When His Mistress Tried to Kill Me on a Cliff

The flashbulbs were still popping in my mind, a strobe light of chaos, when the world went dark.

I remembered the parking garage—the echo of my heels on concrete, the rush of adrenaline that felt like champagne in my blood. I had done it. I had burned their kingdom to the ground. But then came the heavy slam of a van door, the prick of a needle in my neck, and the familiar, hateful scent of Mr. West’s cigar smoke before the blackness swallowed me whole.

When I woke, the air was damp and smelled of mildew and iron. My head throbbed in time with my pulse, a dull, rhythmic ache behind my eyes. I tried to sit up, but my limbs felt heavy, like they were filled with wet sand.

I was on the floor. Cold concrete pressed against my cheek.

I knew this darkness. I knew the drip of that pipe in the corner.

The basement.

Panic, sharp and immediate, tried to claw its way up my throat. I forced it down. *No.* I wasn't the mouse anymore. I was the match that had just lit the fuse.

Above me, the heavy oak door creaked open. A slice of yellow light cut through the gloom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. Mrs. West stood at the top of the stairs, a silhouette of malice. Beside her, Mr. West leaned heavily on the railing, his face a mottled map of fury and fear.

"You ungrateful little bitch," Mr. West spat, his voice slurring slightly. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The stock... the investors..."

"We should have left you in the gutter where we found you," Mrs. West hissed. She wasn't wearing her pearls anymore. Her hands were shaking. Good.

I pushed myself up to a sitting position, fighting the drug-induced haze. "You can't keep me here," I rasped. My throat felt like sandpaper. "People saw me. They heard me."

"They saw a hysterical woman," Mrs. West countered, her voice trembling with a desperate sort of conviction. "A grief-stricken widow having a breakdown. We’ll tell them you’re unwell. That you need... intensive care."

"Indefinitely," Mr. West added, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Until you learn to keep your mouth shut. Or until you stop breathing. Whichever comes first."

The door slammed shut. The lock turned with a final, heavy *thud* that vibrated through the floorboards.

I didn't scream. Screaming was for people who expected to be saved. I dragged myself to the corner, wrapping my arms around my knees. The cold seeped into my bones, but a hotter fire burned in my chest. I had exposed Nathaniel. I had seen the terror in his eyes. If this was the end, at least I had taken them down with me.

Time dissolved into the darkness. Minutes? Hours?

Then, a new sound.

Not the drip of the pipe. Not the settling of the house.

*Crash.*

It came from upstairs. A thunderous splintering of wood.

Shouting followed. Mr. West’s roar of indignation was cut short by a sickening crunch. Mrs. West’s shrill scream was silenced abruptly.

Heavy boots thudded against the floorboards above my head. Fast. Tactical. They weren't walking; they were hunting.

The basement door handle rattled. Locked.

"Key," a voice growled from the other side. It was low, dangerous, and terrifyingly familiar. It sounded like a storm contained in a human throat.

"I... I don't..." Mrs. West stammered.

"Do not lie to me," the voice said. It was deadly calm. "Open it. Or I will remove the door, and you with it."

The lock clicked.

The door swung open, hitting the wall with a violence that shook dust from the rafters.

A figure filled the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights. He was massive, his shoulders broad enough to block out the world. He wore a dark tactical suit that absorbed the light, not a tuxedo. He descended the stairs two at a time, moving with a fluid, predatory grace.

I pressed back against the cold wall, my heart hammering against my ribs. Was this a hitman? Had Nathaniel sent someone to finish the job?

He reached the bottom and scanned the room, a tactical flashlight cutting through the dark. The beam hit me, blindingly bright, then instantly dipped to the floor, casting a soft glow around us instead of in my eyes.

He dropped to one knee in front of me.

"Sophia."

The way he said my name—like a prayer and a vow all at once—stopped my breath.

He reached out, his hand hovering near my face, trembling slightly. I flinched, turning my head away, bracing for a blow. Muscle memory was a traitor.

He froze. A sound escaped him, a low noise of pure, agonizing rage.

"Look at me," he whispered. "Please."

I turned back. In the peripheral glow of the light, I saw his face. Strong jaw, dark eyes that were currently burning with a mixture of fury and devastating tenderness.

"Soph," he said softy. "It's me. It's Con."

*Con.*

The nickname hit me like a physical blow, stripping away ten years of pain in a heartbeat. The boy next door. The one who bandaged my scraped knees. The one who promised he’d come back.

"Conrad?" My voice broke.

"I've got you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm here. I'm sorry I took so long."

He didn't wait for permission. He scooped me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing. His chest was hard as iron, but his hold was gentle, terrifyingly gentle.

He carried me up the stairs, out of the darkness and into the light of the hallway.

Mrs. West was slumped against the wall, clutching her chest, her face pale. Mr. West was on the floor, groaning, nursing a jaw that looked decidedly broken. Several men in dark suits stood guard, silent and imposing.

Conrad paused at the front door. He didn't look down at the Wests. He looked straight ahead, into the night where an armored SUV idled with its engine purring.

"If you come near her," Conrad said, his voice carrying a lethal finality that made the very air in the hallway freeze, "if you even *think* her name, my lawyers won't be the ones you have to worry about. By morning, you will have nothing. No money. No home. No son."

He stepped out into the cool night air. I buried my face in his neck, smelling rain and cedar and safety.

"I have you," he murmured against my hair, tightening his grip as he carried me toward the car. "I'm never letting you go again."

For the first time in three years, I closed my eyes and didn't see darkness. I saw a beginning.