Page 166 of Vow to Claim You

I look at him long enough that the grin fades.

“Do it quickly,” I say.

My phone buzzes under the table. I reach for it from my pocket and glance at the screen. Eero—he knows I’m in a meeting that shouldn’t be disturbed, so it means only one thing.

Ayanna.

“Forgive me.” I stand before Nikos nods. “Continue. Whatever comes back on the name, I want it.”

Nikos nods again. “Go.”

I walk the length leaving the meeting room behind until only silence remains. Then I answer.

“What is it, Eero?”

“Bror,” he says, voice solemn. “Almaviri’s back.”

The cold that started at Bobby’s words finishes its journey through me.

“And?” My voice hardens, the grip tightening on the phone. Because I know there’s a but. Eero wouldn’t have called if there weren’t.

“And Ayanna’s cases are packed. They’re standing in the hall.”

“Say that again.”

“She’s leaving, Aric.” He breathes heavily. “Almaviri spent the afternoon in her room. When he left, she had Ingrid help her pack. Everything’s by the door. There’s a car booked to the airfield.”

For one full second, I don’t move. I’m rooted to where I stand, while the world seems to tilt under my feet.

She’s leaving.

The sentence keeps ringing in my head, muffling everything else around until there’s only the sound of my heartbeat.

“Hold the airfield,” I say, already walking out of Asgard. “Whatever it takes. Ground the charter, invent a mechanical, buy the pilot. I don’t care. She does not take off.”

“I will do everything I can.”

“And Eero?”

“Yes?”

“You do not frighten her. You delay her. Ingrid. The luggage. A flat tire on the car. Be creative and be gentle and buy me every minute you can.”

“Understood.”

I end the call.

I’m in the car before the cold’s finished registering on my skin, and then I’m driving like a man who has stopped believing in his own mortality, because right now I have.

The estate is an hour out.

I make it in less.

The fjord road is full of blind curves, and I take them at speeds that would kill a sane man. But I can’t stop, can’t slow down because I cannot—I cannot—let her leave believing that I never grieved our daughter. That there’s nothing in me. That I filed Anabella under things-to-be-handled and moved on to the part I’m good at.

If she walks away carrying that, she won’t come back. She’ll be right to. I’ll have given her every reason to leave.

I thought it was strength. I thought I needed to stay strong for her, to carry her through the darkness. Now I know it wasn’t strength. I understand that now, an hour too late, doing ninety on a road built for thirty.