Chapter 4 A Fire That Does Not Burn Out

1:46 a.m. – The Safehouse

The alarms howled.

Isla barely had time to scream before Damien grabbed her and pulled her down. A wall of glass shattered behind them as an explosion rocked the eastern wing of the house. The blast sent a wave of heat and debris surging through the hallway, lighting up the shadows in bursts of orange and white.

Damien shielded her with his body, his arm wrapped around her head. His breathing was steady-controlled. She could feel it even through the panic gripping her chest.

"Stay down," he growled, rising slowly with the Glock in his hand.

The firelight flickered in his eyes as he scanned the smoke-choked hallway. "Mia, I want eyes now," he barked into the comms unit in his ear.

Crackling static. Then, Mia's voice: "Two targets. One confirmed to be Brandon Keller. Armed. Moving west toward the living quarters. Security perimeter's breached. Helicopter extraction en route-ETA seven minutes."

"Seven minutes is six too many," Damien muttered.

He looked back at Isla. "Run to the elevator shaft behind the bookshelf in the study. Press the gold button. That'll take you down to the garage. Get in the car with the black key. Don't stop. Drive to the Manhattan tower. Code 917-BLACKWOOD. Got it?"

"No," she said breathlessly, rising. "I'm not leaving you."

"You're carrying my child," he said, stepping close, cupping her face in one hand. "I can't protect both of you unless you go."

She looked into his eyes, the storm behind his calm. Her heart wrenched. She wanted to argue-but she knew he was right.

"I'll see you there," she whispered.

"I promise."

He kissed her forehead, turned, and vanished into the smoke.

1:52 a.m. – Study Corridor

Isla's bare feet slapped against the cold floor. The baby kicked inside her, as if sensing her fear. The bookshelf loomed ahead. She pressed the ancient leather-bound volume that Damien had shown her once in passing-The Art of War.

The shelf slid back.

Behind it, the steel elevator door blinked, waiting.

She ducked inside, shaking, heart hammering.

Behind her-footsteps.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"

Her blood ran cold.

Brandon.

1:53 a.m. – Just Outside the Study

Damien heard Isla's scream.

He didn't think. He sprinted.

Gun raised. Target locked.

He burst through the open doorway just as Brandon lunged at Isla, dragging her backward out of the elevator by her hair.

"Let her go," Damien commanded.

Brandon smirked. "You gonna shoot me with her in the way?"

Damien's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

BANG.

Brandon staggered back, clutching his thigh. Blood gushed.

Isla collapsed into Damien's arms as the second bullet ripped into the floorboards beside Brandon's head.

He screamed in rage. "She's mine! You don't get to-"

Damien kicked the gun from Brandon's hand and punched him. Once. Twice. Until Brandon slumped.

Sirens wailed overhead.

Helicopter blades thundered through the night.

"Hold on, sweetheart," Damien whispered, gripping Isla's waist as the reinforced security team flooded in.

They were going home.

3:00 a.m. – Manhattan – Blackwood Private Tower

The penthouse was silent but alive-flickering with tension, bloodied clothes, bruised skin, and an undeniable current between them.

Isla sat on the couch in Damien's shirt, her legs curled beneath her, still trembling.

"You're safe now," he said, kneeling in front of her. "Brandon's in custody. He's not getting near you again."

"I thought he was going to kill me," she said softly, voice cracking.

"I wouldn't have let him."

She stared at him. "You came back for me."

"I always will."

They didn't speak for a long time. Instead, Isla leaned forward and kissed him. Not with heat, but with something deeper-raw, fragile, aching.

When they pulled apart, she whispered, "I love you."

And this time, he said it back without hesitation.

Later That Morning – 9:00 a.m.

Damien stood before the press in the Blackwood Tower atrium, dressed in a sleek black suit, a bandage on his knuckle, his jaw set like stone.

"I can confirm that Brandon Keller has been taken into custody. He will face charges of arson, assault, and attempted murder. I will personally ensure justice is served. And to anyone else who thinks threats and violence win power-your time is up."

The cameras flashed.

But behind the steel mask, Damien's thoughts were with Isla.

Always Isla.

Elsewhere – Riker's Island Holding Facility

Brandon sat in a cold, gray cell.

He hadn't spoken since they dragged him in. Just stared straight ahead. A twisted grin tugged at his lips.

"You think this is over?" he muttered to no one. "She'll come running back when he leaves her. When he shows his true colors. They always do."

A guard passed his cell.

Brandon whispered, "Tick-tock."

Noon – Blackwood Penthouse

Isla stood barefoot in the kitchen, pouring tea.

Damien watched her from the doorway. She looked so soft, so breakable in that moment. And yet... she wasn't. She was the strongest woman he'd ever met.

"You didn't have to cook," he said, stepping behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I needed something normal."

"You still want normal? After all this?"

She turned in his arms.

"I want you. With the madness, the danger, the chaos... and everything in between."

He kissed her. Slow. Deep. Steady.

"I bought a house," he murmured against her lips.

She blinked. "What?"

"Upstate. A real house. With a garden. A nursery."

She stared.

"Move in with me."

Her throat bobbed. "Is this your way of proposing?"

"No. That comes after," he said, brushing his knuckle down her cheek. "Right now, I'm asking you to build a life with me. One room at a time."

She nodded.

"Okay."

3 Days Later – Courtroom 7C – Bail Hearing

Brandon sat in his orange jumpsuit, shackled, face bruised.

Isla walked in, flanked by security and Damien.

She stood to testify.

Her voice never wavered.

"He stalked me for years. He attacked me. He threatened my unborn child. He doesn't deserve bail. He deserves a cage."

The judge agreed.

Brandon was remanded without release.

As he was dragged out, he turned and screamed, "This isn't over, Isla! You're mine! You always were!"

Damien started forward-but Isla reached for his hand.

"No. I want to see him dragged out screaming. Powerless."

And she did.

That Night – Damien's Private Suite

The fire crackled. Soft jazz played low in the background. Isla lay on the bed in silk, her belly beginning to show now, her smile more peaceful than it had been in weeks.

Damien traced her stomach with his fingers. "What if it's a girl?"

"Then she'll be as strong as her mother," Isla said.

"And if it's a boy?"

"He'll inherit your temper."

Damien chuckled. "God help us both."

She turned toward him. "You asked me to build a life with you. But I want more."

His brows lifted. "More?"

She took his hand, placed it over her heart. "I want forever."

He stared at her. Then slowly, he rose from the bed, went to the dresser, and returned with a black velvet box.

"I was waiting," he said, voice thick. "But you've never been one for waiting."

He opened the box.

Inside: a single rose-gold ring with a marquise diamond wrapped in twin rubies-blood and roses.

"Isla Marquette, will you marry me?"

She didn't cry.

She just smiled.

And whispered, "Yes."

One Week Later – Florence, Italy (Flash Forward)

The villa overlooked endless vineyards. White drapes fluttered in the breeze. Friends and family gathered around a small table set for two.

Damien and Isla stood beneath a floral arch of red and white roses, the baby bump between them now unmistakable.

Vows were exchanged.

"I found home in your chaos," she said.

"I found peace in your fire," he answered.

They kissed.

Applause roared.

And far away, in the dark heart of New York, a mysterious figure watched the footage on a hacked surveillance feed and whispered...

"Let them have their honeymoon. It'll be their last."