."
Her hand moved instinctively over her abdomen. A protective gesture, even now. He looked at it, then back at her face.
"I didn't want to lose you," she whispered.
"You already did," he said softly. "But you have one chance, Raven. Tell me everything. Or this time, I'll walk—and take everything with me."