Ansel hands Breck the note without a word. I watch Breck's face harden as he reads it. He passes it to Enzo, whose face mirrors Breck's.
I try to downplay it. "A guy handed me that."
"Did he touch you?" There's an edge to Enzo's voice that makes me shiver.
"Well, no. Other than pressing the note into my hand." I cross my arms, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the bar. "He just walked past and put it in my hand."
Breck moves closer, his usual charm completely absent. "I'll call Joshua to come and pick us up."
"And you're coming home with us," Ansel tells me.
"That's a little excessive, don't you think?" I protest.
"No." All three of them say it simultaneously, and the unified front is startling.
Breck's voice is gentler but no less resolute. "Remy, someone knows where you are, knows your name, and is threatening you. We're not letting you go back to your apartment alone. That's not happening."
"It's Trent." I'm trying to make this make sense. "Stanley Trent. He's just trying to scare me."
Ansel pockets his phone. "Then he's succeeding, and you're still coming home with us until we figure out how to neutralize the threat."
Enzo looks at his phone. "Car's ready. We're leaving through the back exit."
I look between the three of them, seeing identical expressions of protective determination. There's no point arguing when they're like this.
And honestly? I'm more shaken than I want to admit.
Their penthouse is nothing like I expected.
I’ve seen their office, decorated with simplicity and corporate polish. But this is different. This is warm. Lived-in. Real.
It’s designed with exposed brick walls, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and comfortable furniture that appears used rather than staged. There are books everywhere—actual physical books, not for show. A kitchen that’s clearly beencooked in. Photos on the walls that aren’t professional shots, but candid moments.
I turn slowly, taking it in. “This is beautiful.”
Enzo shrugs out of his jacket. “It’s home. And you’re our first guest.” He pauses. “Well, besides Gran.”
That stops me. “Not even Damon has been here?”
“Never. Not even Damon,” Enzo confirms.
Ansel pulls out his phone and types rapidly. “I’m having clothes and whatever else you need delivered within the hour.”
My eyebrows rise. “How is that possible?”
Ansel keeps typing out messages on his phone. “When you have enough money, anything is possible. What size are you?”
I tell him, feeling surreal about the whole situation. “Do I even want to know how you have a system in place for emergency clothing delivery?”
“Probably not.” Breck’s grin is unrepentant. “Definitely not.
Ansel ignores Breck. “I will have someone go to your apartment tomorrow and collect your things. Make a list of what you need and want.”
This is all happening so fast.
“How long do you plan on keeping me here?” I ask, realizing that it sounds like they are asking me to move in temporarily.
“Until the threat is gone,” Enzo states matter-of-factly.
