His Unwanted Wife, The Nation's Hero

The tires of Cilla's black SUV crunched against the gravel as she approached the heavily fortified gates of the secret military facility in Virginia.

She rolled down her window. The crisp morning air hit her face.

An armed sentry stepped out of the guardhouse, his hand resting casually on his rifle.

Cilla handed over her identification card. It wasn't her civilian driver's license.

It was a solid black card with a gold embedded chip.

The sentry slid it into his reader. The screen flashed green instantly.

The sentry's posture snapped from relaxed to rigid. Recognizing the black card's ultimate clearance level, he didn't offer a standard military salute, which might draw unwanted attention. Instead, he stepped back, his feet planting firmly as he assumed a stance of profound, silent respect.

"Clear to proceed, Ma'am," he barked.

Cilla gave a single nod, rolled up the window, and drove through the opening gates.

She navigated the winding road until she reached the underground bunker entrance.

She parked her vehicle in the designated high-clearance zone.

Stepping out, she walked toward the reinforced steel elevator and pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner.

The doors hissed open. The elevator descended deep into the earth, the pressure making her ears pop.

When the doors opened again, she stepped into the sterile, brightly lit archives level.

A military liaison officer in full dress uniform was already waiting for her.

"Ms. Henson," the liaison said, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete hallway. "We have been expecting you. It is an honor. The entire command expresses its deepest respects for your parents' sacrifice."

"Thank you, Major," Cilla said, her voice steady and low.

She followed him down the corridor.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Jace's name flashed across the glass.

Cilla pressed the power button, shutting the device off completely. She shoved it back into her pocket, severing her connection to his world.

The liaison stopped in front of a massive vault door. He punched in a twelve-digit code and pressed his eye to a retinal scanner.

Heavy locking mechanisms clanked loudly before the door swung open.

In the center of the quiet room sat a polished wooden table.

Resting on the table was a black urn, meticulously draped with a folded American flag.

Cilla walked slowly toward the table. Her throat tightened, a painful lump forming right at the base of her neck.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing the coarse fabric of the stars and stripes.

The liaison stepped forward, holding a velvet box and a thick manila folder stamped with red 'TOP SECRET' letters.

"Their medals of valor, Ma'am. And the unredacted casualty report," he said softly.

Cilla opened the folder. Her eyes scanned the typed words, confirming the brutal, heroic details of her parents' final moments.

Her eyes burned. The edges of her vision blurred with unshed tears, but she blinked them away.

She swallowed hard, refusing to let the tears fall.

Two soldiers in ceremonial dress entered the room. Their movements were perfectly synchronized.

They approached the table, lifted the flag, and executed the ceremonial folding with sharp, precise snaps of the fabric.

They formed it into a tight triangle, the blue field of stars facing outward.

The lead soldier stepped in front of Cilla and presented the folded flag, holding it at chest level.

Cilla accepted the flag, holding it tightly against her own chest.

She stepped back, brought her right hand up, and delivered a flawless, rigid salute.

The soldiers returned the salute, turned, and marched out of the room.

"Do you require a military escort back to New York, Ma'am?" the liaison asked.

"No," Cilla replied, lowering her hand. "This is a private family matter now."

She carefully picked up the heavy black urn, cradling it in one arm while holding the flag with the other.

She turned and walked out of the vault.

The liaison watched her go. He knew the reputation of the Eagle Task Force's most lethal operator. She still moved like a predator.

Cilla rode the elevator back to the surface.

She placed the urn and the flag gently into the passenger seat of her SUV, securing the seatbelt around them.

She started the engine and drove out of the base, merging onto the highway.

At a red light, she turned her phone back on.

A text message from Jace immediately popped up.

You didn't show up to take Carolyn's mother to the clinic today. You are incredibly selfish.

Cilla stared at the words. A cold, humorless smile touched her lips.

She tapped the screen, setting his number to 'Do Not Disturb'.

The light turned green. Cilla pressed her foot down on the gas pedal.

The SUV surged forward, speeding toward Manhattan.

She was bringing her parents to the only property she actually owned. The penthouse.