Kade leans back. “You want us to dig. See what George isn’t saying.”
“Yes. And if it leads to someone else—anyone else—I want that too. I need to know who it is before it escalates.”
“You’ll want Keller and Kai on point,” Kaleb adds. “This kind of thing—obsessive, escalating—it doesn’t go away on its own.”
“I know.”
Kade’s voice is calm, final. “We’ll find out who’s behind it. And we’ll deal with it.”
Kade’s gaze hardens, a promise in his tone. “We’ll look into everyone.”
Kai smirks. “If he’s hiding something, we’ll find it.”
“Even if it’s not him…” Keller’s voice trails off, a dark edge in his calm.
The meeting feels done, but there’s an undercurrent—a silent agreement that this isn’t over until they say it is. I gather the folder and stand, locking eyes with Kade.
“Thank you,” I say.
He nods once. “We’ll handle it.”
He doesn’t have to say whathandle itmeans.
They’re the Kingstons. Their businesses are pristine. Their files are clean. But people still disappear. Not from inside The Vault—Kaleb’s rules are iron there—but elsewhere. In the gaps. The silences. The places no one sees.
And if this stalker thinks Ava is unprotected? He’s about to learn what happens when you touch what belongs to someone like me.
As I leave, I glance back. Kade and Kaleb are deep in conversation, Keller is flipping the photo over, and Kai’s pacing hasn’t stopped. They’re already working on it.
Whoever’s behind this made a mistake. They underestimated Ava’s value to me—and now, they’ve got the Kingstons involved, and ask questions in a world where the answers are guarded by men like them.
Chapter thirty-one
Ava
Iwaketowarmth,to the scent of cedar and skin and the deep steadiness of Elijah’s breath at the back of my neck.
It’s still early—light hasn’t quite made it through the curtains—but he’s already awake. I can feel it. The kind of stillness that isn’t sleep, but tension held just below the surface.
His arms are around me, firm and sure, but there’s something different in the way he’s holding me. Not tighter—just more careful. Like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.
Like me.
“Elijah?” I whisper, my voice thick with sleep.
He kisses the top of my shoulder, but it takes him a beat too long to answer. “I’m here.”
But he isn’t. Not fully.
I shift in his arms until I can see him. His eyes are open, trained on the ceiling like it’s got secrets only he can read. His jaw is tense, the muscle ticking like it always does when he’s overthinking something.
“Eli,” I say again, firmer this time.
His gaze drops to mine, softens instantly. “Morning, baby.”
It’s a beautiful lie. Because whatever’s sitting behind those eyes—it’s not morning-light soft. It’s midnight-heavy.
“What happened?” I ask, heart beating a little faster. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
