The twenty-seventh week, the first battle began.
Not with guns.
With words.
With lies.
With the kind of warfare that leaves no scars on the outside.
---
The enemy's name was Viktor Volkov.
Not the one Damien had killed years ago. His son. Younger. Hungrier. More dangerous.
He had been waiting. Planning. Building an army of his own.
And now he was ready.
"He wants revenge," Marco said. "For his father. For his family. For the empire Damien destroyed."
"How does he know about us?" Christabel asked.
"He's been watching. For years. He knows about the wedding. The baby. The city."
"What does he want?"
"Everything." Marco's voice was grim. "He wants to take everything from you. The way Damien took everything from him."
---
The first attack came in the press.
Not a newspaper. A blog. The kind of anonymous website where people went to destroy reputations without consequences.
The headline read: "Damien Moreau: Monster or Murderer?"
The article was long. Detailed. Terrifying.
It talked about the bodies. The basement. The people who had disappeared.
It talked about Christabel. About how she had been "taken" by Damien. About how she was "trapped" in a marriage she couldn't escape.
It talked about Lena. About how no child should be raised by a killer.
Christabel read the article three times.
Then she handed the phone to Damien.
"He's trying to turn the world against us."
"He's trying to turn you against me."
"That will never happen."
"How do you know?"
"Because I chose you. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to."
---
The second attack came in the form of a lawsuit.
Not against Damien. Against Christabel.
A former employee accused her of fraud. Of embezzlement. Of stealing from her own company.
The accusations were false.
But that didn't matter.
The damage was done.
"Someone is feeding them information," Sarah said. "Someone inside."
"Marco?"
"No. Someone else. Someone closer."
"Who?"
"I don't know yet. But I'm going to find out."
---
The third attack was the worst.
A photograph.
Lena. In the nursery. Through the window.
The same window Christabel had stood by a hundred times.
The same window where she had watched the sun rise over the city.
Someone had been inside the penthouse.
Someone had been close enough to take a photograph of her daughter.
Christabel stared at the image.
Her hands were shaking.
Her heart was pounding.
"We need to leave," she said.
"Leave where?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere they can't find us."
"They'll find us everywhere."
"Then what do we do?"
Damien took the photograph.
His hands were steady.
His face was calm.
"We fight."
---
That night, Christabel couldn't sleep.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the photograph.
Someone had been inside her home.
Someone had been close to her daughter.
Someone had been watching.
Damien was awake beside her.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I'm thinking about who it could be. Someone with access. Someone we trust."
"Someone we never suspected."
"Yes."
"Like who?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know."
---
Lena woke at midnight.
Crying. Hungry.
Christabel went to her.
Lifted her from the crib.
"Hi, baby," she said.
Lena cried.
"I know," Christabel said. "You're hungry. You're wet. You're cold. I'm sorry. Mommy's scared."
Lena stopped crying.
Looked up at her mother.
"Someone was in our home. Someone took a photograph of you."
Lena cooed.
"I'm not going to let them hurt you. I'm going to protect you. No matter what."
---
Damien appeared in the doorway.
"She's up," he said.
"She's hungry."
"I'll make a bottle."
"She wants to nurse."
He walked to her.
Sat on the floor beside the rocking chair.
"I've been thinking," he said.
"About what?"
"About who took the photograph. Someone who knew when the guards changed. Someone who knew when the nanny was on break."
"Someone who knows our schedule."
"Yes."
"Someone close."
"Yes."
"Like who?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Like Marco."
---
"Marco?"
"He was here last week. Remember? He came to discuss the investigation."
"He's been here a hundred times."
"This time was different. He was nervous. Avoiding me."
"You think he took the photograph?"
"I think he knows who did."
"Then we ask him."
"And if he lies?"
"Then we make him tell the truth."
---
The next morning, they called Marco to the penthouse.
He came alone.
His face was pale.
"You know why we called you here," Damien said.
"I can guess."
"Someone took a photograph of our daughter. From inside this penthouse."
Marco's eyes widened.
"Inside?"
"The angle. The lighting. It was taken from inside."
"I didn't—"
"Someone with access. Someone who knew the guards' schedule. Someone who knew when the nanny was on break."
"You think it was me?"
"I think you know who it was."
---
Marco was quiet for a long moment.
The city hummed below them.
Lena slept in the nursery.
"It was my daughter," Marco said finally.
Christabel's blood went cold.
"Your daughter?"
"She's not being held anymore. They let her go. But they told her what to do. What to photograph. When to send it."
"Why would she do that?"
"Because she was afraid. Because they threatened to hurt her again. Because she's only nineteen years old and she didn't know what else to do."
"Where is she now?"
"I don't know."
"Marco—"
"I don't know." His voice cracked. "She disappeared. After she sent the photograph. I haven't heard from her since."
---
Damien stood.
Walked to Marco.
Stood in front of him.
"Your daughter took a photograph of my daughter."
"Yes."
"Your daughter threatened my family."
"She was trying to protect herself."
"She was trying to protect herself by hurting my child."
Marco looked at him.
"I know."
"What would you do, Marco? If someone threatened your daughter?"
"Anything. Everything."
"Then you know what I have to do."
---
Christabel put her hand on Damien's arm.
"Wait."
"He knew, Christabel. He knew his daughter was involved. And he didn't tell us."
"He was trying to protect her."
"He was trying to protect her by putting our daughter at risk."
"He's her father."
"And I'm hers."
---
Marco stood.
"I'll find her."
"Where?"
"I don't know. But I'll find her."
"And when you do?"
"I'll bring her to you."
"And then?"
Marco looked at Damien.
"Then you can do whatever you want with her."