“Yes,” she says quickly, standing and moving to block my view. “Emma and Ella. They’re upstairs asleep.”
I nod, but the gears in my head are spinning, connecting dots I don’t even want to acknowledge yet.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, watching her closely.
She crosses her arms, her posture defensive. “They’re my life.”
For a moment, silence stretches between us, thick with everything she’s not saying.
Mia clears her throat and gestures toward the coffee table, where she’s laid out a stack of papers. “I thought you might need to see these—copies of the notes Jason’s left, the threats he’s made. It’s all here.”
I shift my focus to the paperwork, though my mind keeps circling back to the photo.
As she walks me through the threats—the letters, photos, strange packages—I see how calculated Jason’s been. How deliberate. The bastard isn’t just stalking her. He’s breaking her down piece by piece, stripping away her sense of safety, of control.
Each detail adds to the fury building inside me.
But something else gnaws at me, something I can’t shake. The twins. The way Mia avoided my question. The familiar features I saw in that photo.
“Mia,” I start, my voice low, “are you sure there’s nothing else I need to know?”
Her hands tighten on the papers she’s holding. “Damon, this isn’t about them. It’s about Jason. He’s dangerous, and I need your help to keep us safe. That’s all that matters right now.”
She’s deflecting, but I let it slide. For now.
“All right,” I say, leaning back. “We’ll start with a full security assessment tomorrow. Cameras, motion detectors, reinforced locks—these are good, but not enough. Jason’s military. He knows how to breach defenses like these.”
“What do you suggest?” she asks, her voice steady but her eyes wary.
“Round-the-clock protection,” I say. “Someone here at all times. Starting tonight.”
Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but then she nods. “Okay. Whatever it takes.”
A small cry drifts down the stairs. Mia is already halfway to her feet by the time I stand.
“I’ve got it,” she says.
“I’ll come with you, just to be sure,” I say. Mia doesn’t fight me on that but she moves ahead of me.
My heart beats faster. The creak of the stairs beneath my boots is louder than it should be. At the top of the stairs, the door to a room is ajar. Pale pink walls and soft nightlights cast a glow across the hall.
Inside, two little girls sit in matching beds. They’re identical in every way: dark curls, small faces, and big, expressive eyes. One clutches a stuffed unicorn while the other leans over the rail of her bed, peering toward the door.
The fearless one spots me first. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hide. Instead, she tilts her head, curious and calm, her gaze locking onto mine with a startling intensity.
The other one follows suit, her eyes softer and more cautious. Both pairs of eyes are warm brown with golden flecks.
My mother’s eyes.
A chill runs down my spine, and something deep in my chest tightens painfully.
Mia appears behind me, her presence a quiet heat at my back. “It’s okay, girls,” she says softly, stepping past me and into the room.
I can’t move. Can’t take my eyes off them.
“Are you a ninja?” the fearless one asks me, her voice as steady as her stare.
“Manners, Emma,” Mia chides gently, running a hand over her daughter’s curls.
