"You're safe," Dylan says firmly. "He can't get to you. I'm eight minutes away."
Oliver's voice rises again, audible even from my bedroom. Something crashes in the hallway—maybe he kicked something, maybe he hit the wall. I pull my knees up to my chest, making myself smaller.
"Talk to me," Dylan says. "About anything. What were you doing before he showed up?"
"Contract revisions." My voice sounds thin, shaky. "The Miller acquisition."
"Find any issues?"
It's such a normal question, so perfectly Dylan, that I almost laugh. "Clause 47 has an ambiguity in the IP transfer terms."
"Of course you caught that." There's warmth in his voice despite the situation. "Harrison taught you well."
"She taught me to read everything three times and trust nothing at face value."
"Smart woman. Five minutes, Avery."
I hear Oliver's voice getting louder, more aggressive, though I can't make out all the words anymore. Something about betrayal. Something about what I owe him.
"He used to do this," I hear myself saying. "When he drank, he turned everything around so I was always the one who'd done something wrong."
Dylan's quiet for a moment. Then: "That's not right, Avery. You know that, right?"
Before I can respond, I hear Dylan's voice change, becoming distant like he's pulled the phone away. "I'm here. Walking up now."
Then I hear him, that CEO voice that makes boardrooms fall silent: "Step away from the door."
Oliver's response is muffled but clearly argumentative.
I carefully leave my bedroom and tiptoe up to the door. Through a peephole, I can see them standing there. I'm fighting to calm my breath so they won't hear me standing so close to the door.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Oliver's voice is clearer now.
"I'm the person calling the police in thirty seconds if you don't leave."
"She's my fiancée—"
"Ex-fiancée. And you're drunk, harassing her at her home. You have two choices: leave now and sleep it off, or explain to the police why you're violating what I'm assuming is going to be a restraining order by tomorrow morning."
There's a long pause. I watch them facing off in my hallway, Oliver trying to process through his alcohol haze, Dylan standing there immovable.
"This isn't over," Oliver finally says and storms away.
"Yes, it is," Dylan calls after him, ice in every word. "If you come near her again, you'll regret it. Are we clear?"
I see Dylan standing there for a while, then he comes up to my door and gently knocks.
"Avery? It's me. He's gone."
I unlock the door with trembling fingers. Dylan is still in his suit, his tie loosened, his jaw tight with barely controlled anger that softens the moment he sees me.
"You're shaking," he says quietly.
"I'm fine." The automatic response, the lie I've perfected.
"No, you're not." He steps closer but doesn't touch me, doesn't assume. "Come with me. "
"What? Dylan, I can't—"
