As I led her inside, I looked once more at the fading footprints. Someone had been too close. They were too bold and too familiar with Harmony’s past. And I was done waiting for them to make the next move. This wasn’t about scaring her into leaving town. It was about reminding her someone still thought they owned her story.
CHAPTER 24
Eric
The moment Harmony stepped into the cabin, something in her posture shifted. It was slight but enough for me to notice. She didn’t shrink or shake. But she held herself like someone bracing for an impact she’d been outrunning for years. I closed the door behind us, the latch clicking softly into place. The wall heater hummed its low, steady warmth through the small space, the kind that usually made the cabin feel safe. Today, it only amplified the quiet. She hovered near the small table, fingers curled into the sleeves of my flannel like she needed an anchor. I crouched in front of her, not touching her yet. Harmony didn’t do well with pressure. She shut down if she felt cornered. So I waited until her eyes lifted to mine.
“Sunshine,” I urged softly, “talk to me.”
“Someone was close enough to lean against the window. Close enough to watch me sleeping,” she said with a shaky voice. “Why can’t I just be left to live in peace?”
Her eyes closed, lashes trembling. It didn’t look like fear, it was more like shame. The kind she didn’t deserve to carry.
I moved slowly, taking both her hands in mine. “None of this is fair, Harmony. We don’t choose the families we’re born into.”
“So, you think it’s for sure Olivier? Because on some level I think it’s him but. . .” Her voice trailed off like she was contemplating.
“What is it?” I asked my tone soft.
She swallowed hard, her throat working. “I need to tell you something. And it’s… ugly.”
“There’s nothing you can say that makes me leave,” I assured. I knew what it felt like to lose Harmony, and I didn’t want to go through that again. Even if every part of me was terrified of what she’d say.
She drew in a shaky breath. “When I was fifteen, my dad started using me to… help him. Translate things. Handle emails.” Her voice tightened. “Tech work. Encryption. File scrubbing. I didn’t know what I was doing at first, but by the time I did, it was already too late.”
A slow, cold burn lit in my chest.
“He forced you to do his dirty work?” I asked.
She nodded. “Never physical force, he didn’t have to resort to that.” Her laugh was hollow. “His voice was enough. His anger. The way he talked about people who crossed him.” She hesitated. “He brought me deeper without me realizing it was happening.”
My grip tightened. Not on her but on my own restraint. Because if Marcel Bellerose were standing here right now, I’d put him through the wall.
“You were a kid,” I said quietly.
“I was old enough to know I wanted out,” she whispered. “I just didn’t know how.”
Silence pressed between us, heavy and suffocating, until she broke it with words that shattered something inside me.
“The night my mom died,” she whispered, eyes shining, “it wasn’t an accident. Someone tampered with her car. It was meant for Marcel. And I?—”
Her voice cracked.
I pulled her against me before she could fall apart, arms wrapping around her waist, her forehead dropping to my shoulder. Her breaths came fast, uneven. I held her the way she’d never been held, like none of this was her fault. Because it wasn’t.
She continued, her voice muffled, “After she died, I started saving copies of everything. Files. Messages. Transfers. All the things I’d helped create. I told myself it was for safety. But really? I think I wanted to burn his world down.”
I leaned back enough to see her face. I knew she was somehow responsible for her father’s arrest, but I didn’t have any details. “So you helped the police.”
She nodded.
A protective instinct surged through me so strong it made my pulse jump. Whoever left that thistle hadn’t just threatened her, they’d threatened the girl who had survived hell. And I wasn’t letting anyone come near her again.
“Whoever sent those messages… whoever left that thistle…” I exhaled slowly. “They know exactly what you did.”
“And what I know,” she whispered. “Things that could get people killed.”
I brushed a tear off her cheek. “You should have told me.”
