On her temple—the echo of a kiss, tender and lingering.
And on her phone, the soft buzz of a message.
Gideon: Didn’t want to wake you. You looked like peace I didn’t deserve to disturb. Coffee’s hot. Lock the door. Text me when you’re up. Please.
She read it twice, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself.
Then came another message.
Gideon: You wrecked me, Rivers. And I’d let you do it again.
The heat that coiled low in her stomach had nothing to do with caffeine.
She sank deeper into the pillow, her body deliciously sore from the night before—every inch tingling with the memory of his touch. The ache between her thighs wasn’t a complaint. It was a memory. A promise.
Proof.
But even as warmth curled through her like smoke, something colder edged in.
Not fear.
Awareness.
That feeling again.
She shifted toward the window. And there it was—the same silver car from the week before. Parked.
Unassuming.
Unmoving. Too still.
Not paranoia. Not anymore.
She knew Christian’s team was watching. Gideon had told her—after the destroyed rose, after the shattered glass, after the gift of lavender tea with the note from a “secret admirer.” He’d wanted her protected. And she’d believed him.
But this? It didn’t feel like protection.
It felt like surveillance. Pointed. Precise.
Like someone wasn’t keeping her safe; they were keepingher.
She made it through her morning routine—Krav Maga, a long shower, extra concealer under her eyes, but the feeling clung to her like sweat before a storm. Heavy. Unshakable.
Even the burn of training hadn’t bled it out.
The adrenaline had helped. Temporarily.
But when she slowed down, it crept back in, coiling tight beneath her skin.
?
By the time she stepped through the employee entrance, the tension sat squarely between her shoulder blades.
The air shifted.
And she knew.
Something was off.
