The heavy rhythmic hiss of the mechanical ventilator was the first sound that clawed its way through the fog of my subconscious. My lungs felt like they were lined with crushed glass, and every attempt to draw breath felt like a monumental battle against an invisible weight.

We scrambled down the spiraling stone staircase leading into the bowels of the cliffside estate, the sound of boots echoing frantically behind us as Vanguard operatives poured into the upper levels. Enzo covered our rear, laying down suppressive fire that chewed through the handrails and plaster walls, buying us precious seconds.

The basement was a labyrinth of raw rock and reinforced concrete, built into the natural sea caves beneath the villa. As we ducked into a heavily armored bulkhead room, Enzo slammed the master hydraulic seal, throwing the five-inch steel locking bolts into place just as a concussive blast rattled the exterior frame.

The room was bathed in the red glow of emergency backup lights. Banked computer screens flickered across one entire wall, displaying satellite feeds, biometric readouts, and global financial tracking software.

Dominic shoved me toward a reinforced leather chair in front of the master console, while he immediately began typing a complex override sequence into the main terminal.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice trembling as I clutched my bruised ribs.

"Uploading the entirety of Arthur Vance’s genetic decryption protocols directly to the international cybercrime division at Interpol," Dominic said without looking up, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard with blistering speed. "Marcus wants your DNA to unlock the four-hundred-million-dollar ghost accounts? We’re broadcasting the exact algorithmic formula to every intelligence agency and financial regulator on the planet. If the data is public, your DNA becomes useless to him. He won't hunt a girl who can no longer unlock his vault; he'll have no reason to chase you."

"And us?" I whispered, staring at his profile, illuminated by the harsh red light of the monitors. "What happens when the world finds out who Arthur Vance really was—and that I carry his code?"

Dominic stopped typing. He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burned away every shadow in the room. He walked over, knelt beside my chair, and took my trembling hands in his.

"The moment I put this ring on your finger, Clara, your past was erased," Dominic said, his voice steady, low, and absolute. "You aren't a science experiment. You aren't a walking hard drive. You are my wife. And anyone who wants to test what that means will have to go through every single ounce of fire and steel I command."

Before I could answer, a loud, synthetic voice echoed from the heavy steel bulkhead door behind us.