Chapter 10 - Chapter 10: Ashes of Victory

Lila stood in the wreckage of her Bushwick apartment, glass crunching under her boots as the cops hauled Eric Kane out in cuffs, his bloodied smirk a fading echo. Caspian's arms were still around her, his breath warm against her hair, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath her cheek. The sirens wailed outside, red and blue lights slicing through the dusk, and the USB drive burned in her pocket—a hard-won trophy that had nearly cost her everything. She'd faced down a gun, a madman, and won. But the victory tasted sharp, laced with adrenaline and a fear she couldn't shake."You okay?" Caspian murmured again, pulling back to search her face, hands framing her jaw. His gray eyes were stormy, raw with something that made her chest ache—relief, maybe, or a deeper need she wasn't ready to name."Yeah," she said, voice steadier now, stepping out of his grip to survey the chaos—shattered window, overturned table, the note (You're next) crumpled on the floor. "Just another day in paradise."He didn't smile, just watched her, tense, like he was waiting for her to crack. She wouldn't—not here, not now. She grabbed the USB and CD, shoving them into her bag. "Let's get out of here," she said, nodding toward the door. "Cops'll want statements, but I need air."He followed, silent, his hand brushing hers as they hit the street. The sedan waited, driver idling, and they slid in, the city a blur of horns and neon as they headed for the penthouse. Inside, the quiet was a balm—marble floors, soft lights, the skyline a glittering shield. Caspian poured two scotches, handing her one, and she downed it, the burn grounding her."He's gone," she said, setting the glass down, voice flat. "Story's out, Kane's in cuffs. We did it."Caspian leaned against the bar, sipping slower, eyes on her. "Yeah. But it's not over."She frowned, crossing to him. "What's that mean?"He pulled a phone from his pocket—Eric's, snatched in the scuffle—unlocked with a code he'd forced out of him before the cops arrived. "This," he said, scrolling to a text thread, timestamped an hour ago. E.K. to V.K.: Clean it up. She's alive. Vanessa. Lila's gut twisted."She's in on it," she said, voice hard. "Covering his tracks."Caspian nodded, jaw tight. "Or running her own game. Eric's down, but Vanessa's not—she's got Kane Industries, his network. She'll fight."Lila paced, mind racing. "We've got the USB, Marcus's audio—enough to tie her too, if we dig."He caught her arm, pulling her close, voice low. "We will. But tonight—you're safe. That's what matters."She looked up, caught by the intensity in his eyes, and kissed him—slow, deliberate, a need to feel something solid. He deepened it, hands sliding to her hips, lifting her onto the bar. The scotch glass tipped, shattering, but neither cared. Clothes peeled away—her blazer, his shirt—a slow burn this time, not the frantic clash of before. His lips traced her jaw, her throat, hands reverent as they moved together, a quiet intensity that left her trembling. When they finished, tangled on the couch, she stayed, his arm a weight she didn't shrug off.Morning came soft, sunlight spilling through the windows. She woke to his breath on her neck, his hand splayed across her stomach, and for a moment, she let it be—let the world wait. But her phone buzzed, relentless—Jamie: Kane's lawyered up. Vanessa's MIA. Story's viral—check it.Lila slipped out, grabbing the phone, and scrolled—Daily Pulse headlines screaming: Thorn Empire Scandal: Kane Arrested, Brooklyn Exposed. Comments flooded—outrage, praise, conspiracy theories. She texted back: Vanessa's next. Dig her financials.Caspian stirred, sitting up, hair mussed. "Trouble?""Always," she said, smirking, tossing him the phone. "Vanessa's ghosting. We need her moves."He scanned it, nodding. "I've got people—private firm. They'll track her.""Good." She stood, stretching, stealing his shirt to wear. "I'll hit the office, push Jamie. We're not done."He pulled her back, kissing her hard, a promise in it. "We're not."At the Daily Pulse, chaos reigned—reporters shouting, phones ringing, Jamie a whirlwind at her desk. "Vanessa's off-grid," she said, shoving papers at Lila. "Kane Industries stock's tanking—someone's dumping shares. Her?"Lila scanned—millions sold, anonymous. "Maybe. Or a panic move. What's Eric saying?""Cops say he's silent—lawyers stonewalling. But this—" Jamie slid a photo: Eric, pre-arrest, meeting a woman in a dark coat. Grainy, but the platinum hair was unmistakable. "Vanessa, yesterday."Lila's pulse spiked. "She's cleaning up. We need her books—Kane's dirt's hers now."Jamie nodded, typing fast. "On it. You?""Thorn's PI's," Lila said, grabbing coffee. "And a hunch—Vanessa's not running. She's regrouping."By afternoon, Caspian called—voice tight. "Firm found her—private jet, Teterboro, an hour ago. Headed south, maybe Miami."Lila cursed, pacing. "She's got assets there—Kane properties. We need to follow.""Jet's ready," he said, no hesitation. "Meet me—30 minutes."She grabbed her bag, told Jamie, and hit the tarmac—private jet gleaming, Caspian waiting, suit swapped for jeans and a leather jacket. "You sure?" he asked, hand on hers as they boarded."Never," she said, grinning, buckling in. "Let's go."The flight was quick—two hours, tension thick, his hand on her knee a quiet anchor. Miami hit like a wall—humid, bright, a sprawl of glass and palm trees. Caspian's PI met them, a wiry guy named Dex, handing over a file: Vanessa, spotted at a Kane-owned condo, armed guards, encrypted calls."She's holed up," Dex said, voice low. "Planning something big."Lila flipped pages—bank transfers, $5M, fresh. "Counterattack," she said, looking at Caspian. "She's not done."He nodded, eyes hard. "Then we end it."They staked out the condo—black SUV, tinted windows, a block away. Night fell, lights flickering on, and Vanessa emerged—sleek, furious, barking orders to a suited thug. Lila snapped photos, heart pounding. "Got her," she whispered.Caspian's hand tightened on hers. "We move tomorrow—hard, fast."She turned, kissing him—quick, fierce, a vow in the dark. "Together."Back at a hotel, tension snapped—they barely hit the room before he pinned her to the wall, hands everywhere, her legs around him. It was raw, urgent—clothes torn, skin slick, a release of fear and fight. After, she lay against him, the ocean a murmur outside, and knew: Vanessa was the last wall, and they'd tear it down.