Liliana POV
The photo of Scarlett bound and bruised in the back of that van had lit something bright and vicious under my skin. For twenty-four hours I rode high, pacing the tiled floors of the safe house, checking the offshore account every thirty minutes like a prayer. One hundred million. Clean. Untouchable. Enough to erase every humiliation Jaxen and that b***h had carved into me. I could already taste the future—new name, unknown country, new life where no one ever looked at me like I was disposable again.
I called the men every half-hour. Sometimes every twenty minutes. My voice stayed smooth, controlled, the way an Ashford was raised to sound, even when the wolf inside was clawing at the bars.
“We’re across the border,” one of them said on the second day. “Send the exact address
