Chapter 10

Blaire POV:

The private jet touched down with a gentle sigh, the hum of its engines fading into the serene quiet of the night. A wave of exhaustion, deep and bone-weary, washed over me. The air, crisp and cool, carried the faint, familiar scent of pine and something else – a delicate, earthy fragrance that spoke of home.

My body ached, a constant throb that reminded me of the brutal events of the past few days. My head still spun occasionally, and the cut on my forehead throbbed beneath the bandage Erich had expertly applied. I pushed myself up, a soft groan escaping my lips.

The jet ramp lowered, and I squinted slightly against the bright floodlights of the private airstrip. A line of impeccably dressed figures stood waiting, their faces a mixture of solemnity and anticipation. They weren't just servants; they were the elite security and household staff of Madden Corp. My family.

As I stepped onto the tarmac, a collective bow rippled through the welcoming party. "Welcome home, Miss Madden," their voices chorused, a hushed, respectful greeting. My real name, spoken aloud, sounded alien and powerful.

Erich, his strong arm already around my waist, gently lifted me. "Easy, Blaire," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, filled with a warmth that was a stark contrast to the cold formality of the others. He carried me effortlessly, my head resting against his steady shoulder, a sense of safety washing over me that I hadn't felt in years.

"The medical team is ready," he instructed, his voice firm, his eyes sweeping over the staff. "No interruptions. Absolute privacy." He looked down at me, his gaze softening. "You're safe now, Blaire. No one can hurt you here."

A familiar figure, tall and imposing, yet radiating an overwhelming aura of paternal concern, pushed through the crowd. My father, Darrell Moss, CEO of Madden Corp. His piercing blue eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now swimming with unshed tears. He rushed forward, his arms outstretched.

"My little girl," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. He gently took my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the bandage on my forehead. "What has that monster done to you?" His jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with a fury I knew intimately. "Cade Dyer will pay for this. He will regret the day he ever laid a hand on my daughter!"

A faint smile touched my lips. "He already is, Dad," I whispered, my voice weak but resolute. "But I want to be the one who makes him truly regret it. I want to be the one to dismantle his life, piece by agonizing piece." My eyes met Erich's, a silent understanding passing between us. "But first, I need to get well. I need to be strong enough to finish what he started."

My father looked at Erich, his gaze softening slightly. "Erich, ensure she receives the best care. And then, help her plan her revenge. No expense spared. No stone unturned."

"Yes, sir," Erich replied, his voice firm, his eyes never leaving mine. His loyalty, a constant, unwavering beacon in my life, was a comfort I hadn't realized I desperately needed.

He carried me into a sleek, futuristic medical vehicle that whisked us away to a private clinic nestled deep within the Madden estate. The clinic was state-of-the-art, a hushed sanctuary of advanced technology and attentive medical professionals. I was carefully transferred to a bed, the soft mattress a welcome relief after days of pain and fear.

As the doctors worked, their movements efficient and silent, Erich remained by my side, a silent guardian. "I'm sorry, Erich," I whispered, my voice filled with a sudden wave of remorse. "For everything. For putting you through this. For running away all those years ago. For being so foolish."

He reached for my hand, his fingers gently interlocking with mine. "Don't apologize, Blaire," he said, his voice soft, almost tender. "My only regret is not finding you sooner. Not protecting you as I should have." His eyes darkened, a flash of barely suppressed rage. "No one hurts you and gets away with it. Cade Dyer and Alessandra Guerra will pay. I promise you that."

His conviction, his fierce protectiveness, was a balm to my battered soul. I looked at him, truly looked at the man who had been my shadow, my protector, my silent confidant since childhood. "Erich," I began, a hesitant question in my voice. "Do you... do you mind if I stop calling you Mr. Paul?"

He blinked, a flicker of surprise in his ice-blue eyes. "Of course not, Blaire," he said, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. "You never had to."

"But I want to," I insisted, a small smile touching my lips. "It feels... formal. And after everything, you're more than just my head of security. You're... my friend. My family." I paused, a mischievous glint in my eye. "And besides, we used to have a secret name for you, didn't we? When we were kids?"

A slow, shy smile spread across his face, a rare sight that warmed my heart. "We did," he chuckled, a deep, resonant sound. "You used to call me... 'Bear'."

I laughed, a genuine, heartfelt laugh that felt foreign yet liberating after weeks of grief. "That's right! Because you were so big and strong, and always protected me. You were my big, cuddly bear." I squeezed his hand. "Can I call you that again, Erich? Just... Bear?"

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a tenderness that stole my breath. His cheeks flushed, a faint blush spreading across his chiseled features. "If... if you want to, Blaire," he stammered, his gaze dropping to our intertwined hands. "I... I'd like that."

"Good," I said, a wave of affection washing over me. "Because you'll always be my Bear." I leaned my head against his shoulder, a profound sense of peace settling over me. "Thank you, Bear. For everything."

He squeezed my hand, his silence a more potent comfort than any words. I felt the warmth of his presence, the quiet strength of his devotion. In his arms, surrounded by the familiar embrace of my true home, I knew I was finally safe. And for the first time in a long time, hope, fragile but real, began to bloom in my heart.