The walk back through the house felt like a gauntlet. Her team was still there, clustered in the living room like vultures in designer clothing, already on their phones, already spinning.
"Stevie, we need to discuss—" Robert started.
"No." I didn't stop walking, didn't look at them. "You don't get to talk to her. You don't get to come near her. If I see any of you within a hundred yards of her, I'll have you arrested for criminal negligence."
"You can't?—"
"Try me." I paused at the door, turned back, Stephy still curled in my arms, her face hidden against my neck. "She trusted you. She paid you millions to keep her safe. And when she needed you most, you were more worried about NDAs than her life. Live with that."
The publicist was already typing, probably crafting a statement about "exhaustion" or "taking time for self-care" or whatever lie would sell best.
The security team parted as I walked through them, not one meeting my eyes. Gary started to say something, thought better of it, stepped aside.
I settled Stephy into the passenger seat of the SUV, carefully buckling her in, mindful of her ribs. She hadn't said a word since I'd picked her up, just held onto my shirt like a lifeline. Even belted in, she kept one hand fisted in the fabric, knuckles white.
I got in, started the engine. Stephy was curled toward me, the blanket pulled up to her chin, eyes huge in her pale face. In the dashboard light, I could see every injury in cruel detail—the bruising, the swelling, the way she held herself so carefully.
"Where?" she whispered.
"Home." I reached over, took her hand, careful of the bruises already blooming on her wrist in the perfect shape of fingers. "I'm taking you home."
"I don't have a home." Her voice broke on the last word.
"Yeah, you do." I squeezed her hand gently, felt her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird under her skin. "You've always had a home. You just haven't seen it yet."
The glass houses of the Hollywood Hills fell away behind us, each one a monument to false security, to the lie that money could keep you safe. As we drove toward the airport, toward Texas, toward real protection, I made a promise to myself and to her.
No one would ever hurt her again.
Not on my watch.
Not ever.
"You're safe now, sweetheart," I said quietly. "I've got you."
Her fingers tightened on mine, and she turned slightly toward me.
"I know," she whispered. "You always have."
Chapter 5
Liam
She didn’t let go of my hand the entire flight home.
Didn’t let go when I helped her up the narrow steps of the jet. Didn’t let go when she froze in the doorway, eyes vacant, breath shaking so hard her whole body trembled.
Didn’t let go when I guided her to the seat and crouched in front of her to buckle her in because her fingers wouldn’t work.
“Sweetheart, I’ve got you,” I murmured, sliding the belt across her hips, snapping it into place. Her breathing hitched, uneven and shallow. Shock. Trauma. Terror. All of it vibrated out of her in tiny, sharp tremors.
“Lee…” Her voice was paper-thin. “I’m… so cold.”
I wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, tucking it tight, but she shivered harder, her teeth clicking together. Cold from the inside. The kind trauma carved into bone.
Takeoff shook her. The engines roared, and she crumpled sideways, fingers clawing blindly until they found my wrist. She latched on like she was drowning.
“S’okay if I…?” she whispered, voice barely a sound. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, a catatonic glaze fighting for control.
