Genevieve threw a hastily packed bag into the back of Brandstone's car, her nerves frayed. She wasn't used to running—she was the one who exposed the truth, who faced challenges head-on. But this time, the stakes were different. Her life was on the line, and she knew she couldn't fight alone.
The drive to Brandstone's safehouse was silent, the tension between them palpable. The city lights blurred past as Genevieve stared out the window, her thoughts a chaotic mess.
"You're too quiet," Brandstone said finally, breaking the silence.
Genevieve turned to him, her frustration bubbling over. "What do you want me to say? That I'm scared? Because I am. But I'm also angry—angry that you seem to know more than you're letting on."
Brandstone's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his jaw clenching. "It's not that simple."
"It's exactly that simple," she shot back. "You're either with me, or you're not."
His silence was deafening.
The safehouse was nestled in the woods, far enough from the city to feel isolated but close enough to make a quick getaway if needed. Brandstone unlocked the door and gestured for Genevieve to step inside.
The interior was sparse but functional: a small kitchen, a living area with a worn sofa, and a bedroom down the hall.
"It's not much," Brandstone said, closing the door behind them. "But it's secure."
Genevieve dropped her bag by the door and turned to face him. "Why are you helping me, Brandstone?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because I owe you. And because I can't let anything happen to you."
His words were laced with sincerity, but Genevieve couldn't shake her doubts. There was something he wasn't telling her—something that made her question his motives.
The following days were a blur of planning and paranoia. Brandstone spent hours on the phone, calling in favors and gathering intel, while Genevieve scoured her notes for any overlooked clues.
One night, as they sat at the small kitchen table, Genevieve finally broached the subject that had been gnawing at her.
"Who are you protecting me from?" she asked, her voice steady.
Brandstone hesitated, his eyes flickering with something she couldn't quite place. "You already know the answer to that."
"Do I?" she pressed.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "These people... they're not just businessmen or politicians. They're part of something bigger—something that doesn't tolerate defiance."
Genevieve frowned. "And you've worked with them before, haven't you?"
The question hung in the air like a loaded gun.
Brandstone's silence was confirmation enough.
"I knew it," she said, her voice rising. "I knew you were hiding something."
"It's not what you think," he said quickly. "I was involved, yes, but I got out years ago. That's why I know how dangerous they are."
Genevieve stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "You lied to me."
"I didn't lie," Brandstone said, standing as well. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd look at me like you're looking at me now."
Her anger was a storm threatening to break, but before she could respond, the lights flickered.
Brandstone tensed, his hand instinctively moving to the gun at his waist. "Stay here," he ordered, moving toward the window.
Genevieve's heart pounded as she watched him peer outside. "What is it?"
He didn't answer, but the look on his face told her everything she needed to know.
An hour later, they sat in the dark, the only light coming from a single candle on the table.
"They found us, didn't they?" Genevieve asked.
Brandstone nodded. "But we're safe for now. The safehouse has defenses."
Genevieve wrapped her arms around herself, her mind racing. "This isn't going to stop, is it?"
"No," he admitted. "Not until they get what they want."
"And what do they want?"
Brandstone hesitated. "To silence you. Permanently."
His words sent a chill down her spine, but she refused to let the fear consume her. "Then we fight back," she said, her voice firm.
Brandstone looked at her, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "You're fearless, you know that?"
"I don't have a choice," she replied.
The tension between them was electric, their proximity igniting something neither of them could ignore. Brandstone reached out, his hand brushing against hers.
"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he said, his voice low.
Genevieve met his gaze, her resolve wavering. "I don't know if I can trust you, Brandstone. But right now, you're all I have."
Their faces were inches apart, the space between them charged with unspoken desire. When he kissed her, it was fierce and desperate, as though trying to convey everything he couldn't say aloud.
Genevieve surrendered to the moment, her fears and doubts momentarily forgotten.