Page 97 of Fallen Heir
Chapter 31
Jaxson
She stepped out barefoot, bloodied, shaking—but unbowed.
And I swear, I couldn’t breathe.
There she was. Standing in the open like a damn warrior. Her arms stretched out, protecting those kids behind her. No armor.
No weapon.
Just herself.
Her voice.
Her body, placed like a shield between innocence and a monster.
Pride hit me first. Violent and full. Like a wave that didn’t crash—itrose.
That was my woman.
That wasmySavannah.
Not the broken girl Bruce had tried to make her become. Not the socialite on the run. She wasn’t running anymore.
She was standing her ground.
She didn’t know we were watching. That I was close. But the second she stepped forward, squaring her shoulders against Bruce like she wasn’t afraid of a goddamn thing he could do to her, I knew she wasn’t doing it for herself.
She was doing it forthem.
For those children.
She was protecting.
And I saw her mother in that moment.
Not just in the bone structure or the fire in her eyes—but in the purpose. In the refusal to back down.
That letter... God, that letter had haunted me for months.
“If something happens to me, find Savannah. Protect her. She won’t understand yet. But one day she will. And when that day comes, she’ll need someone who knows how to fightback.
She’s stronger than she knows. But she’ll try to save the world before she saves herself. That’s just who she is. Just like me.”
Barbara Sinclair wasn’t just sending me on a mission. She was confessing something. Something bigger than I ever understood.
And now, watching Savannah hold the line against Bruce—the bastard who thought he could swallow her light—I finally saw it.
Shewasher mother’s daughter. She wasn’t built for obedience or silence.
She was built forwar.
I watched as Bruce moved the gun down the side of her face, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the fear he thought he saw.
The metal kissed her temple, then trailed lower, grazing her cheekbone like some twisted caress.
My fingers flexed around the trigger. Every instinct inside me screamed to end it right there—to put a round straight through his skull and wipe that smug, sick grin off his face.
