Addison sat in her marble corner, tormented by doubts that crashed through her consciousness like competing storms. Pain, betrayal, lies—everything swirled together until she couldn’t distinguish truth from manipulation, love from desperation.

She had to choose between Jaxon and Wyatt. The knowledge sat in her chest like lead weight, crushing her ability to breathe. But every time she imagined choosing one, the image of the other’s devastation made the decision impossible.

Both men deserved better than her fractured loyalty. Both had proven their love beyond question. The thought of causing either one pain made choice feel like voluntary torture.

“Addison.”

Rose’s voice pulled her from spiraling thoughts. The woman approached with tactical precision, carrying supplies that spoke of practical concern.

“You need to eat,” Rose announced, offering crackers with maternal authority that transcended their circumstances. “The baby needs nutrition to grow properly.”

“Thank you,” Addison whispered, accepting charity from enemy territory.

Rose settled beside her against marble pillar, her tactical awareness evident in how she positioned herself to monitor lobby activity while appearing casual.

“After you left the office,” Rose began with clinical efficiency, “they went insane. Absolutely insane.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jaxon and Wyatt tried to kill each other,” Rose explained with brutal honesty. “Fists, furniture, anything they could use as weapons. If Brick and I hadn’t intervened, one of them would be dead right now.”

Horror crashed through Addison’s chest as implications struck home.

“Viper came downstairs because of the screaming,” Rose continued with tactical observation. “Now he’s watching you like you’re personally responsible for operational complications.”

Addison glanced across the lobby where Viper’s painted mask turned toward her with theatrical menace that promised violence. His attention felt like crosshairs targeting her for crimes she couldn’t define.

“This is my fault,” she breathed with accumulating guilt.

“No,” Rose corrected with steel conviction. “This is what happens when two alpha predators compete for territory neither wants to surrender.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Addison confessed with voice that cracked under pressure. “I can’t choose between them.”

“Then choose with your heart,” Rose advised with unexpected gentleness. “Like your friend Nora would say—logic fails where love succeeds.”

“My heart loves them both,” Addison replied with devastating honesty. “That’s the problem.”

“Then maybe the problem isn’t choosing who to love,” Rose suggested with tactical wisdom. “Maybe it’s choosing who can love you better.”

Before Addison could respond, Wyatt’s voice exploded across marble space with commanding authority that cut through civilian conversations.

“Jaxon Wellington!”

The announcement struck like lightning bolt, silencing every whisper as tactical reality reasserted control over domestic refuge.

“Time for your cross-examination!”

Rose helped Addison to her feet with careful precision, both women moving toward the center of lobby where drama would unfold under fluorescent spotlights.

Wyatt stood in marble cathedral’s heart, his scarred features visible beneath tactical lighting. Clenched fists showed scraped knuckles where Jaxon’s face had left evidence of territorial warfare. Blood drops stained the floor beneath his position like accusation written in crimson.

Jaxon emerged from employee cluster with executive dignity that couldn’t conceal physical damage. His eyebrow gaped with fresh wound that would require stitches, split lip swollen beyond recognition. Purple bruising bloomed across his cheekbone like abstract art painted in violence.

Both men looked toward Addison with burning intensity that made her heart clench with accumulated pain. Seeing them injured because of her, bleeding because they couldn’t share what neither would surrender—the guilt threatened to destroy her sanity completely.

“Ready for truth?” Wyatt asked with steel conviction that promised explosive revelation.

“I have nothing to hide,” Jaxon replied with corporate authority that masked growing terror.

“We’ll see,” Wyatt declared with predatory satisfaction that made the air electric.

“Fine,” Jaxon agreed with executive finality. “Let’s finish this charade.”

They moved toward the loan office like gladiators entering arena, their mutual hatred blazing despite physical exhaustion that marked their battered frames.

The office door closed with metallic finality, sealing both men inside soundproofed glass that would reveal everything while concealing words that might determine everyone’s fate.

Addison pressed against marble wall, her hands protecting her stomach as stress threatened to overwhelm her system. Through transparent barriers, she could see both figures positioning themselves like combatants preparing for final combat.

“He’s terrified,” Rose observed quietly, studying Jaxon’s defensive posture through corporate glass.

“Shouldn’t he be?” Addison demanded with exhaustion that carried weight of impossible choices. “If even half of what Wyatt claims is true—”

“If it’s true, you’re carrying a mass murderer’s child,” Rose stated with brutal efficiency that cut through sentiment. “If it’s false, my brother’s quest for justice becomes systematic destruction of innocent people.”

The observation struck like artillery shell, illuminating stakes that offered no comfortable resolution.

Inside the office, documents spread across desk as psychological warfare began. No shouting, no physical violence—just measured movements of two predators circling each other with lethal calculation.

“What happens if Jaxon’s innocent?” Addison asked with growing dread that made her pulse hammer against ribs.

“Then Wyatt has nothing left,” Rose replied with clinical assessment. “No justice, no vindication, no hope of winning you back. Just the knowledge that he’s destroyed everything good in your life.”

“And if he’s guilty?”

“Then you learn the father of your child authorized systematic murder,” Rose answered with tactical precision. “Either way, someone’s world ends tonight.”

Through glass barriers, Jaxon’s executive composure began cracking under Wyatt’s relentless questioning. Documents flew across desk space as accusations mounted like building pressure.

“Wyatt’s not going to let this go,” Rose continued with recognition that blazed through her tactical assessment. “Whatever evidence exists, whatever truth emerges—he’ll pursue it until someone confesses or dies trying.”

“What if I asked him to stop?” Addison wondered with desperate hope. “What if I chose Jaxon and begged Wyatt to end this?”

“You think my brother would walk away from justice because you asked nicely?” Rose’s laugh carried bitter edges that sliced through marble air. “Love made him absolute, Addison. It didn’t make him reasonable.”

Inside the office, tension escalated as Wyatt leaned across desk with predatory intensity while Jaxon maintained corporate dignity despite mounting pressure.

“One of them doesn’t survive this,” Rose stated with military efficiency that admitted no comfortable alternatives. “My brother’s justice demands a confession, and your fiancé’s survival depends on providing one.”

“Or proving his innocence,” Addison added with desperate logic.

“Or proving his innocence,” Rose agreed with tactical acknowledgment. “Either way, tonight changes everything.”

The office drama continued through soundproof glass, two forces colliding with psychological violence that promised physical warfare if words failed to achieve resolution.

“What did you mean earlier?” Addison asked with growing dread. “About Wyatt not recovering from devastation?”

Rose’s attention shifted between the office drama and Addison’s increasingly pale complexion, tactical training warring with something resembling compassion.

“He’s loved you for eight years,” Rose replied with quiet honesty. “Spent five years planning return, imagining reunion, believing you’d been waiting.”

“I couldn’t wait forever—”

“I know,” Rose interrupted with unexpected gentleness. “And so does he, deep down. That’s what makes this so dangerous.”

Through glass walls, both men remained standing, their body language radiating controlled aggression that promised explosive resolution.

“The pregnancy broke something inside him,” Rose continued with clinical observation. “But it didn’t break his love for you—it made it absolute.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wyatt doesn’t just love you,” Rose explained with tactical precision. “He’d die for you without hesitation. Kill for you without regret. His devotion runs deeper than rational thought.”

The office confrontation shifted as Jaxon produced documents from his jacket, spreading evidence across the desk with executive confidence. Wyatt’s posture changed, shoulders tensing with recognition of whatever proof was being presented.

“What if he’s innocent?” Addison whispered with growing horror. “What if Jaxon really didn’t authorize those murders?”

“Then my brother has nothing left to lose,” Rose replied with brutal honesty. “And that makes him infinitely more dangerous to everyone except you.”

“He wouldn’t hurt me—”

“Never,” Rose agreed with absolute certainty. “He’d burn the world down before letting harm touch you. But everyone else? Everyone who stands between him and justice?”

The psychological chess match inside the office intensified as both men leaned across the desk, their faces inches apart in confrontation that radiated through soundproof barriers.

“You think he’ll hurt Jaxon,” Addison breathed with dawning horror.

“I think my brother has spent five years with one purpose,” Rose explained with deadly calm. “Now he knows you’ll never be his again, that you’re building a family with his enemy. He has nothing left except completing his mission.”

“You’re trying to scare me—”

“I’m trying to warn you,” Rose interrupted with military efficiency. “Because one of those men is walking out of that office knowing the other has to die.”

Minutes stretched like hours as evidence was exchanged, accusations flew through silent air, and truth battled lies with everything hanging in balance.

The door finally opened with electronic click that cut through marble silence. Both men emerged physically unharmed but fundamentally transformed by whatever revelations had exploded between them.

Jaxon’s executive confidence had crystallized into something colder, more calculating—predatory focus that promised retribution for perceived betrayals.

Wyatt’s scarred features carried hollow emptiness of someone who’d learned devastating truths that shattered remaining illusions about justice, love, and the price of five years spent in shadows.

Neither man spoke as they returned to the lobby’s charged atmosphere, maintaining careful distance that crackled with unresolved violence.

Rose caught Addison’s terrified gaze across the marble expanse, recognition blazing between them as family training identified mortal danger.

“Something’s wrong,” Rose whispered with tactical certainty that made blood freeze in Addison’s veins. “My brother never looks like that unless someone’s going to die.”

The prophecy hung in cathedral air like sword suspended over everyone’s head, waiting to fall.