"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm not willing to risk finding out. Are you?"
I thought about Casey's face this morning, the fear in her eyes. The way she'd asked if she was bad.
"No," I whispered.
"Then let me help. Please."
It went against every instinct I had, especially the instinct to be independent, to handle my own problems, to not need anyone. But God, I was tired.
And scared.
And drowning.
"Okay," I said. "What did you have in mind?"
"Let me talk to my security team. We can get someone to monitor your clinic and your house. Make sure no one gets close enough to leave notes or harass clients."
"That sounds expensive."
"I don't care."
"Easton—"
"Sadie." His voice softened. "Casey is my daughter. You're her mother. Like it or not, we're in this together now. So yeah, I'm going to help. And you need to let me."
The words should have been comforting. Instead, they reminded me of what I'd cost him. What I was still costing him.
"Okay," I whispered.
"Okay. I'll text you when I have details."
He hung up, and I stood in my clinic, phone in hand, feeling like the walls were closing in. Through the doorway to the treatment room, I could see yesterday's damage. Toby's cage still sat slightly askew, with a few items knocked off shelves in the chaos.
My father was right this morning. I looked like I hadn't slept.
The past weeks felt like a blur, survival mode. Hiding.
And now all my hiding places were exposed.
My phone buzzed with a text from Monique's phone at the front desk: You need to come see this. Now.
I frowned and walked back to the reception area. "I'm right here. What…"
She pointed at her computer screen. "This just got posted."
I leaned over to look. It was a local news article already piling up with comments.
SHADOW WOLVES' HENLEY HAS A SECRET DAUGHTER. VET'S CLINIC UNDER FIRE.
Below it was a photo taken yesterday of Casey's terrified face pressed against the clinic window and Easton's hand on the photographer's shoulder.
"Oh God," I said.
My phone buzzed again. Another text, this one from a number I didn't recognize.
Everyone knows what you are now. Gold digger.
My hands shook as I deleted the message. Then, I blocked the number. But it didn't matter. The words were already burned into my brain.
