Safe. That word again. As if safety and captivity aren't two sides of the same coin.
But exhaustion wins over resistance. I close my eyes and let myself be held, too drained to fight the comfort his arms provide.
***
I sit in my office, hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling, as Detective Harding settles into the chair across from me. He's middle-aged, tired eyes that have seen too much, and a wedding ring that suggests he has people who worry about him.
I wonder if they know what he does. If they understand the darkness he swims through daily.
"Miss Sinclair, thank you for agreeing to speak with me," he begins, pulling out a worn notebook. "I'm investigating the death of Bryce Royston. I understand you knew him?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. Death. Bryce is dead.
"We were together once," I manage, my voice carefully neutral even as my stomach turns. "Years ago."
"And more recently? I have reports of harassment. Stalking behavior."
I meet his gaze steadily, my heart pounding. "Bryce made some unwanted advances. It was handled."
"Handled how?"
"I made it clear I wasn't interested. He backed off."
It's not technically a lie. Just an incomplete truth. And I hate how easily the deception comes.
Detective Harding writes something in his notebook, and I watch his pen scratch across the paper. He's looking for someone to blame. Someone to punish. But he won't find them here.
"Were you aware that Mr. Royston recently suffered a severe accident?" he asks. "Brake line failure that left him paralyzed. He died three days ago from complications."
My chest tightens. Dead. Nathan didn't just hurt him. He killed him.
"I saw the accident on the news," I say quietly, fighting to keep my voice steady. "It was terrible."
"The timing is... interesting."
I tilt my head slightly, though my pulse is racing. "Interesting how?"
"A man harasses you. Then died several days after an accident. And you're now living with Nathan Hale, a man with considerable resources and no apparent regard for legal boundaries."
My expression doesn't change, but inside I'm screaming. "Are you suggesting Mr. Hale had something to do with Bryce's accident?"
"I'm suggesting it's quite a coincidence."
"Life is full of coincidences, Detective." I smooth my skirt with deliberate calm, though my hands are shaking. "Bad things happen to bad people sometimes. That's not a conspiracy. That's karma."
He studies me for a long moment, and I see the frustration building behind his professional mask. He knows. He just can't prove it.
"If you have any information about Mr. Royston's accident, Miss Sinclair, now would be the time to share it."
"I don't," I say simply, and the lie burns in my throat. "Bryce harassed me. That was unfortunate. His accident was tragic. But I had nothing to do with any of it, and neither did Nathan."
The lies slide off my tongue like silk. Smooth. Perfect. Utterly convincing.
Because somewhere in the past few weeks, I've stopped being Eve Sinclair, the honest woman who built an empire on integrity.
I've become someone who protects her monster.
Detective Harding closes his notebook with a snap. "If you think of anything—"
