Chapter 5 The Vow To Change

Bill's Point of View

Bill's heart pounded as he steered the SUV away from Warehouse 23, the crack in the windshield spidering like a warning over his vision. Pablo's last words echoed in his mind: "One hour before she's dust." He forced his foot down harder on the accelerator, weaving through traffic as rain began to spatter the stained glass above him. Deborah's face pale, defiant, terrified haunted every turn. He promised himself that if he got her back, he would prove he was a new man. No more lies. No more excuses.

He found Naomi waiting under the awning of her building, umbrella forgotten at her feet. She didn't speak as he leapt out, sprinting up the steps two at a time. Inside, the hallway stretched empty and silent. Blood pounded in his ears until Deborah's door burst open and she staggered into his arms, boots clacking against the tile. Her coat was torn, collar damp with rain and fear. He caught her before she fell, wrapping her in his arms as though holding her close could erase every moment of pain.

"I'm here," he whispered, against her hair. "I'm not letting go."

She clung to him, chin trembling. "You shouldn't have come."

His breath caught. "I couldn't do anything else."

Naomi appeared behind them, handing Bill a damp cloth. "She's shaking," Naomi said softly. "Her hands are ice."

Bill pressed the cloth to Deborah's forehead, offering a shaky smile. "I'll fix this," he vowed. "I swear."

In Naomi's living room, Deborah settled on the couch wrapped in a blanket, eyes red but fierce. Bill knelt before her, pulling out his phone. "I called Leo. He's tracing the van that took you. We'll know where they brought you in hours." He paused. "Then we'll shut Pablo down for good."

"Why?" Deborah's gaze was sharp. "Why risk your life again?"

He swallowed. "Because I can't live in a world without you. I know I hurt you. And I know words aren't enough." He stood, pacing. "So I'm going to show you."

She studied him, skepticism warring with relief. "Give me one reason to believe you."

He drew a breath. "Because I'm changing everything."

Bill spent the next day dismantling the walls he'd built around his life. First, he resigned from his position as CEO of Blackstone Enterprises. He recorded a video for the board explaining his decision: he would step down to focus on personal responsibility and safety measures for Deborah. He cleared his office, donating his possessions-luxury cars, watches, designer suits-to charities of Deborah's choosing. Each donation was a silent apology, a testament to his promise.

Simultaneously, he transferred every cent of his personal fortune into a joint account created for Deborah's jewelry business-DebCrest Designs-with full transparency and shared access. He sent Deborah the login credentials: username, password, security questions answered in her own handwriting.

That evening, Bill arrived at Deborah's studio, the sale of her line's first collaborative collection in hand. The old space smelled of cedar and graphite, comforting yet bittersweet. Deborah sat at her drafting table, lamp casting a warm glow over her sketches. She looked up, surprise flickering in her eyes.

"I got your email," she said, voice quiet. "I-did you really do all that?"

He nodded, stepping forward. He slid a tablet across the table. On it lay a live dashboard: every penny he'd given, every incoming order, every pending lead. "This is your empire now," he said. "No secrets. No strings. You call the shots."

She tapped the screen, eyes widening as she saw the transfer of funds and a running tally of her new investor group. "Bill... this is-"

"A start." He held up his own phone, unlocking it with her thumbprint. "Ask anything. Read my messages. See my calendar. You'll find no lies."

Her gaze softened as she flicked through old tweets, private texts with friends, even his therapy schedule. Each entry was honest, raw, and public. He'd deleted nothing.

Deborah exhaled, tears brimming. "I never thought you'd let me in like this."

He reached for her hand, taking it gently. "I want you in my life-fully. If you still want me."

Over the next hour, they rebuilt a fragile trust. Bill showed her the security plans he'd drawn up: 24/7 surveillance for her studio, a discreet bodyguard rotating shifts, emergency protocols. Deborah asked questions-sharp, practical questions. He answered them all.

By the time she stood, she was breathing steadily, the old spark in her eyes flickering back to life. Bill felt a swell of hope.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled, relief warm in his chest. "No more running," he promised. "We face this together."

But change has a price. Late that night, Bill sat alone on the roof of Deborah's studio, staring at the city lights shimmering like distant stars. He scrolled through Leo's latest update: the van that took Deborah was registered to a shell company linked to Pablo Steve. Coordinates placed it now at an old textile mill on the outskirts.

His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:

"Congrats on the changes. Now show us you can protect her."

Below it, an image: Deborah, asleep in bed, hair fanned over a white pillow. The photo was taken from inside her room.

Bill's blood froze. The surveillance cameras-a key part of his security plan-had been bypassed.

He leapt to his feet, racing down the fire escape and into the studio. The door stood ajar, lock broken. Inside, every light was off. He flicked the switch: the room plunged into darkness, then flickered. He reached for his phone's flashlight.

Deborah's tablet lay on the floor beside her drafting table, cracked. The joint-account screen was shattered.

His heart pounded. He scanned the floor. No sign of her. Blankets strewn across the couch. Her phone and keys gone.

A scrap of paper fluttered from under the table. He snatched it up and read the single line, written in familiar handwriting:

"Tell him I walked away. Then watch me vanish."

Bill's fingers trembled as he stared at the note. He backed away, bumping into the wall. Then his phone buzzed again. This time, the caller ID read "DEBORAH."

He answered on the first ring.

"Bill," her voice came through, calm but distant. "You kept your promise. Now keep your distance."

The line went dead.

Bill sank to the floor, rain beginning to patter on the skylight above him. He pressed the note to his chest, heart shattering with the realization: proving he had changed was no longer enough. Now, all that mattered was finding her-before she vanished for good.