They are not looking at me like a woman who is now safe. They are looking at me like a prized possession they are about to lose.
The thought lands with a cold, hollow thud in my chest. The security arrangement is over. The deal is done. And now... now what? What reason could they possibly give for me to stay?
The static.
The words echo in my head.
I’m their aspirin. Their cure. The thing that makes the constant noise in their heads stop. And now, with the threat eliminated, that’s all I am to them. A treatment for their condition.
Isn’t it?
“I should open some wine,” Diego says, breaking the silence. He squeezes my knee once before standing. “We have a bottle of Le Roux we’ve been saving.”
Another pang goes through my chest.
“I’m... actually not really in the mood to celebrate,” I admit,pulling my knees up to my chest. “It feels weird to toast to Rudy’s downfall, even after what he did.”
“Of course,” Rett says immediately, his voice softening in a way I’ve only heard him use with me. “We don’t have to celebrate. But we should at least acknowledge that this chapter is closed. The gallery case is solved.”
There it is again. That reminder. That finality.
“Right,” I say, my voice coming out hollow. “Case closed.”
Another silence falls, this one even more strained than the last. Diego is still standing by the kitchen island, looking lost. Tristan is fidgeting with his phone, uncharacteristically quiet. Rett’s gaze is fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“I think I’m just tired,” I say abruptly, standing up. The need to escape this strange, tense atmosphere is suddenly overwhelming. “It’s been a long couple of weeks. I’m going to turn in early.”
“It’s barely seven,” Diego whispers, a hint of desperation in his voice.
“I know,” I say, offering a strained smile. “But I just need some time to... process everything.”
“Of course,” he says, though his eyes are sad. “Can I bring you anything? Tea? A snack for later?”
“I’m fine,” I insist, already backing toward the hallway. “Really. I just need some space.”
Rett hasn’t said a word, but his eyes follow me, dark and stormy. I can almost feel the restraint it’s taking for him not to come after me, not to pull me back into the safety of his arms.
Safety. Is that what I feel with them? Or is it just the biological pull of the claiming, the marks on my neck that still haven’t faded?
I turn and walk down the hallway, the feeling of their four pairs of eyes on my back. It’s only when I reach my bedroom door that I hear movement behind me. A low murmur of voices. They’re respecting my need for space.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, letting out a slow, shaky breath. The room is exactly as I left it this morning. Neat, clean, luxurious. The bed is made; the curtains open to show the stunning view of the city below.
And my suitcase is sitting in the corner where I left it weeks ago. I never fully unpacked, did I? Some part of me always knew this was temporary. A stopgap measure until I could go back home.
I don’t cry. I don’t panic. I just look at that suitcase for a long, quiet moment, then walk over and place it on the bed, flipping open the latches. The sound is a quiet, final click in the silent, luxurious room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Zoe
Sleep never comes.
The first pale light of dawn is just starting to creep through the windows when I finally give up the fight.
I move through the silent, opulent guest suite like a ghost, gathering the last of my things. My toothbrush from the ridiculously large marble vanity. The worn t-shirt and leggings I’ve been sleeping in from under the thousand-thread-count sheets. The book I’ve been pretending to read for the last two weeks from the nightstand.
Each item I place in the suitcase feels like a stone, adding to the heavy, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
