The storm outside was nothing compared to the one inside him.
Leon stood frozen in the middle of the living room, rainwater dripping from the bottom of his coat, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bloodless. Her words rang in his ears, louder than thunder.
"You already lost me."
He'd lost count of how many people he'd buried, how many betrayals he'd endured. But nothing — not even war — prepared him for this. Losing Ayla… it cut deeper than bullets ever could.
Victor rushed in minutes later, face pale. "She's gone. Private jet took off twenty minutes ago. Tail number matches Daniel's registered fleet."
Leon's head dropped. "Where's the boy?"
"Found unconscious at the airfield, left behind. He's stable."
Leon's relief was brief. His voice was a growl. "Daniel never wanted the boy. He wanted her."
He paced the room, grabbing a whiskey glass and throwing it against the wall, glass splintering like his self-control.
"I underestimated him. I shouldn't have kept the truth from her."
Victor watched him. "What now?"
Leon's eyes burned. "Now, we end him."
He didn't care how far Daniel ran, or what country he vanished to. There would be no peace until Ayla was back in his arms—and Daniel was dead at his feet.
⸻
Ayla
The jet was cold. Not in temperature—but in spirit. The luxury around her felt like a mockery of freedom.
Daniel sat across from her, legs crossed, smirking faintly. "You made the right choice. You're not like them. You're not like him."
She stared out the window. "He would've come for me. And you know it."
Daniel's smile thinned. "Exactly why I had to act first. You're not safe with him, Ayla. You're just another pawn in a bigger war."
Her chest tightened. She didn't believe him—but his words scraped at old wounds, just enough to plant doubt.
She looked at her brother, still sedated and strapped into the seat beside her. She'd saved him… but at what cost?
Ayla turned away from Daniel and closed her eyes, swallowing the sob in her throat.
Leon, please find me. I'm sorry.