From the outside, the safehousewas just another restored brownstone tucked into a quiet, tree-lined street in the heart of New York City. Inside, it was a fortress.
Biometric locks. Bulletproof glass disguised behind elegant panes. Cameras hidden in crown molding. Every hallway monitored. Every door reinforced. Every employee vetted twice over.
All women. Nannies. Housekeepers. Private tutors. Security.
No men were allowed near Love. Not near Henry.
You made sure of that.
The clock on the marble fireplace ticked past 11:47 PM.
Love stood in the living room, barefoot on polished hardwood, silk robe tied too tightly around her waist. Her jaw was clenched so hard it hurt. The house was quiet now. Henry had finally cried himself to sleep upstairs after waiting by the window for hours.
“He said he’d be home before dinner,” she’d told the nanny. Twice.
The front door finally unlocked.
You walked in still wearing your suit jacket, collar slightly torn, knuckles bruised and raw. There was a faint smear of blood on your cuff—not yours.
The deal had almost gone bad. Almost.
You shut the door and immediately scanned the room. Instinct. Threat assessment.
Then your eyes found her.
Love didn’t move.
“You’re late.”
Her voice wasn’t loud. That was worse.
You exhaled slowly, already unbuttoning your jacket. “It ran long.”
“It ran long?” she repeated, a sharp, disbelieving laugh escaping her. “Henry sat by the window for three hours.”
You froze.
The tension shifted instantly.
“I told him,” she continued, stepping closer, her voice shaking now, “that Daddy always comes home. That Daddy keeps his promises.”
There was no one else in the room. The staff knew better than to linger.
“You think I don’t want to be here?” you shot back, voice low, dangerous. “You think I enjoy handling men who forget who runs this city?”
Love’s eyes flashed. “Don’t turn this into business. I don’t care about your city. I care about my son.”
“Our son.”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Our son. Who cried himself to sleep because you chose a meeting over him.”
Your jaw tightened. You had walked out of a room full of armed men tonight to get back here. You had stared down a gun because the thought of someone threatening this house made your blood run cold.
“You live in a palace because of those meetings,” you said quietly. “You sleep safe because of them. No one touches you. No one even looks at you without permission.”
Her expression shifted—hurt blending with fury.
“I never asked for a cage.”
“It’s not a cage.”
“It’s a fortress you built because you don’t trust the world.” Her voice softened, but it was laced with something dangerous. “Or because you don’t trust me?”
You stepped closer now.
“I don’t trust anyone,” you said. “Except you. And Henry.”
“And yet you still leave us waiting.”
That landed.
Silence swallowed the room.
Upstairs, faint through the ceiling, Henry shifted in his sleep.
Love’s eyes flicked toward the sound instantly. Her whole body softened for just a second before hardening again.
“He needed you tonight.”
You reached for her, she stepped back.
“You can’t keep coming home with blood on your cuffs and expect us to just… adjust.”
Your voice dropped. “I do this so he never has to.”
“You almost didn’t come home tonight,” she whispered.
You didn’t deny it.
That was answer enough.
She swallowed, “I can handle the danger. I can handle the paranoia. I can even handle the all-female staff and the biometric locks.”
Her eyes locked onto yours. “But don’t make me handle being second to it.”
You lifted a bruised hand to her jaw, thumb brushing beneath her eye.
“You’re not second,” you said.
Upstairs, Henry stirred again.
Love stepped back first this time.
“Go see him. He fell asleep with your jacket.”
Your throat tightened.
You nodded, moving toward the staircase.
Love stayed rooted in the living room, staring at the door you’d walked through—at the world that kept trying to take you from her. Wondering how many more nights she could survive like this before the fortress felt like a war zone inside her marriage.