Vanessa pushed baby Emma’s stroller toward the pool, then cried like Clara was the one who did it.

I froze.

Slowly, quietly, I stepped away from the window and backed toward the hallway. The footsteps came closer—slow, deliberate, unhurried. As if the person knew exactly where I was.

I reached into the kitchen drawer and pulled out the largest knife I could find. My hands shook so badly I almost dropped it. Then I moved silently to the staircase, hiding just out of sight, where I could see the door without being seen.

A knock. Loud. Three times.

“Clara?”

It was a man’s voice. Deep. Rough. Not Marcus.

“Clara, I know you’re in there. I saw the car leave.”

I didn’t answer. I gripped the knife tighter.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he called out. “I’m a friend of Adrian’s. He sent me to stay with you until he gets back.”

I hesitated. Adrian had said he would send someone? No. He had told me to lock the doors. Don’t let anyone in.

“Who are you?” I called through the wood.

“Name’s Cole. Adrian called me from the road. Said there was a threat. Sent me to secure the house.”

It sounded reasonable. Too reasonable.

“Why didn’t he call me himself?”

There was a pause. Then:

“He said he was driving fast and didn’t want to get pulled over. Told me to get here before anyone else did. Look—check your phone. He probably texted you.”

I pulled out my phone. No texts from Adrian. Nothing.

I looked through the peephole. A man stood there—broad shoulders, dark hair, scar along his jawline. He looked capable. Dangerous. But not like Marcus.

And then I remembered the voice on the recording. This man didn’t sound like Marcus.

“Clara?” he said again. “Open up. We don’t have time.”

“If Adrian sent you,” I said, “tell me what he told me to do before he left.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“He told you to lock the doors. Stay inside. Don’t let anyone in. I know. That’s why I’m here—to make sure you’re safe while he’s gone.”

My heart skipped a beat. That was exactly what Adrian had said.

I hesitated. Then I pulled the door open—just a few inches.

The man stepped forward fast. He shoved the door open hard, knocking me back. I stumbled, dropping the knife. It clattered across the floor.

He kicked it aside and stood over me.

“Smart girl,” he said. “Asking questions. But not smart enough.”

I scrambled backward across the floor. “Who are you? What do you want?”

He reached down and grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly to my feet. Up close, his eyes were cold and hard.

“Where’s the footage, Clara? The recording. The texts. Everything that ties Marcus to Vanessa.”

My blood ran cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He backhanded me across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek. My head snapped to the side.

“Don’t lie to me. We know you have it. And we know Adrian is handing it all over to the police. Give it to me, and I won’t hurt the kids when they get back.”

I stiffened. “You touch them and I’ll kill you.”

He laughed—a harsh, ugly sound.

“Feisty. I can see why they like you. But you’re going to give me everything. Or I’m going to make you watch while I finish what Vanessa started.”

He dragged me toward the study. He knew exactly where it was. Which meant he had been here before. Which meant someone inside had told him the layout.

“Who are you?” I demanded, fighting his grip. “Who sent you?”

He shoved me into the chair behind Adrian’s desk.

“Someone who doesn’t like loose ends. Now—pull up the files. All of them. Delete them. And give me the copies.”

I stared at him. “If I do that… they’ll go to jail. Everything will be gone.”

He pulled a gun from his waistband and pressed it against my temple.

“Delete them. Or I pull the trigger. And then I wait for Adrian and the girls to come home. Your choice.”

My mind raced. If I deleted the files… Vanessa and Marcus could walk free. They could come back. They could try again. But if I didn’t… he would kill me. And then he would hurt the girls.

I reached for the mouse. My hands trembled.

“Good,” he said. “Now. Delete every copy. And then empty the trash.”

I clicked on the file. I hovered over delete.

And then I saw it. A folder hidden deep in the system. Named Protection.

I clicked it open. There were duplicates of everything. Every video. Every text. Every recording. Backed up automatically. Adrian had set it up. He had been prepared.

I looked up at the man. “I can’t delete them all right now. Some are encrypted.”

He pressed the gun harder. “Then unlock them.”

“I need a password,” I said quickly. “Adrian changed it yesterday. I don’t know it.”

He hesitated. “Try his birthday.”

I typed it in. Access denied.

“Try the kids’ names.”

I tried. Denied.

He swore. “Think of something. Or—”

The front door opened.

“Clara? I’m back.”

Adrian.

The man’s eyes widened. He grabbed me, wrapping an arm around my neck, and pressed the gun to my head.

“Quiet,” he hissed in my ear. “Say a word and you die first.”

Footsteps came closer. Down the hallway. Toward the study.

“Clara? Are you here?”

The man dragged me backward, behind the desk.

“Adrian!” I screamed.

A gunshot went off—into the ceiling.

“Stay back!” the man shouted. “Or she’s dead!”

Adrian stopped in the doorway. His face went pale when he saw the gun at my head.

“Let her go,” Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it. Triple it. Just let her walk out.”

The man laughed. “Nice try. But I’m not leaving without those files. Give me the backup drive codes, or she dies.”

Adrian stepped forward slowly. “You’re Marcus’s man, aren’t you? He sent you to clean up the mess.”

The man said nothing. His grip tightened on me.

“Vanessa is already in custody,” Adrian continued. “Marcus is next. You’re working for people who are going to prison for a very long time. Walk away now, and I’ll make sure the police know you were forced into this.”

The man’s finger tightened on the trigger.

“Last chance. Codes.”

I looked at Adrian. He looked at me. And in that split second, we both understood.

Adrian lunged forward.

The man fired.

I threw myself sideways. The bullet missed me by inches. Adrian tackled him. They crashed into the bookshelf. The gun skidded across the floor.

I scrambled for it. Grabbed it. Rolled over.

“STOP!” I screamed, aiming it at the stranger.

Adrian had him pinned. The man struggled, reaching for something at his ankle. A knife.

I didn’t hesitate. I fired again—into the floor, right beside his hand.

He froze.

“Move,” I said, my voice shaking but steady, “and the next one goes into your chest.”