Riley sat across from me in the dimly lit hotel room, her fingers curled around a cup of coffee she had barely touched. She had been quiet for a while, her sharp mind working through every possible scenario, every risk, every consequence.
Finally, she exhaled. "So what now?"
I met her gaze, steady and sure. "I stay."
Her breath hitched. "You mean?"
"I'm not walking away from this," I said, my voice firm. "From you. From our child. I won't be a ghost in their life."
Riley studied me, searching for cracks in my resolve. "You've spent years in the shadows, Dean. Do you really think you can just step into the light and pretend it doesn't come with consequences?"
"I'm not pretending anything," I said. "I know what this means. It means being exposed. It means enemies, past and present, will come looking. And that's why I have to do this the right way."
She frowned. "The right way?"
"I'm building something new," I told her. "A security force military, strategic, with the best intelligence at its core. One that operates in the light, not in the shadows. Something legitimate. Something strong enough to protect you and our child."
Her grip tightened on the coffee cup. "You mean like a private military organization?"
"More than that," I said. "A force that governments can rely on. One that can do what bureaucracies and red tape can't. It'll have reach, influence, and resources. And unlike my security network now, this one won't be a ghost operation. It'll be real, recognized, and powerful enough to keep you and our child safe."
Riley looked away for a moment, absorbing what I had said. I could see the battle happening in her head, the strategist in her calculating every risk, the woman in her wondering if this was truly possible.
"And what about Mac?" she finally asked. "Are you going to tell him?"
I let out a slow breath. "Not yet."
Her eyes snapped back to mine. "Dean"
"I will tell him," I said, cutting her off before she could push harder. "But not until I've built something solid. Something that can't be taken down. Right now, if I tell him, he'll come looking for me. He'll try to pull me into the Phoenix Foundation. And I can't do that, Riley."
She sighed, shaking her head. "He'd want to know, Dean. He'd want to be part of this."
"I know," I admitted. "But I have to do this my way."
Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words. Finally, she set the coffee cup down and crossed her arms. "And what about me?"
I leaned forward. "What about you?"
"You say you're staying," she said, her voice softer now. "But are you really? Or are you just making sure we're protected from a distance?"
I reached across the table and took her hand. It was the first time I had done that so openly, without hesitation. "I'm not going anywhere," I told her. "Not from you. Not from our child."
Her fingers tightened around mine. "Then don't make me do this alone," she said. "If you're in, be in. Be there for the first kick, for the late-night cravings, for the doctor's visits. Be there when I freak out because I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
I gave her hand a squeeze. "I will."
She exhaled sharply, as if she had been holding her breath. "You mean it?"
"Yes," I said. "I'm all in, Riley."
She nodded, letting out a small, shaky laugh. "Okay."
It wasn't just a word. It was an agreement. A foundation for everything we were about to build.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't planning an exit strategy.
I was planning a future.