I woke up early and went downstairs, only to realize I had absolutely nothing in the house—not even coffee. And in New York, coffee feels like a necessity, especially when working twelve-hour shifts. It was always the first thing I bought, the only thing that kept me going.

I sighed, opening every cabinet, confirming what I already knew. Nothing.

I sat on the kitchen island, staring blankly into space, thinking about how I needed to go grocery shopping. But without a car, that felt impossible. And I was tired of asking for help—everyone had already done so much for me.

My eyes landed on the envelope sitting beside me, almost as if it were staring back, taunting me. With a deep breath, I slid it closer, opened it, and pulled out the thick packet of papers inside. A card slipped out and landed on the counter. It was from the lawyer who had originally dropped off the papers.

On the back, handwritten, it read:

"I'm not an enemy—I'm a friend. Meet me at 123 Café, and I'll explain everything."

I stared at the card for a long moment before finally deciding I couldn't run forever. This was either going to be the best or worst decision of my life. But I needed to move forward.

After a quick shower and throwing on some clothes, I stepped out onto the street, heading toward the café. The air was crisp but pleasant. Living in a college town, cafés were on nearly every corner, but this one had been around since I was a kid.

As I approached, people bustled in and out, coffees in hand. I stepped inside, immediately heading to the counter to order my own. While waiting, I scanned the room and spotted a man—a short, slightly built figure with round glasses, dressed professionally. He had a laptop open, a newspaper spread out, and a coffee in hand.

"AVERY!" The barista called out, snapping me from my thoughts.

I turned quickly, grabbed my coffee, and when I looked back—he was standing. Hands in his pockets, smiling.

I cleared my throat and approached him cautiously. As I reached him, he gestured to the chair across from him. I hesitated, then sat. He followed.

"Ah, I see you brought the folder. Great," he said, holding out his hand for the yellow packet. Without a word, I handed it over.

"There's no need to be afraid of me," he assured. "My name is Sam. I was appointed as your lawyer."

I took a sip of my coffee, then adjusted in my seat. "I don't understand how I even have a lawyer. Or divorce papers. Or how you found me. I don't even have money for a lawyer."

He chuckled, clearly unfazed by the confusion and worry written across my face.

"When you married Mr. Jackson, he didn't hesitate to take out a substantial life insurance policy in your name. I was automatically assigned as your lawyer. We've never met, but I've been working behind the scenes, handling anything tied to your name."

I choked on my coffee, nearly spitting it out.

"I'm sorry—what?" My brain struggled to process what he was saying.

"When you left Mr. Jackson, many of us weren't blind to his ways—how he treated women. How he treated you during those years. A few of my colleagues came to me when they learned you were gone... and what Mr. Jackson's plans were."

I felt my stomach tighten.

"I'm going to help you, Miss King."

I spent the better part of that morning in that café, listening in disbelief as Sam explained everything. Part of me felt relieved—someone was helping me through this. The other part? The realization that my estranged husband wasn't just looking for me—he needed me. I was his way out of whatever trouble he was in.

I signed the divorce papers almost immediately. Sam explained a no-fault divorce meant I didn't need Logan's consent or signature for it to go through. The second he told me all I had to do was sign and it would be done—I didn't hesitate.

As I stepped outside, I pulled my phone from my pocket, only to find it dead. I hadn't even charged it last night.

For the first time in a long while, I felt like something was finally working in my favor.

But good things never last.

The moment I started walking home, I heard the sirens.

Firetrucks.

Rushing past me.

Heading toward my street.

I didn't think much of it—until I turned the corner and saw the black smoke billowing into the sky.

My curious walk turned into a sprint.

As I got closer, I spotted the sheriff's car and a cluster of motorcycles parked in front of what used to be my house.

Before I could reach the door, a strong arm grabbed me.

"What the hell!" I screamed, my entire body shaking. My breaths became rapid and uneven. A panic attack—was this what a panic attack felt like?

Tears blurred my vision as I stared at the ruins of my childhood home. It was still standing, but barely.

"Hey, hey—Avery. Look at me."

Everest.

He pulled me down onto the grass, cradling me. "Breathe. Calm down."

Calm down?

How the hell was I supposed to calm down?

"My things... my parents' things—this is all I had left of them!" I sobbed, my entire body trembling. "What happened!?"

Everest's grip on me tightened. "It's gonna be okay. Thankfully, the fire didn't reach the upstairs bedroom. My guys salvaged as much as they could."

I looked up at him, then pushed myself to my feet. "Where am I supposed to go? I have nowhere."

"You're staying at our house."

Our house.

I let out a dry laugh. "I'm not living with you."

He scoffed. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You think this was an accident?" He gestured to the smoldering house. His voice was low, angry.

The same people who killed your parents are still trying to finish what they started—and your husband is the one paying them to do it." His voice is low, dangerous, as he steps closer to me.

I stare up at him, my body tense, my breath caught in my throat.

"He's the one funding these bastards," Everest growls. "I'll stay in my trailer, but at least the house is on club property. No one's going to find you or get to you there."

I close my eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. There's no fight left in me right now. I just want to go home. "I just want to go home," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

Everest handles things with the fire chief and the sheriff before we climb onto his bike and head back towards the clubhouse.

When we step inside the house Everest built for us, it doesn't feel like home. I don't even want to call it ours. I want to fight against this, to push back, but after meeting with my lawyer, I know there's no argument left to make. My life is spiraling, and all I want is for it to stop.

The house is in disarray—boxes scattered, my bedroom stuff piled up. Among the mess, I notice a few things from my parents. My mother's jewelry box sits on the counter, alongside some framed pictures.

The slam of the front door makes me jump, and I whip around just as Everest storms in.

"Where the fuck were you!?" His voice is sharp, his anger palpable.

I narrow my eyes at him. "What right do you have to be yelling at me right now? My childhood home just burned to the ground." My voice is tired, defeated. I turn away from him and head to the bedroom, but I hear his footsteps close behind me.

"I told you last night—I needed to talk to you. No more secrets, Avery. I need to know what the hell is going on."

I sit on the edge of the bed, and he plants himself in front of me, waiting—demanding answers.

I take a deep breath. "I met with my lawyer."

Confusion flashes across his face. "When did you get a lawyer? Why do you even need one?" He gestures for me to sit beside him, but I don't move.

"Logan—the guy from New York. When we got married, he took out a life insurance policy on me worth millions. Turns out, he got mixed up with the wrong people, and now he needs a way out. That's where I come in."

Everest's jaw tightens.

I press on. "I'm his meal ticket. But I signed the divorce papers. By the end of the week, it'll be finalized. My lawyer is handling the life insurance issue."

Everest studies me like I'm speaking a foreign language. "You really think he cares about a divorce? This isn't about that—it's about money."

Frustration builds inside me. "I know that. And I know he'll come looking for me—if he isn't already here."

Everest lets out a humorless chuckle, running a hand down his face before leaning back on the bed. "He's here, Avery. Came right up to me like some punk, thinking he could intimidate me."

Shock courses through me, and I bolt upright. "What did he say?"

Everest laughs dryly before shaking his head. "He wants you." He looks up at me, his expression grim. "You really know how to pick them, don't you? You don't think he did his research before showing up? He knows about what happened when you were sixteen. He hired Devil's Blood."

My stomach drops.

"You don't think they're hoping to find a body when they go searching the wreckage?"

I swallow hard, my mind racing. "What am I supposed to do?" I tap my foot anxiously.

Everest sits up, his gaze steady. "You're not leaving my sight. I need to know where you are at all times. I didn't spend all those years in prison just for something to happen to you now."

His words sting. He speaks like I'm a responsibility, not someone he cares about.

I clench my jaw. "And what about work? You expect me to just sit here and do nothing? I'll go insane, Everest." I start pacing, my frustration mounting.

He sighs, staring up at the ceiling. "You'll have someone watching you at all times. Either me or one of the guys will take you to work and pick you up."

His voice darkens. "But if things get worse, Avery, you're not working."

I glance out the window, trying to ground myself, but I turn when I hear him shift. Everest stands, looking down at me.

"The house is yours. I'll still be staying in my trailer."

His gaze hardens as he moves toward the door. "And charge your goddamn phone. Answer it when I call you."

With that, he walks out, leaving me standing there—alone, overwhelmed, and drowning in a million thoughts I don't know how to escape.