Genevieve’s POV
When we reached the car, Sabrina moved quickly, as though the front passenger seat already belonged to her. She reached for the handle without hesitation.
To my mild surprise, Nikolai caught her wrist—not harshly, but firmly enough to stop her.
“Wait,” he said, then glanced toward me. “Genevieve… you can sit in the front.”
There was something almost regretful in his tone, as if offering me the seat could somehow balance everything else he had done.
“Sabrina can sit in the back.”
“No,” Sabrina protested at once, her lips forming a delicate pout. “I feel sick in the backseat. The pup’s been making me dizzy all day, Nikolai.”
I released a slow breath through my nose.
Nikolai paused, clearly calculating how to keep the peace between us.
“It’s irrelevant,” I said calmly. “She can take the front.”
“But—”
“I said it’s fine.” My voice sharpened just slightly. “I truly don’t care where I sit.”
A brief silence followed.
Sabrina’s mouth curved in quiet victory.
Nikolai frowned but didn’t push the matter further.
I eased myself into the backseat, biting down on the pain that flared through my body. Every bruise and stitch reminded me of the hospital bed I had only just left behind. My muscles protested even the smallest movement.
I rested my head against the cool window and focused on the passing streets, separating myself from the scene unfolding just feet away.
Five minutes into the drive, Sabrina began.
Her hand drifted casually onto Nikolai’s thigh. The movement was slow, deliberate. I didn’t turn my head, but I caught the reflection in the side mirror—the subtle slide of her fingers, the sideways glance she threw in my direction.
Nikolai stiffened.
“Sabrina,” he warned quietly, removing her hand.
She blinked at him with exaggerated innocence. “What?”
When he didn’t answer, she placed her hand back on his leg, this time moving higher.
“I said stop,” he said more firmly.
Instantly, her eyes filled with tears. She withdrew her hand and covered her face.
“Why are you snapping at me?” she whimpered. “I’m pregnant. You’re upsetting me.”
Nikolai exhaled heavily, irritation dissolving into concern. “I’m not snapping. Just… not while she’s here.”
He didn’t say my name.
As though I were nothing more than a presence in the background of my own life.
Sabrina sniffled softly before leaning forward to open the glove compartment. “I’m just looking for tissues,” she murmured.
What she retrieved was not tissue.
She held up a scrap of red lace between her fingers, letting out a soft laugh.
“Oh, Nikolai,” she said in a sugary tone. “Remember this? That night we never made it to the hotel? You pulled me onto your lap right here—”
“That’s enough,” Nikolai cut in tightly, his eyes fixed ahead on the road.
She gave a small shrug. “Relax. Genevieve understands it’s hormones. Pregnancy makes everything feel… heightened.” Her hand drifted back to his thigh.
This time, he didn’t move it away.
Through the rearview mirror, his eyes flicked toward me.
For a brief second, our gazes locked.
I looked away first.
There was nothing left in me for him to read.
—
The moment the car rolled to a stop in front of the sanctuary gates, I stepped out without waiting.
I didn’t look back.
I passed through the iron entrance and into the building my father had raised with his own hands long before the territory trembled at his name. The scent of aged wood and disinfectant wrapped around me. For an instant, memory pressed hard against my chest, but I forced myself to keep moving.
Mr. Ronan, the administrator, glanced up from his desk when I entered his office.
His eyes widened. “Miss Genevieve,” he greeted warmly, rising immediately. “We didn’t know you were coming.”
“I won’t keep you long,” I said. “There are urgent matters we need to address.”
We reviewed security logs, financial statements, and property deeds. I ensured every clause was airtight, every layer of protection reinforced. By the time we finished, I felt steadier than I had in days.
Then a scream shattered the calm.
It wasn’t playful.
It was terrified.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Another cry followed, sharper and desperate.
I didn’t hesitate. I rushed from the office, Mr. Ronan close behind me.
The scent reached me first.
Smoke.
Thick. Bitter.
It scraped down my throat immediately.
The screams were coming from the west wing—the dormitory housing the youngest pups.
I ran toward it, dread coiling tightly through my muscles.
When I reached the corridor, I stopped short.
Flames climbed along the far wall near the emergency exit. Smoke curled along the ceiling in heavy waves. Children were crying, some clustered near the stairwell, others coughing as staff tried to usher them away from the spreading fire.
For one suspended heartbeat, everything felt unreal.
Then instinct took over.
“Get them out!” I shouted, my voice cutting sharply through the chaos. “Use the east exit! Move now!”
My father’s sanctuary was burning.
