---- Chapter 22 Khloe Rojas POV: The hours ticked by with agonizing slowness. Every minute felt like an hour, every hour a day. | was trapped in a waking nightmare, a prisoner of a man who loved a ghost and was trying to force me into her shape. | watched the sun move across the sky through the single window in the room, my heart sinking with each passing moment. The remote airstrip Julian had booked the jet for was hours away. Time was running out. What if the tracker wasn't working? What if Gordon hadn't found it? What if no one was coming? Julian seemed to sense my anxiety. "Don't be nervous, my love," he said, stroking my hair. "Everything is taken care of. Soon, we'll be free." It was finally time. He untied my feet, but kept my hands bound in front of me. He held my arm in a grip of steel as he led me out of the villa and towards a waiting car. This was my only chance. As we stepped outside, | pretended to stumble, putting all my weight on him. For a split second, his grip loosened. It was all | needed. | broke free and ran. ---- | didn't get far. He tackled me, sending us both sprawling to the ground. He was stronger, his body pinning me to the dirt. "Don't you ever run from me again," he snarled, his voice thick with a terrifying mix of fury and hurt. He dragged me to the car and shoved me inside. As he drove, | stared out the window, my hope dwindling with every mile that passed. And then | heard it. The distant but unmistakable sound of sirens. Julian heard it too. His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. He pressed his foot to the accelerator, the car lurching forward. But it was too late. Police cars swarmed the road ahead, creating an impenetrable blockade. Officers in tactical gear surrounded our car, their weapons aimed at us. A voice boomed through a megaphone. "Julian Gallegos, you are under arrest for kidnapping, assault, and multiple counts of financial fraud. Step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air." Julian didn't move. He just sat there, staring blankly ahead. He looked at me, his eyes filled not with anger, but with a profound, soul-deep despair. He had lost. And then | saw him. Gordon. He was standing behind the police line, his face pale with worry. ---- Julian followed my gaze. He saw Gordon. He saw the way my entire being strained towards him, towards safety, towards my future. A small, bitter smile touched Julian's lips. It was the smile of aman who finally understood that the game was over. He had not just been defeated. He had been erased. Slowly, he reached over and unfastened my hands. His fingers brushed against mine one last time, his touch as cold as a ghost's. He opened his door and stepped out, his hands raised in surrender. The moment he was out of the car, | scrambled out my side. | didn't look back at him. | ran. | ran past the police, past the flashing lights, and straight into Gordon's arms. He held me tight, his arms a safe, strong harbor in the storm. "l was so scared," he whispered into my hair. "| thought I'd lost you." "You found me," | sobbed, burying my face in his chest. "You always find me." | felt his lips on my forehead, a gentle, reassuring pressure. "Always," he vowed. Over his shoulder, | saw them put Julian in the back of a police car. He was looking at me. Our eyes met for one final, fleeting moment. There was no anger, no hatred. Just a vast, ---- empty ocean of regret. Then the door slammed shut, and he was gone. The war in Al-Tharbia escalated in the following months. We stayed as long as we could, but eventually, the order came from our organization: all foreign personnel were to be evacuated. Our work there was done. It was time to go home.