Chapter 4 - Face to Face in the Safehouse
The safehouse wasn't a luxurious penthouse or a sprawling country estate; it was an ultra-secure, reinforced brownstone in a quiet corner of Brooklyn, completely shielded from outside electronic tracking. When the Navigator pulled into the underground garage, Enzo escorted me through a heavy steel security door into a dimly lit study lined with computer monitors and weapons lockers.
And standing by the mahogany desk, holding a glass of amber bourbon with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, was Ethan.
He looked tired. The usual immaculate polish of his appearance was slightly frayed, his dark hair a bit tousled, and his sharp eyes carried the weight of a man waging a silent war on multiple fronts. When the heavy door clicked shut and he turned around to see me standing there flanked by Enzo, his expression froze. The glass in his hand nearly slipped from his fingers.
"Emma?" Ethan’s voice was a harsh, disbelieving whisper. "Enzo told me you were intercepted, but I thought... What the hell are you doing in Brooklyn? You were supposed to be on a flight to London this morning."
"My travel plans changed," I said coldly, keeping my chin up as I walked further into the room, refusing to cower before the man who had emotionally starved me for years. "Not that it's any of your business anymore, Ethan. We’re divorced. Remember? The settlement cleared yesterday."
Ethan slammed his glass down onto the desk, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim. He crossed the room in three long, predatory strides, stopping inches away from me. The sheer magnetic intensity of his presence was overwhelming. "Marcus’s men were trailing you today, Emma! Enzo pulled you out of a kidnapping attempt! This isn't a game about legal technicalities—you are walking target practice right now because my enemies think you're still my weak spot!"
"Your weak spot?" I laughed, a bitter, sharp sound that echoed off the stone walls. "For three years, I wasn't even a priority on your calendar! You ignored me, neglected me, and pushed me away until I had no choice left but to walk out that door! Don't you dare stand there and pretend you care about my safety now!"
Ethan’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. He reached out, his hand gripping my upper arm—not with violence, but with a desperate, anchoring tightness. "I pushed you away because this life is a war zone, Emma. Keeping you at a distance was the only way I knew how to keep you alive."
"Well, your brilliant strategy failed," I snapped, pulling my arm free from his grip. I reached into my purse, pulled out the small black-and-white ultrasound printout, and threw it down onto the desk right in front of him. "Because keeping me at a distance didn't stop that last night from happening. And it certainly didn't stop this."
Ethan stared down at the ultrasound printout. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him looking like a statue carved from white marble. His dark eyes scanned the tiny grey image, then slowly rose to meet mine, wide with a profound, terrifying shock.
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"You're..." Ethan choked out, his voice failing him for the first time in his life.
"Pregnant," I finished for him quietly. "Your baby. The baby you offered to pay to have medically terminated twelve hours before we signed our divorce papers."
