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The silence in the room was heavier than the snow piling against the windowpane. Declan sat motionless in the chair, his green eyes fixated on me as if I were a stranger who had spoken in a language he couldn't comprehend. Outside, the Seattle storm howled, but inside, the only sound was the soft, rhythmic breathing of our six-day-old son against my chest. / Chapter 3 / 20

Chapter 3 - Blood On The Hardwood

"Get into the pantry," Declan ordered softly, his hands moving to unbutton his damp wool coat. "There is a floor latch under the rug. Lock it from the inside and do not come out until you hear my voice."

"Declan, no—"

"Clara, listen to me!" He gripped my face, his fingers cold from the snow, his eyes fierce and desperate. "I missed his birth. I missed five months of his life because I was too blind to see the snakes in my own house. I am not letting anyone touch you or our son tonight. Move!"

I scrambled on my knees into the small walk-in pantry off the hallway, holding James tightly. Just as I pulled the floor hatch open and slipped down into the shallow cellar space, the kitchen door swung open with a deafening crash.

Through the gaps in the floorboards above, I heard heavy boots entering the house.

"Rowan!" a harsh voice called out. "Make this easy. We just need the child and the mother's signature on the settlement agreement. Nobody has to get hurt."

"You stepped into the wrong house, Vance," Declan's voice echoed, shockingly calm, dripping with absolute malice.

A sudden, violent brawl erupted directly above me. The sound of wood splintering, heavy punches landing, and bodies crashing against furniture shook the ceiling. A man grunted in agony, followed by a sickening crack. Declan had spent years trained in high-level executive defensive combat, but these were paid mercenaries.

A heavy groan echoed right above my head, followed by a loud thump. Glass shattered on the coffee table.

"Declan!" I screamed internally, biting my lip until I tasted blood to keep from making a sound. James began to squirm, squawking softly. I quickly nursed him against my skin, praying to God he wouldn't cry out.

A gunshot cracked through the house. The deafening sound rang in my ears.

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Silenced fell over the living room. For ten excruciating seconds, there was no sound except the ticking of the grandfather clock and the whistling wind outside.

Then, the floor latch above my head slowly creaked open.

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