Chapter 3

The engine sputtered and died, leaving me stranded in the kind of neighborhood where even streetlights seemed afraid to shine their full brightness. I checked my phone—11:43 PM. Outside my window, shadows moved between dilapidated buildings, occasionally illuminated by the cherry glow of cigarettes.

I pressed Harrison's name on my phone, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach as I waited. One ring. Two. Three.

"What is it now, Viviana?" His voice was cold, distant—tinged with irritation.

"My car broke down," I said, trying to keep the fear from my voice. "I'm on Westlake Avenue, near the old factory district. Could you—"

"It's nearly midnight," he interrupted. "Why are you even in that part of town?"

I swallowed hard. "The pregnancy support group I joined meets in a community center nearby. Please, Harrison. I don't feel safe here."

I heard muffled voices in the background, then Ada's unmistakable laugh. The sound twisted in my chest like a knife.

"Harrison," Ada's voice purred, suddenly close to the phone. "Darling, you can't seriously believe this. It's so transparent—another manipulation."

"Viviana," Harrison sighed, "call a taxi. I'm not playing these games anymore."

The call ended before I could respond. I stared at the blank screen, tears blurring my vision. A group of men had gathered at the corner, their gazes now fixed on my car—an expensive vehicle clearly out of place in this neighborhood.

I tried calling a rideshare, but the app showed the nearest driver was twenty minutes away. My hands trembled as two of the men began walking toward me. I locked the doors, heart hammering against my ribs.

A sharp knock on my window made me jump. One of the men leaned down, his face half-hidden in shadow.

"Having trouble, pretty lady?" His smile revealed a missing tooth. "We could help you out..."

Another man circled to the passenger side, trying the door handle. I fumbled for my phone, unsure who to call, when bright headlights suddenly flooded the street. A black SUV screeched to a halt behind my car, and a tall figure emerged.

"Viviana!" The voice was achingly familiar. "Get in, quickly!"

Logan Riley strode toward my car, his normally gentle features set in hard lines. The men backed away, muttering curses as Logan reached my door.

"Logan?" I whispered, disbelieving. "How did you—"

"Later," he said firmly, opening my door. "We need to leave now."

As he guided me to his SUV, one hand protectively at the small of my back, I felt something I hadn't experienced in months—safety.

* * *

Logan's Seattle home was nothing like I expected—a spacious loft overlooking the bay, filled with warm lighting and comfortable furnishings. He moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, preparing tea while I sat wrapped in a blanket he'd insisted I take.

"You've been watching me," I said finally, as he placed a steaming mug in front of me. "How did you know where I was tonight?"

He hesitated, then sat across from me. "After Harrison woke up, I knew something wasn't right. The way he looked at you changed. I've been... keeping tabs, making sure you were okay."

"Why?"

Logan's eyes met mine, then dropped to his hands. "I need to show you something."

He led me down a hallway to a room with a simple wooden door. When he opened it, I gasped. The walls were covered with photographs—me at art exhibitions, graduating college, laughing at a café. A glass case held ticket stubs from every gallery showing I'd ever participated in. On a desk sat a stack of letters, all addressed to me but never sent.

"Ten years," Logan said softly behind me. "That's how long I've loved you, Viviana. Since we were nineteen and you told me about your dreams of painting the northern lights someday."

I touched a photograph of myself from years ago, standing beside one of my first paintings. "All this time..."

"I never said anything because you loved him. I wanted you to be happy." Logan's voice cracked slightly. "But I can't stand by anymore and watch him destroy you."

I turned to face him, truly seeing him perhaps for the first time—the quiet strength in his shoulders, the unwavering kindness in his eyes, the love that had waited patiently for a decade while I chased a shadow.

"The baby," I whispered, one hand moving protectively to my stomach.

Logan stepped forward, his gaze intense but gentle. "I would love any child of yours as my own, Viviana. I'm not asking for anything. I just want you safe. Both of you."

Tears filled my eyes as I realized what he was offering—not just shelter, but a home. Not just care, but love. Not conditions and suspicion, but acceptance and faith.

For the first time since Harrison had awakened from his coma, I felt like I could breathe again.