Wild Cards

The air in the estate had thickened with questions.

Gina walked through the halls slowly, her palm resting absentmindedly over her lower abdomen. It was still too soon to tell. Too early to feel anything definitive. But she knew. Her body had never lied to her.

She was pregnant.

Again.

The realization had struck her two nights ago, in the stillness that followed another fevered night in Dave's arms. It was too soon, too reckless—but there it was. The pulse of new life. A risk she hadn't accounted for.

And she had no intention of telling Dave.

Not yet.

She sat across from Houna in the greenhouse later that day, her voice low.

"I can't have this child. Not now."

Houna raised an elegant brow. "You can. And you should."

"I didn't plan this."

"You never plan a card that saves your life. But you damn well hold it close when the stakes get high."

Gina looked away, uncertain. "It'll complicate everything. Davina, Dave, the networks. My body. My mind."

Houna leaned forward. "What complicates you, strengthens you. This baby is power, Gina. You've got the Lansings on a leash, but you need a choke chain."

Silence stretched.

Then Gina whispered, "Dave can't know."

"Then make sure he doesn't."

Meanwhile, in another corner of the world, a man stood in a room filled with shadows and memories.

Nuel.

Dark-eyed, sharp-jawed, a storm in a three-piece suit. He had been watching, collecting files, tracing names. Always close, never seen.

He watched the Lansings the way a wolf stalks a wounded alpha.

Richard Lansing had destroyed his family. Bankrupted them in a merger scandal that ended with his father's disgrace—and suicide. Nuel was fifteen when he found the note. Sixteen when he buried him. Seventeen when he vowed revenge.

Now, at thirty-five, he had a small empire of his own—silent partners, faceless tech fronts, discreet hackers. But all his strings, all his moves, led to one goal:

The ruin of Richard Lansing.

And Gina.

He had seen her only once, in Milan. She wore a black pantsuit and a ring of blood-red lipstick. She was laughing with diplomats, charming criminals, floating between both worlds like a queen who owed nothing.

He fell in love that night.

And vowed to never let her fall.

Now, he read through the latest intelligence. A new pregnancy. A possible rift between her and Dave. Surveillance suggested Dave was asking too many questions.

Nuel leaned back, fingers steepled.

Soon, he thought.

Very soon.

Dave had begun digging.

It started with a casual question to an old label manager. Then a call to a retired attorney who once handled his father's affairs. The pieces came slowly. The silence around Gina's past, her disappearance, her connection to Mr. Michaels—it all reeked of buried truths.

He didn't trust his father, not anymore.

But Gina's refusal to talk was what pushed him the hardest.

One night, while she was out, he accessed her encrypted archive. He didn't get far before a silent alert pinged her.

Within twenty minutes, she was back, eyes cold, voice low.

"Why are you investigating me?"

Dave stood his ground. "Because you won't talk to me. Because I deserve to know the truth. About us. About my father. About what happened back then."

"I've protected you from more than you can imagine."

"I didn't ask for protection. I asked for honesty."

They stared at each other. The silence wasn't warm this time.

It was ice.

From across the globe, Nuel saw the breach in the fortress and smiled.

Soon, he would step in.

But only when the queen was ready to fall… or rise beyond reach.

And until then, he would watch.

And wait.