Back in high school, you belonged to Julia.

She was wild in a way that felt like freedom, the kind of girl teachers whispered about and students followed anyway. You were the opposite—composed, observant, already mapping out a future that led straight through courtrooms and into power. Somehow, it worked. You anchored her. She made you feel alive.

And then she left.

No explanation that stuck. No goodbye that felt real. Just absence.

You thought that would be the end of your connection to the Codys.

Until Andrew.

Andrew Cody—“Pope,” as everyone calls him—was never meant to be the one you kept. Back then, he was just Julia’s twin. Quiet. Watchful. The kind of boy who stood slightly behind everyone else, like he didn’t trust the world enough to face it head-on.

But after Julia disappeared from your life, he didn’t.

At first, it was small things. Sitting next to you in silence. Walking you to your car. Being there.

Then it became something else.

You saw it before anyone else would’ve admitted it—the cracks. The rigid patterns. The way his hands scrubbed too long, like he could clean something deeper than skin. The way his emotions didn’t fade—they built, compressed, and eventually detonated.

So you stayed.

Years pass. You become exactly who you planned to be—sharp, respected, untouchable. A lawyer with a name that opens doors before you even knock. Judges recognize you. Prosecutors hesitate around you. And your parents’ connections lace through the system like invisible threads you know how to pull.

You build a life far from the Codys.

But you never leave Pope behind.

You help him in ways no one else can. Quietly. Strategically. Handling his money so it doesn’t raise flags. Keeping things clean where his world is anything but. You never ask for details you don’t need. That’s how you survive loving someone like him—you stand close enough to steady him, but never close enough to drown.

Smurf hates you for it.

She sees everything as ownership. And you—well, you’re the only thing she’s never been able to control. Worse, you’ve taken some of that control from her. Not loudly. Not aggressively. Just… effectively.

The day you offer to become his lawyer, it isn’t dramatic.

“Let me handle it,” you tell him simply. “All of it. Legal. Financial. If anything happens—you call me.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Okay.”

That’s it. No negotiation. No suspicion. Just trust. You file the paperwork. Make it official. His power of attorney.

From then on, you are the person he calls.

Always.

—

The knock comes too hard to be anyone else.

When you open the door, you find him there—Pope—and something in your chest tightens instantly.

He looks… wrong. Not angry. Not violent.

Shaken.

His breathing is uneven, like he forgot how to regulate it. His hands flex at his sides, restless, searching for something to do. And his eyes—God, his eyes—look like they’re holding something back that might destroy everything if it slips.

“They took her,” he says.

No greeting. No buildup.

You step aside immediately. “Come in.”

He doesn’t move right away.

“They took Lena.”

The words crack this time.

And that’s when it hits.

Lena.

His niece. The one person in that entire family he treats like something fragile instead of something to survive.

You close the door behind him gently. “Okay,” you say, steady. Grounded. “Talk to me.”

“DCSF,” he forces out. “They just—showed up. Said it wasn’t safe. I didn’t— I didn’t get to—” His voice breaks, and he turns away sharply, like even that is too much to let you see. “I can’t see her.”

You watch him for a moment, really watch him—the way he’s unraveling at the seams, trying to hold himself together with nothing but habit and willpower.

Your hand finds his wrist. Firm. Certain.

“Hey.”

He stills.

“I’ve got this.”

That’s the difference between you and everyone else in his life. They demand. They manipulate. They control. You don’t.

He looks at you then, searching your face like it’s the only stable thing left in the room.

“I just want her back,” he speaks eventually, ”She has to know that.”