“I hate you,” she whispers, voice cracking.
“No,” I murmur, cupping her jaw. “You don’t.” I release her neck last, stepping back. “Plant the tracker,” I instruct. “I’ll follow him after he drops you off.”
She nods once, determination mingling with want. Her skirts fall into place, her hair smooths, but her thighs still tremble. The devices are cradled in her palm like contraband.
I crack the door. The hallway is empty. I guide her out, steadying her until she regains the mask of grace—storm-grey silk gleaming, posture flawless, lips just a touch swollen. She slips around the corner as Ryan’s footsteps approach.
Perfect.
I wait thirty seconds, adjust my jacket over the hardness that refuses to ease, then melt back into the thinning crowd. From a distance, I watch him help her into her coat, his hand settling on her lower back. They exchange polite farewells, then head for the exit, his palm lingering where he hopes no one will see.
And I smile, because I already know who’s about to see everything.
39
SILAS
Ifollow Ryan’s car from a distance, keeping two vehicles between us, tracking his movement through the city streets. The bug Parker planted is working perfectly—I can hear everything through the small earpiece tucked in my ear.
Ryan’s voice: “—had a wonderful time tonight, Parker. I hope this is just the first of many?—”
Parker’s voice, polite but distant: “It was a nice evening. Thank you for accompanying me.”
Silence for a moment. Then the sound of movement—fabric shifting, Ryan leaning closer maybe.
“I’d like to see you again,” Ryan says. “Not at a gala or a business meeting. Just us. Dinner, maybe. Or?—”
“Ryan, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve been very clear about where I stand. Tonight was professional courtesy. Nothing more.”
“Parker—”
“I’m not interested in a relationship with you. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing, but it’s the truth.”
More silence. I can practically hear Ryan processing, recalculating his approach.
“Is it them?” he asks finally. “Jace, Cal, and Silas. Is that why?—”
“This conversation is over.” Parker’s voice has gone cold. “Please respect my boundaries.”
The rest of the drive is silent except for the sound of the engine and occasional street noise.
When they reach the main house, I park down the road, watching through binoculars as Ryan gets out, and comes around to open Parker’s door. He offers his hand. She takes it briefly, then releases it as soon as she’s standing.
Ryan says something—probably another attempt at extending the evening. Parker responds with something that makes him nod, his expression tightening.
Then he leans in.
Going for a kiss—the presumptuous asshole actually thinks he’s earned a kiss after tonight.
Parker turns her head smoothly, his lips catching her cheek instead of her mouth. A professional swerve, perfectly executed, leaving no room for misinterpretation but maintaining plausibility for anyone watching.
“Goodnight, Ryan,” she says clearly.
Then she’s walking toward the house, not looking back, leaving Ryan standing by his car looking like someone just slapped him.
I allow myself a small smile.
That’s my girl.
