Aria POV
The Blackwood Tower conference room had never felt so much like an execution chamber.
Fifty reporters packed the space, caras pointed at the podium where Damien and I would stand. The air buzzed with anticipation—vultures waiting for the carnage.
"Two minutes," Agent Sarah said quietly from the doorway. She’d insisted on being present despite Marcus’s warnings. "Are you sure about this?"
I looked down at the speech in my hands. Five pages of carefully crafted destruction. Every mistake I’d ever made, every questionable business decision, every mont of anger and vengeance laid bare.
"I’m sure," I said, though my hands shook.
Damien stood beside , his own speech clutched in white-knuckled fists. He’d barely slept—neither of us had. We’d spent the entire night preparing, planning, hoping this gamble would work.
Twelve hours ago, Agent Sarah team had finally identified sothing in the video background. A specific type of industrial concrete only used in warehouses built between 1985 and 1990. Combined with the ambient noise pattern—distant train whistles every seventeen minutes—they’d narrowed Marcus’s location to three possible sites.
Three sites they were preparing to raid the mont we finished this press conference.
The plan was simple: give Marcus what he wanted. Let him watch us destroy ourselves on live television. And while he was distracted, savoring his victory, the FBI would move in.
It had to work.
It had to.
"Ms. Monroe." A production assistant gestured to us. "Mr. Blackwood, we are ready for you."
I stood on shaking legs as Damien’s hand found mine, squeezing once before releasing.
"United front," he whispered.
"United front," I echoed.
We walked into the conference room together.
The cara flashes were blinding. Questions erupted imdiately, reporters shouting over each other, but Damien raised a hand and the room fell silent.
"Thank you for coming," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor I could see in his jaw. "Aria and I have a statent to make. We won’t be taking questions afterward."
I stepped up to the podium, my speech trembling in my hands.
"Eighteen hours ago," I began, "my three-year-old son was kidnapped by Marcus Blackwood. Many of you watched the livestream. You saw Noah, you saw how scared he was."
My voice cracked but forced myself to continue.
"Marcus demanded that Damien and I publicly confess our wrongdoings in exchange for information about Noah’s location. So that’s what we’re here to do."
I could see it in their faces—the eagerness, the hunger for scandal. They were going to eat this alive.
" Years ago, I married Damien Blackwood in a business arrangent. I was naive enough to hope it might beco sothing real. Instead, I discovered my husband with my sister on our wedding day. When I confronted them, my family blad , they called an embarrassnt."
The caras flashed faster. Soone was already typing on their phone, live-tweeting this.
"I knew I was pregnant, two weeks later when I told Damien, he" I looked at him, saw the pain in his eyes. "He told to get rid of it, and said I was trying to trap him. He didn’t even bother to give a di."
Damien’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.
"So I did disappear, but I kept my baby. I fled to London with nothing—no money, no support, no plan until a friend helped ." I swallowed hard. "I built Monroe Global from nothing. And I’m not going to stand here and pretend I did it all legitimately."
That caused a stir. Reporters leaning forward, caras zooming in.
"I used insider information from my ti as Damien’s wife. I leveraged connections that weren’t mine to leverage. I made deals that so might consider unethical." Each word felt hollow. "I was so focused on revenge, on proving I could succeed without my family, that I compromised my principles."
It wasn’t entirely true. Monroe Global was built on my intelligence and hard work. But Marcus wanted blood, wanted confession, so I’d give him the performance of a lifeti.
"I return to Ravenwood not just to expand my business, but to make everyone who’d hurt pay. I wanted vengeance more than I wanted peace." I looked directly at the cara. "That anger, that need for revenge—it’s poisoned everything. And now my son is paying the price for my pride."
I stepped back as Damien took my place at the podium.
"Everything Aria said is true," he began, his voice rough. "I was cruel to her. I accused her of things she didn’t do, I threw her out when she was pregnant because I was too much of a coward to face my own feelings."
He gripped the edges of the podium.
"My entire life, I was taught that emotions were weakness. My father beat that lesson into , into my brother Marcus. He exiled Marcus at fifteen. And I" His voice broke. "I let it happen. I stood by and did nothing while my brother was sent away. While he was put in a psychiatric facility and abandoned."
This was new, this and wasn’t in the rehearsed speech.
"Marcus asked for my help once," Damien continued, tears now streaming down his face. "When he was seventeen, locked in that facility, he called , begged to get him out. And I told him I couldn’t because our Father knew best. That he needed to get better."
The room was dead silent.
"I abandoned my brother when he needed most. Just like I abandoned Aria, just like I abandoned my son." Damien looked directly at the cara, directly at Marcus watching sowhere. "You were right, Marcus. About all of it. I took everything from you. I was Father’s golden child while you suffered. And when you needed , I failed you."
"Damien," I said softly, touching his arm.
He shook his head, continuing. "Three years ago, I could have searched for Aria. Could have found her, apologized, been there for my son’s birth. But I was too proud and damaged. Too much of my father’s son."
He pulled out another sheet of paper—not part of our prepared statent.
"As of this morning, I’ve transferred control of Blackwood Enterprises to Marcus Blackwood. The company, all assets, everything. It’s his. It always should have been."
The reporters erupted. Questions flying, caras flashing, chaos.
But Damien wasn’t finished.
"Marcus, if you’re watching—and I know you are—I’m done fighting you. You win. Take the company. Take everything. Just please, please let Noah go. He’s innocent in all of this. He doesn’t deserve to suffer for my mistakes."
He stepped back from the podium, and I saw it—the complete surrender. The man who’d built an empire on ruthless control was offering it all up for his son.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, praying it was Marcus, praying this had worked.
It was Agent Sarah.
We’ve found him. Warehouse district, industrial zone. SWAT moving in now. Stay on that stage—don’t let Marcus know we’re coming.
My heart stopped and started again. Raced so fast I thought I might pass out.
They found him.
They found Noah.
I looked at Damien and gave the tiniest nod. His eyes widened, understanding imdiately.
"Are there any questions?" I asked the press, my voice surprisingly steady. We needed to keep this going, keep Marcus distracted a little longer.
The reporters exploded with questions but I picked one at random.
"Ms. Monroe, do you regret returning to Ravenwood?"
"No," I said honestly. "Because if I hadn’t, I never would have seen my son with his father. Never would have seen Damien trying to change. And despite everything, despite this nightmare, that matters."
Another reporter: "Mr. Blackwood, if you get Noah back, will you try to take custody from Ms. Monroe?"
"No." Damien’s answer was imdiate. "Aria is an incredible mother. Noah adores her. I would never try to take him from her. I only hope" His voice cracked. "I only hope she’ll let be part of his life if he cos ho safe."
When, I wanted to correct. When he cos ho safe.
My phone buzzed again.
Breach in progress. No sign of resistance, searching the building.
The seconds crawled by. Another question, another answer. I barely heard them, barely registered my own words. All I could think about was Noah, sowhere in that warehouse, waiting.
Please let him be okay. Please let him be alive.
Subject located. Upper floor, northwest corner. He’s alone.
Alone. Marcus had left him alone.
Child is frightened but appears physically unhard. Extracting now.
The relief hit so hard my knees buckled. Damien caught , his arm around my waist, and I saw the question in his eyes.
"They found him," I whispered. "They’re getting him out."
Damien’s face transford. The agony lted away, replaced by pure, desperate hope.
"We need to go," he said to the reporters. "Now. We need to"
"Mr. Blackwood, wait"
But we were already moving. Pushing through the crowd, ignoring the shouted questions, the cara flashes as Agent Sarah t us at the door.
"He’s being transported to St. Michael’s Hospital for evaluation," she said quickly. "Just as a precaution, you can et him there."
"And Marcus?" Damien demanded.
"Gone. He wasn’t at the location. We think he was watching remotely, saw us coming, and ran. But we’ll find him."
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