“I’ll just…” She gestured vaguely toward the door.“…get to work.”
He didn’t reply immediately, only gave a faint, unreadable nod, his gaze following her until she stepped out of the office.She kept her pace steady, resisting the urge to look back.
In her own office, she stopped short.Everything was spotless.Too spotless.The faint scent of cleaning solution still lingered in the air, and her desk looked as if someone had staged it for a showroom.No glitter, no flowers, no pillows fluffed into mockery.But the precision felt unnatural—like someone had been here with intent.
She forced herself to shake it off and sat down, scanning her inbox.Most of the messages she’d handled while recovering, but her shoulders stayed tight, Henry’s lingering stare replaying in her head.
An hour later, just as she was packing up for her first client meeting, Jenny appeared in the doorway.
“Oh, you’re leaving?”Jenny’s voice was sugar on the surface, vinegar underneath.Her gaze swept the office with quiet calculation.She stepped inside without invitation, fingertips trailing along an idea board as if checking for dust.“Still not ready for full-time work?”Her smile stretched wider, though her eyes stayed cool.“Just send me your client lists, and I’ll—”
“I’m heading to a client meeting now,” Natalie said, her voice sharp enough to cut the suggestion in half.
Jenny blinked at the tone but recovered quickly.“I was just offering to help—”
“Jenny,” Natalie interrupted, her words slow and deliberate, “if you don’t have enough clients to fill your schedule, that’s your problem.But you’re not taking mine.”
She didn’t wait for Jenny’s response.With a sharp swing, Natalie yanked her tote over her shoulder, the leather thumping hard against her side.She brushed past Jenny without so much as a glance, the faint swish of her ponytail catching Jenny’s shoulder on the way out.The metallic click of her office lock was louder than it needed to be, but she didn’t care.Normally, she wouldn’t have bothered locking it at all, but Rylan and Tom had insisted on the precaution.
Today, she didn’t just agree—she relished the sound of the bolt sliding into place.
Jenny’s footsteps faded behind her as Natalie strode toward the elevator, heels striking the polished floor in quick, staccato beats.She tried to shake off the encounter, but irritation simmered hot in her chest.Between Henry’s cryptic, too-long stares and Jenny’s not-so-subtle client poaching, her office felt less like a workspace and more like enemy territory.
And yet… as much as Henry’s behavior had unsettled her, the break-ins at her home didn’t fit neatly into the theory of a scheming coworker.Why would someone from the office slip into her living room to leave flowers?Fluff pillows?Drink her wine?It wasn’t theft or vandalism—it was a calling card, something intimate, like they wanted her to feel their presence long after they’d gone.
And the glitter bomb.That wasn’t office prank material.It was too elaborate.Too intentional.
Her thoughts were still tangled when she slid into the backseat of the waiting SUV, letting the leather sigh beneath her weight.The door shut with a muted thud, and she exhaled, finally allowing her shoulders to drop.Rylan had insisted on assigning two of his bodyguards to drive her to and from appointments, and though she’d argued at first, after this morning’s weird interactions, she welcomed the buffer between her and the rest of the world.
It was temporary, she told herself.The police—or Tom—would catch whoever was behind this.They’d stop the intrusions, and her life would slide back into the familiar rhythm she’d always known.
Normal.
The word rang hollow in her head.Because normal meant no more bodyguards.No more check-ins from Rylan.No more late-night conversations, the ones that coaxed laughter out of her even when fear still clung to her skin.
It meant no more Rylan.
The thought left an ache deep in her chest.She stared out the window, watching her own reflection blink back at her, and wondered if “normal” would ever feel safe again—or if it would simply feel empty.
Chapter 33
“What have you found out?”Rylan demanded, his voice cutting through the low hum of electronics as he strode into the basement area that now served as the nerve center for his security team.
Calling it a basement was a gross understatement.The space was a fully equipped security hub—rows of sleek desks, walls lined with massive screens showing live surveillance feeds, satellite maps, and scrolling lines of encrypted code.The faint scent of coffee hung in the cool, filtered air.
Though Rylan was further down the line of succession for the throne, his parents had insisted on this level of protection.They’d reminded him—more than once—that political manipulation through kidnapping was still a credible threat for someone of his rank.He’d argued at first.But in the end, love for them—and the knowledge that they were right—had made him agree.
Tom didn’t bother with greetings.At Rylan’s sharp question, he simply gestured toward one of the largest monitors, his expression tight.“The glitter bomb came from someone inside Natalie’s office.The receptionist—Melanie.”
“Melanie?”Rylan’s brow furrowed.“She seems so sweet.Why the hell would Melanie send Natalie a glitter bomb?”
Tom’s fingers moved across the keyboard, bringing up footage of Melanie chatting animatedly with another woman—Jenny.“It’s not the harmless prank it looks like,” he said.“Natalie’s the top designer at the firm, and both Melanie and Jenny want her spot.We traced the glitter bomb purchase to Melanie’s personal credit card and confirmed it through the store’s internal database.”
Rylan leaned in, his voice dropping into something colder.“Professional jealousy doesn’t explain trying to kill someone.Was she connected to the hit-and-run or the break-in?”
Tom shook his head once.“No.Her alibi’s airtight.The night of the parking garage incident, she was in a grocery store thirty minutes away.Time-stamped receipts match.”
“Fine,” Rylan muttered, dragging a hand over his jaw.“So Melanie is petty, but not a murderer.Who’s behind the real attacks?The break-in at Natalie’s house—was it connected?”
