Chapter 18

The car hummed softly as we cruised down the highway, the convoy of black SUVs moving in perfect synchronization around us. Despite the tinted windows and the relative silence inside, I could still hear the distant echoes of the crowd we had just left behind—the flashing cameras, the shouting voices, the frenzy of reporters desperate for a headline.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my head against the cool glass of the window.

Cole was driving, but every now and then, his gaze flickered toward me through the rearview mirror.

"Are you good?" he asked for the third time.

"Yes," I muttered, not even bothering to sound convincing.

We were in the middle of a security convoy. I couldn't believe this was my life now.

Silence stretched between us, interrupted only by the steady hum of the engine.

Then, Cole spoke again.

"Can I ask you a question?"

I glanced at him through the mirror. "Please go ahead. Anything to distract me."

His fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel before he finally said, "Who is Nicholas?"

The name sent a jolt through me.

I pressed my lips into a thin line, my stomach twisting at the unexpected turn of conversation.

"One of the reporters back there asked if you were still engaged to him," Cole continued.

I scoffed. "I can't believe you heard that with all the noise."

I hoped he'd let it go. But of course, Cole wasn't the type to drop something once he had his teeth in it.

"Don't try to change the topic, Astrid," he said, voice cool, controlled. His grey eyes met mine through the mirror.

I swallowed. "He's not important."

"But you were engaged," Cole pointed out.

"I was an idiot. And I was young."

"You're still pretty young," he said with a smirk.

I let out a humorless laugh. "I was nineteen. And I thought I was in love. It was stupid. He was stupid. He's not even important, so there's no need to bring him up."

Cole didn't look convinced. His grip tightened slightly on the wheel, his jaw ticking as he processed my words.

"Everything is important, Astrid." His voice was quieter this time, but there was an edge to it that made my skin prickle. "You have to tell me everything. That's the only way I can protect you properly."

Protect me.

There was something unsettling about the way he said it.

Like Nicholas wasn't just an old mistake from my past.

Like Nicholas was some potential threat.

I nodded slowly, though I wasn't entirely sure if I meant it.

Cole didn't press further, but his fingers drummed against the wheel, his gaze flickering back to me once more before focusing on the road ahead.

*****

The drive wasn't too long, but as we approached the estate, I could already tell something was wrong.

As soon as Cole pulled the car to a stop, I noticed the police cars parked out front. The entire household—my mother, Chloe, the Caldwells, the butler and several staff members—were outside, gathered in tense clusters.

Cole stepped out first and swiftly made his way to my side, opening the door for me. The moment I stepped out, I felt the tension.

Camille was being dragged toward one of the police cars, her wrists cuffed behind her back, struggling fiercely against the officers.

Paul was there too, trying to fight them off, gripping onto her arm as they attempted to force her into the car. His face was twisted in fury, veins bulging at his temples.

"What's going on?" I asked Cole, my voice low but firm.

Before he could answer, Chloe rushed over, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug.

"It's so good to see you," she murmured into my shoulder.

"You too," I replied, hugging her back before pulling away and turning back to the scene.

"The cops are here for Camille," Chloe informed me with a smirk, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

My eyes flickered to Camille, who was still thrashing against the officers. Her manicured nails clawed at the air as she let out a stream of curses, screaming at them to let her go.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, twisting in their grip.

Paul was right beside her, trying to fight them off. "Get your hands off my wife!" His face was red with fury as he clutched onto Camille, wrestling against the officers' hold.

It was chaotic.

And then Paul spotted me.

His expression darkened, and his rage boiled over.

"You!!" He roared.

Before I could react, he charged at me, eyes wild, fists clenched.

I barely had time to flinch before Cole intercepted him, grabbing Paul by the chest and shoving him back.

Paul stumbled backwards but lunged again.

Cole didn't give him the chance. One quick, brutal punch sent the older man falling flat on his face, blood trickling from his nose.

"COLE!" I half-yelled, my eyes wide with shock.

Yes, Paul was an asshole. Yes, he probably would have hurt me. But he was fifty something.

Paul, now on the ground, clutched his bleeding nose.

I pushed past Cole, instinctively reaching out to help Paul to his feet, but he slapped my hands away, his face twisted with pain and humiliation. He glared at me with pure hatred.

Then, from the sidelines, Tristan—Paul's son—stepped forward.

He had been standing back, quietly observing as the police dragged his mother away and his father lashed out in blind rage. But now, his sharp blue eyes were fixed on Cole, his face unreadable.

Tristan moved to help his father up, steadying Paul with ease.

Then he turned to Cole, his voice deadly calm.

"Touch my father again, and I'll fucking kill you."

Cole didn't flinch. He just tilted his head slightly, assessing Tristan, as if deciding whether he was worth the effort.

I could feel the tension between them, thick and dangerous, like a storm waiting to explode.

I needed to get control of the situation.

Ignoring the simmering hostility between Cole and Tristan, I turned and walked over to the police officers.

"Let her go," I said, my voice clear and firm.

The officers exchanged confused glances. "Miss Caldwell, are you sure? You're the victim here. You have every right to press charges."

"Let her go." I repeated, my tone leaving no room for argument.

There was a pause. Then, reluctantly, they nodded and uncuffed Camille.

The moment she was free, she ran straight to Paul, gripping his arm like a lifeline.

Everyone was stunned by my decision.

The entire Caldwell family—Maria, Ashley, Asher, Aunt Rachel—stood frozen in disbelief.

I also noticed Chloe's sharp frown, my mother's unimpressed silence, and Cole's visibly clenched jaw.

But I didn't care.

"I am not your enemy," I said, stepping forward so that everyone could hear me. "So please stop trying to hurt me."

Silence.

Then Maria's sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Wrong."

For the first time, she spoke, her brown eyes burning with hatred. "You killed our father and took everything from us. Your definitely our enemy." She spat.

I inhaled sharply, my patience wearing thin. "I didn't hurt Mr. Caldwell, and you know that. So stop trying to create stupid lies for God's sake."

Maria scoffed, folding her arms.

Paul's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. Instead, he simply guided Camille inside, his movements stiff with anger.

One by one, the others followed.

Ashley sent me a glare before storming in after her mother.

Asher just exhaled a cloud of vape smoke, looking utterly indifferent.

Aunt Rachel hesitated, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something. But then she swallowed hard and walked inside without a word.

But Tristan lingered.

I watched as he walked toward me, his gaze unreadable.

Cole tensed beside me, his entire posture shifting into something more defensive.

Tristan ignored him.

"Thanks for not letting the cops take my mom," he said softly.

I blinked, caught off guard.

His blue eyes bore into mine, piercing, searching.

"And for what it's worth," he continued, his voice quieter now, "I'm sorry for what she did."

There was a pause.

"I just want you to know… I'm not your enemy."

I exhaled slowly, studying him.

Something about the way he said it made me wonder if he truly meant it.

Or if he was just better at playing the game than the rest of them.