Police Station.
Verena sat motionless in the cold metal chair, her wrists cuffed to the table in front of her. The sterile hum of the overhead lights buzzed faintly, but it was the silence that pressed in hardest. Her gaze was steady, but her chest burned with frustration.
Across from her, the lead investigator flipped through a file—her file.
"Murder… assault… five years served," he said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. "Quite a résumé. You really expect us to believe this was all just a… coincidence?"
Verena clenched her jaw. "Check the street cams. I didn't even know the kid was in my delivery bag until I got to the drop-off."
The officer leaned back slowly, eyeing her like a puzzle he didn't quite trust. "You really expect us to believe you were just… surprised to find a child in a pizza bag?"
"I was," she said sharply. "I nearly screamed when I saw him."
His eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb. A woman with your record doesn't just stumble into something like this. If you weren't acting alone, now's the time to name names."
Verena blinked, stunned. "You think I planned this?"
The officer stood, hands planted on the table. "We think you had help. Maybe someone paid you to take the child. Maybe you're covering for someone else."
Verena's fists clenched in her lap. "Officer, do you have any idea what it took for me to survive prison and claw my way back into the real world? I work now. I deliver pizza. I've kept my head down. I wouldn't throw that away—not for anything, not for anyone."
He gave a cold smile. "Words don't matter. Evidence does."
Verena exhaled shakily, the ache behind her eyes threatening to spill into tears. But she wouldn't let it. Not in front of him.
"You have ten minutes," the officer said, his tone changing—more calculated now. "Think carefully. You've done time before, you know how this works. Cooperate, and things might go easier. Or don't—let your family watch you go back inside."
She gave a hollow laugh.
"Family?" she repeated, her voice quiet but bitter. "What family?"
Silence.
The officer frowned, but she had already shut down, her expression blank. Her chest felt tight—anger, sadness, helplessness all warring inside.
Why is it that every time I try to do the right thing, I get burned?
She looked down at her cuffed wrists.
I'll probably lose the job too… figures.
Two minutes later, the door to the interrogation room creaked open.
A uniformed officer stepped inside, leaned down, and whispered something into the lead investigator's ear.
The man's expression shifted immediately—tightening, then loosening in rapid succession.
They exchanged a brief glance before turning to Verena.
"You're free to go," the officer said bluntly. "You're no longer under suspicion. Someone's testified on your behalf."
Verena blinked. "What…?"
But before she could ask anything more, the cuffs were released from her wrists with a click. She rubbed at the faint red marks as a female officer gently guided her out.
She stepped into the wide corridor of the precinct, the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead casting a sterile white glow across the pale floor.
As the officer left her side, Verena slowed. She felt a strange tug—an instinct—pull her gaze toward the far end of the hall.
There, framed by the glass doors and the daylight pouring in behind him, stood him.
Louis Heisenberg.
Sharp suit, cold stare, and that quiet, thunderous power that seemed to part the air around him.
His eyes locked onto hers—deep, ocean-dark, and unreadable. A gaze like twin blades dipped in frost.
Verena's breath caught.
"Louis…" she muttered, unsure if she meant it as a question or a warning.
He started walking toward her with long, purposeful strides—each one heavier than the last, as though the whole station shifted beneath his feet.
"Was it you who helped Benny?"
Her lips parted. She nodded, barely.
He stopped just a step in front of her. "Then tell me…" His voice dropped an octave, smooth and dangerously quiet. "What reward do you want?"
Verena instinctively stepped back—but the wall met her spine, halting her escape.
Louis followed, unbothered. There was only a breath of space between them now, and that breath was quickly stolen by the heat of his presence.
Her heart pounded against her ribs.
He leaned in—hand braced on the wall beside her head, the other brushing a strand of hair off her cheek with casual dominance.
His voice, low and velvety, rumbled again. "What do you want, Verena?"
She looked up at him—at the sharp jawline, the slight shadow of stubble, the raw storm flickering in his eyes—and found herself, for a moment, without words.
Because for the first time in years, someone was asking her what she wanted.
And he was close enough to actually listen.
"I don't want anything," Verena said, her voice trembling despite her best effort to sound strong.
It came out soft, uncertain—like the helpless bleat of a cornered lamb.
Louis's eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, his stare sharp enough to slice through steel.
"Nothing?" he echoed.
His tone was unreadable—somewhere between disbelief and curiosity.
He let a beat pass, then said evenly, "What about money?"
Verena blinked, startled, and quickly shook her head. "No. I don't want that either."
Louis tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Strange. You've been juggling how many jobs lately? Three?"
Before she could answer, his hand—which had been braced against the wall—slid around her waist in one swift, possessive motion. He pulled her forward, and her body collided with his chest.
It was like slamming into a brick wall—solid, warm, and terrifyingly alive.
Her breath caught in her throat. His scent enveloped her—clean, masculine, laced with spice and power—and it made her head spin.
Verena barely realized he was turning her, his movements smooth but unrelenting, until her back hit the wall again. The world tilted slightly, her legs unsteady.
Louis stood close, much too close. One hand rested flat against her lower back. The other… hovered just above her ribcage, fingers splayed with possessive tension.
His long legs caged hers, not touching—but commanding every inch of space between them.
Verena felt her heart slam against her ribs. She could barely meet his gaze, but when she did, she saw fire. Controlled. Dangerous.
She pressed her lips together, breath shaky. "Let …me go."
Was he seducing her? She could even form a sentence properly but stutter.
"Is that really what you want?" His voice dropped, a quiet growl just above a whisper.
Her silence said everything.
"Daddy!" A little impatient voice called out.
Verena's eyes widened and she looked behind Louis to Little Benny who was glaring at his father.
How is it possible?
Louis… he had a son?