The air was thick with the dust of centuries, kicked up and killed in a single night.
Cole took another step, the pry bar held loosely at his side. It wasn’t a weapon. Not yet. It was a statement. A period at the end of a sentence he had not yet finished writing.
“It’s not over until I say it is.”
Audrey’s survival instincts screamed. She backed away, her hands instinctively cradling her stomach. The floor was a minefield of broken glass and splintered wood.
“This is my gallery,” he said, his voice a low, conversational murmur that was more terrifying than any shout. “I helped you build this. My money. My connections. My support. Every piece here is part of me.”
He was a stranger. A madman wearing the face of the man she once thought she knew.
“You’re sick, Cole,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “You need help.”
A flicker of rage crossed his face. “I am helping! I’m helping you! He poisoned you against me. Filled your head with ideas about being some independent artist.”
He gestured with the pry bar to the wasteland around them. “This is what independence gets you. A mess. A scandal. But I can fix it. I can always fix your messes, Audrey.”
He was closing the distance. She was running out of room, the ruined pedestal of the Grecian amphora pressing against her back. Trapped.
“You sabotaged my grant application,” she said, the realization hitting her like a physical blow. “The anonymous complaint to the board. It was all you.”
“I was protecting you,” he snapped, his voice rising. “And protecting our family. Our child.”
He stopped, his eyes dropping to her belly. His expression twisted.
“Oh, that’s right,” he sneered. “Not our child anymore, is it? It’s his. The billionaire’s bastard. You replaced me so easily.”
The insult, so vile and personal, didn’t sting. It ignited something else. A cold, hard fury. The fear was still there, a block of ice in her chest, but this new anger was a fire wrapped around it.
“You were never replaced,” she said, her voice dropping, gaining a strength she didn’t know she had. “Because you were never really there. You loved an idea of me. A trophy. Something to complete your perfect picture. The second I showed a single sign of being my own person, you tried to break me.”
She pushed herself away from the pedestal, standing tall amidst the ruins.
“Well, look around, Cole,” she said, her voice ringing with contempt. “You broke my things. But you didn’t break me.”
For a second, he looked genuinely stunned. He expected tears. He expected fear. He did not expect this defiance. It was the one thing he couldn’t control.
And it drove him over the edge.
He lunged.
The world slowed. He moved faster than she thought possible. One hand shot out, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip. The other brought the pry bar up, not to swing, but to menace, its sharp, gouged tip hovering inches from her face.
“You ungrateful bitch,” he hissed, his face a mask of contorted rage. His spit hit her cheek. “I gave you everything!”
She struggled, but his grip was iron. He slammed her back against the wall, the impact knocking the wind from her. Pain flared across her shoulders.
Panic seized her. Real, primal panic. For her. For the baby.
“Let me go, Cole!”
“Where will you go?” he snarled, pressing his body against hers, pinning her. “Back to him? He’ll get tired of you. A little museum curator with a baby? You’re a novelty. He will throw you away. And then you’ll come crawling back.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “But I won’t be there. No one will be there. You will be alone, with nothing.”
His knuckles were white on the pry bar. He was losing control. She could see it in the frantic, wild look in his eyes. He was a man with nothing left to lose. The most dangerous man in the world.
And then, a sound.
A boom that was not the sound of destruction, but of salvation.
The heavy oak doors to the gallery slammed open, crashing against the marble walls.
Kian stood there, framed in the doorway. He wasn’t breathing hard. He wasn’t shouting. He was a figure of absolute, chilling stillness. The controlled fury radiating from him was more potent than any physical violence.
Behind him, two large men in dark, immaculate suits fanned out, their movements economical and silent. Professionals.
Cole froze. His head whipped around, his grip on Audrey’s arm faltering for a fraction of a second.
It was all Kian needed to see.
He didn’t look at his men. He didn’t have to. His eyes, cold and hard as diamonds, were locked on Cole.
“Get your hands off her,” Kian said. The voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of an executioner’s sentence.
Cole’s panicked eyes darted between Kian and the security team. He was trapped. The hunter had become the prey. In a last, desperate act of defiance, he tightened his grip on Audrey, pulling her in front of him like a shield.
“Stay back!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “All of you, stay back!”
The two security men stopped, their gazes flicking to Kian, awaiting orders.
Kian took a single, deliberate step into the gallery. He ignored Cole’s threats completely. His entire focus was on Audrey.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her, his voice softening just for her, a point of calm in the storm.
She shook her head, tears finally streaming down her face.
That was all he needed. He gave a nod so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
It happened in a blur.
One of the security men moved left, the other right, a perfectly executed pincer movement. Cole’s head swiveled, trying to track them both, but he was an amateur in a professional’s world.
The man on the right feinted, drawing Cole’s attention. The man on the left moved in, grabbing Cole’s wrist with one hand and striking a nerve cluster in his shoulder with the other.
Cole screamed in pain and shock. His grip on the pry bar vanished. It clattered to the marble floor. His hand on Audrey’s arm went limp.
In that instant, Kian surged forward. He didn’t touch Cole. He moved past him, grabbing Audrey and pulling her out of the fray, shielding her with his own body and sweeping her toward the far side of the room.
Behind them, the takedown was brutally efficient. Cole was spun around, his arms forced behind his back. The sharp, metallic click of handcuffs echoed in the ruined hall. He was shoved to his knees, his pathetic struggles ending in a sob of defeat.
Kian didn’t look back. He held Audrey tight against him, his hands running over her arms, her back, his eyes searching her face.
“He didn’t hurt you?” he asked again, his voice thick with a terror he had kept hidden until now.
“I’m okay,” she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. “You came. I knew you would come.”
He held the back of her head, his own relief a shuddering breath. He kissed her hair, her temple, his arms a steel cage of protection around her.
“My security has been outside since you left the building,” he murmured into her ear. “I told you. I will always protect you.”
He held her there, a silent, immovable anchor in the middle of the chaos Cole had wrought. The monster was caged. The danger was over.
And through the high, arched windows of the gallery, the first frantic strobes of red and blue light began to pulse, painting the shattered sanctuary in the colors of the coming dawn.