Chapter 11 - The Breach at the Apartment
The small coastal town had felt like a fortress against the world for barely two weeks. I pulled the sedan into the gravel parking space behind the gray-shingled apartment building, the engine ticking softly as it cooled in the damp evening air. Leo was already half-asleep in the backseat, his head resting against the cream sweater he had worn all day, clutching a small smooth stone he’d found on the beach. I reached back, my hand brushing his fine blonde hair, and unclipped his seatbelt with careful, practiced quiet.
"Come on, sweetheart," I whispered, lifting him into my arms. He stirred, burying his face against my shoulder just as he had done at the estate gates weeks ago, his small arms wrapping securely around my neck. The handbag slipped slightly down my shoulder as I shouldered the car door shut.
The salt air carried the sharp scent of low tide and wet pavement as I turned toward the exterior staircase. That was when the flash cut through the gray dusk.
A harsh, blinding white glare split the shadows near the mailboxes. Before I could even gasp, a voice cut across the quiet parking lot. "Ms. Hayes! Is it true the child is Marco Vance's son? Can you comment on the trust fund setup?"
My heart slammed against my ribs. A man in a cheap windbreaker emerged from the gloom, a heavy camera raised to his eye, the shutter clicking in rapid, mechanical bursts. Leo woke with a startled cry, burying his face deeper into my chest, his small body trembling violently.
"Please—don't," I choked out, turning my back to the lens, shielding Leo with my entire body. "Get away from us."
The reporter stepped closer, his microphone extended past the camera lens. "Just a quick question about the timeline, Ms. Hayes. Did Vance pay you to stay away—"
Before the sentence finished, two heavy figures moved in from the blind spots of the parking lot. They didn't shout; they simply materialized. Broad-shouldered men in tailored dark coats stepped between the reporter and me, their movements precise and immovable. One of them raised a broad hand, blocking the camera lens with professional calm, while the other guided me backward toward the car.
"Step back, sir. Private property. Federal privacy guidelines apply," the lead security guard stated in a low, level voice that brooked no argument.
"I have a right to—" the reporter protested, stumbling back as the guard's solid frame shut off his angle entirely.
"Get in the car, Ms. Hayes. Now," the guard urged, pulling the rear door open for us.
I didn't hesitate. I bundled Leo into the back seat, climbing in after him and pulling the door shut with a heavy thud. My hands shook so violently I could barely fish my phone from my purse. The screen glowed too bright in the dim interior as I tapped Marco's direct number, holding the receiver to my ear while I stroked Leo's back with my other hand, hushing him with frantic, broken whispers.
It rang twice before a sharp, clipped voice answered. "Isabella?"
"How?" I didn't even bother with a greeting, my voice trembling with a mixture of terror and white-hot fury. "How did they find us here? You swore this place was off the grid, Marco. You said your legal team locked down the address!"
On the other end of the line, there was a sudden, heavy pause—the sound of papers shifting abruptly, followed by the hard intake of breath. "Isabella, talk to me. What happened?"
"A reporter was waiting at the car," I hissed, glaring through the tinted window at the men in dark coats currently escorting the retreating journalist off the property. "With a camera. Asking about timelines and trust funds. Leo is terrified. He's crying, Marco. They found us within fourteen days because someone leaked our location."
"Dammit," Marco muttered, a curse so cold and sharp it sounded like breaking glass. I heard the distant click of a laptop closing, followed by the firm scrape of a chair pushed back on hardwood. "Listen to me very carefully. Are you and Leo safe right now?"
"Your security team stepped in, but for how long?" Tears of sheer frustration spilled over my lashes, hot and stinging. "We can't live like this. Every time we settle, every time he starts to feel safe, someone tears the walls down again."
"You're not staying there another minute," Marco said, his voice dropping into an absolute, unyielding command that brooked no argument. "Pack your things. All of them. My security detail will secure the perimeter right now, and an armored transport is turning onto your highway within the hour."
"Where are you sending us?" I asked, my voice tightening defensively.
May you like
"A private estate in the hills," Marco replied, the tension in his voice matching my own. "Stone walls, private access roads, zero public visibility. No one gets in without my express clearance. I'm ending this, Isabella. Tonight."
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