He adjusted his sleeves, squared his shoulders, and walked to the entrance with lethal calm. The two bouncers moved instantly to block his path, their bulk filling the ornate archway.

"Didn’t we tell you already?" one of them barked.

Reese’s arm shot out — a blur of trained efficiency. One swift jab to the throat, another to the ribs, and the first guard hit the ground with a grunt. The second reached for his radio, but Reese pivoted and slammed him into the doorframe.

The man slumped, dazed, and Reese stepped over him.

Inside, Reese scanned the space. His pulse was steady, movements calculated. And then he saw her.

Sylvia sat with pale fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey. Tom Kane lounged opposite her, smug as ever.

Reese’s stomach twisted — that glass shouldn’t even be near her.

"Miss Kane!" he called sharply, cutting through the hum of conversation.

Sylvia jerked, startled, the glass slipping from her hand and shattering against the floor. Amber liquid splashed across her flip flops.

"Reese!"

Reese crossed the room in long, purposeful strides.

"Mr. Kane asked me to get you back home," he said.

"How dare you?" Tom rose, fury radiating off him.

"I simply follow orders, sir," Reese cut in, his gaze steady. "Mr. Winn Kane’s orders."

"The loyal dog."

Reese didn’t rise to the bait. He turned to Sylvia, extending a hand. "Miss Kane. We should go."

Syl hesitated for a heartbeat, glancing between them. Tom’s eyes were sharp, glittering with warning. "Don’t you dare walk out on me, Sylvia," he said softly.

But then she looked at Reese — solid, steady Reese, his hand warm and open, his dark eyes silently urging her toward safety. She rose, her fingers brushing his.

Tom’s hand shot out, catching her wrist — but Reese moved faster. He caught Tom’s wrist midair, his grip vice-tight. "That’s enough, sir."

The two men stared each other down — old power versus quiet strength — until Tom, with a slow, poisonous smile, dropped his arm.

Reese guided Sylvia out with a protective arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the curious gazes.

But as the doors opened and the cool night air hit their faces, the scene waiting outside made her freeze.

Flashing blue lights.

Police car.

"What happened?" Sylvia asked. The flashing red and blue lights painted her face in quick pulses. Her pulse still hadn’t slowed; her entire body was vibrating with adrenaline, anger, and a shame she couldn’t quite name.

Reese stood before her, hands raised slightly as two uniformed officers hovered close. "I kinda punched one of the guards," he said dryly, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Sir," one of the police officers cut in sharply. "Put your hands behind your back."

Reese exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cool night air. He turned toward them, wrists loose and compliant.

As the officer stepped forward with the cuffs, Reese twisted slightly so he could face Sylvia one last time. His dark eyes locked on hers. "Drive home," he said firmly. "Tell the security at the gate not to let anyone in. You understand me?"

Sylvia nodded. "I... I understand."

And before she could stop herself, before she could think of how inappropriate or foolish it might look — she stepped forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Her lips brushed his stubbled skin.

"Thank you," she murmured, her breath trembling against his face.

Reese cleared his throat softly, the corner of his mouth curving into the smallest, most heartbreakingly human smile she’d ever seen. "Just doing my job," he said.

Then he turned back to the officer. "The car keys are in my pocket," he said, his composure snapping back into place. "Can you get them for her, please?"

The officer nodded, awkwardly fishing in Reese’s jacket before handing the keys to Sylvia.

Sylvia took the keys with shaking fingers. "Thank you."

She turned and made her way to the car. Her vision blurred, the lights melting into streaks of color as tears filled her eyes. By the time she slid into the driver’s seat, her hands were trembling so hard she could barely fit the key into the ignition.

The engine roared to life, and for a long moment, she just sat there — staring through the windshield as the police led Reese toward the cruiser.

When she finally drove off, the city lights stretched ahead of her in a blur.

She had to get away. From the madness, the guilt, the constant tug-of-war between love and control. She loved Winn, damn it — she loved him — but if she stayed anywhere near Tom Kane, she’d never have a life of her own.

No matter how hard Winn tried to shield her, their father’s shadow would always be there, waiting to pull her back in.

As the gates came into view, Sylvia made a decision she hadn’t dared to before. Her lips pressed into a thin, determined line.

She was leaving.

By the time Sylvia slammed the door and let herself in, the adrenaline had spent itself and left a hollow, raw ache behind. She sank to the parquet beside the front door, flip flops askew, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

Less than a minute later, the front door banged and Winn was in the room He was on his knees beside her, all clenched jaw and frantic tenderness. "Syl!" He was instantaneously everywhere: hands on her shoulders, his coat kicked to the side, the iron in his concern making him seem terrified.

She clung to him; her fingers clawed at his shirt as if he were the only solid thing left. "I have to go away, Winn," she sobbed into the cotton of his collar. "I have to go! Anywhere but here."

Winn’s hands were warm on her back, his arms stiff with the need to protect even while he was shaking inside. "Hey... shh," he murmured. He smoothed her hair with clumsy tenderness. "What did he do?" His face was a storm of anger and fear.

"That’s the thing — nothing. All he did was pour me a glass of brandy." The absurdity of it, the casualness with which Tom could weaponize a glass, made her feel dizzy.