Sophia's POV
The silence in the cabin was suffocating. The walls seemed to close in on me as I sat on the worn-out sofa, staring at Ethan as he busied himself with a satellite phone. His face was a mask of calm determination, but I wasn't fooled. I had seen the cracks forming in his carefully constructed exterior.
I wanted to scream, to demand answers to the questions still swirling in my mind, but the look in his eyes stopped me. He wasn't just fighting for survival—he was fighting against ghosts, against the man he had been and the choices that still haunted him.
"Who are you calling?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.
"An old contact," he said, his voice clipped. "Someone who might know Langston's next move."
I leaned back, trying to process everything. The revelations of the past few hours had shaken me to my core. Ethan wasn't just a billionaire playboy with a dark side. He was a man running from the wreckage of his past, desperate to set things right.
And I was caught in the middle of it all.
The phone crackled to life, and Ethan spoke in low tones, his words too quiet for me to make out. I watched him carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw clenched with every response he received.
When he hung up, his expression was grim.
"Langston's already on the move," he said, pacing the small room. "He's heading to an offshore facility. If he gets there, it's over. We won't be able to touch him."
I swallowed hard. "So what do we do?"
"We stop him before he gets there," Ethan replied, his voice firm.
The simplicity of his answer was almost laughable. How were we supposed to stop a man like Langston? We had no resources, no allies, and no real plan. Yet Ethan spoke with a certainty that made me want to believe him, even if it felt impossible.
"Ethan," I said cautiously, "what happens if we fail? What happens if Langston exposes everything?"
He stopped pacing, turning to face me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. "Then everything I've worked for, everything I've sacrificed, will mean nothing. And you..." His voice faltered for a moment. "You'll be a target for the rest of your life."
The weight of his words settled heavily on my chest.
We didn't have time to rest. Ethan pulled out a map, spreading it across the small coffee table. He traced a route with his finger, explaining our next move with the precision of someone used to high-stakes operations.
"We'll cut through the eastern forest and take the back roads to a private airstrip," he said. "From there, I can charter a flight to intercept Langston's transport."
"And what about me?" I asked, crossing my arms.
"You'll stay here," he said without hesitation.
I laughed bitterly. "Like hell I will."
"Sophia," he started, but I cut him off.
"Don't you dare try to shut me out again," I snapped. "I've been with you this far, and I'm not about to sit here twiddling my thumbs while you go off on some suicide mission."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Fine," he said reluctantly. "But you stay close to me. No improvising, no running off on your own. Got it?"
"Got it," I said, though I had no intention of following that last rule.
The journey through the forest was grueling. The undergrowth was thick, and the ground was uneven, making every step a challenge. Ethan moved with practiced ease, but I struggled to keep up, my legs aching with every step.
Despite the physical strain, my mind was racing. Every detail Ethan had shared replayed in my head like a broken record. Langston's experiments, the lives lost, the secrets buried under layers of deceit—it was overwhelming.
But what unsettled me the most was Ethan himself.
He was a walking contradiction, a man capable of both cold-blooded precision and heart-wrenching vulnerability. He was dangerous, yes, but there was something else beneath the surface—a flicker of hope, of redemption.
I just wasn't sure if it was enough to save him.
"Stop," Ethan said suddenly, holding up a hand.
I froze, my heart pounding as I scanned the dense trees around us. The faint sound of rustling leaves reached my ears, followed by a low, guttural growl.
"Is that...?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"Dogs," Ethan said grimly. "They're tracking us."
Before I could respond, he grabbed my hand, pulling me off the path and into the thick underbrush.
"Stay low," he instructed, his voice barely above a whisper.
The next few minutes were a blur of movement and tension. We weaved through the trees, our footsteps muffled by the forest floor. My heart felt like it might burst out of my chest as the growls grew louder, the sound of snapping twigs and heavy footsteps closing in.
Ethan's grip on my hand was firm, his presence grounding me even as panic threatened to take over.
We reached a small clearing, and Ethan pulled me behind a large tree, his eyes scanning the area. The growls were dangerously close now, and I could see the faint glow of flashlights cutting through the darkness.
"They're too close," I whispered, my voice trembling.
Ethan didn't respond. Instead, he pulled a small device from his pocket—a smoke grenade.
"Cover your mouth and stay close," he said, pulling the pin.
The grenade hissed as it released a thick cloud of smoke, obscuring our surroundings. Ethan pulled me to my feet, and we moved quickly, the smoke providing just enough cover to slip past our pursuers.
By the time we reached the airstrip, I was exhausted, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. But there was no time to rest.
The small plane was already waiting, the pilot—a grizzled man with sharp eyes—nodding in greeting as we approached.
"This is it," Ethan said, his voice steady despite the chaos we had just escaped. "Once we're in the air, there's no turning back."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Let's finish this."
As the plane's e
ngines roared to life, I couldn't help but glance at Ethan. Despite everything, I trusted him.