Lena’s pulseroared in her ears like surf pounding the shore, fast and crashing, fizzing along her skin in tandem with the bubbles rising in her untouched champagne. The pavilion lights glittered overhead, strung like constellations across the open beams, but even their golden shimmer couldn’t banish the shadows creeping in.
The party swayed around her—bare feet on smooth wood, the clink of glasses, laughter, and someone’s off-pitch harmony folding into the music—but all of it seemed distant now. Muffled. Like she stood behind thick glass, staring in. The fragrance of saltwater and night-blooming jasmine clung to the air, but beneath it lay the metallic tang of her own fear, her own fury.
David was right. The staff party was the perfect place for their showdown. Chester would love the spotlight until he realized he was the entertainment—his ridicule the purpose.
She sensed him before she sighted him, the hairs on her nape rising in reaction to the feeling of being watched. She followed the feeling and spotted him between the trees, lurking in the shadows. Hunter still. Watching.
He had changed little. Not in the ways that mattered. The same stiff posture. The same entitled hunger etched into everyline of his face. Even now he was playing the part—lurking instead of leaving, circling her like he was the predator.
Fool.
He was the prey.
Lena’s stomach coiled tight, but she breathed through it, concentrating on the silk of her dress shifting against her legs with each inhale.
She wasn’t alone.
David stood twenty feet to her left, casual as ever—but coiled. Zach leaned against a beam near the bar, looking bored while missing nothing. Beside him stood Sheriff Logan in plain clothes—solid, implacable—introduced to her before the party began. His badge was tucked out of sight. The authority wasn’t.
She was covered.
Her gaze lifted to David, just briefly. He was watching her. No question. No hesitation. Just the smallest incline of his head.I’ve got you.The air settled in her lungs.
She didn’t shift, didn’t wince or falter under the stare boring into her. A different Lena—an older version of herself—might have backed away. Disappeared into polite silence, into fear. Not this one. Not Lena 2.0.
She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t vulnerable. She wasn’t a victim.
The stem of the flute felt delicate in her hand as she repeated the mantra in her head, but her grip held. Steady. Unwavering.
David’s text had been bold. Reckless, maybe. Definitely brilliant. It had been designed to poke Chester’s ego in one clean line while daring him to show his face. And here he was. Predictable as the tide, spiraling toward the spotlight.
Lena pushed away from her post, weaving through the crowd with dangerous calm, partygoers parting before her like the sea. People hushed. They felt it, too: the tension buzzing around her like electricity, hot and humming. Something was coming, and it would center on Lena.
For once, she wasn’t the one in danger.
She took a moment to ground herself in the cool wood beneath her feet, the press of bodies moving aside, the pressure of their gazes on her skin.
She stopped by the side of the pavilion where Chester lurked, letting her voice carry into the glittering air like a shot. “Well, look who dragged himself out from under his rock,” she called, her tone biting, every edge honed. “Didn’t expect a party, did you?”
Chester moved forward, flashing an oily smirk. “Lena. Still a drama queen, I see.”
Her smile was ice. “Still a creep with delusions of relevance.”
He glanced around, shoulders stiffening as he noted the eyes on them—staffers, dancers, servers pausing mid-pour, mid-step. A ripple of attention tautened the air. The music seemed to slow, each note lingering a beat too long.
“Didn’t get enough last time, Chester?” Disdain dripped from her tone. “Or did you think sneaking around corners, sending your pathetic little messages, and playing your sick games would make me crumble?”
She took a sip of her champagne; the bubbles fizzed on her tongue. “You lost before. Did you think you could win this time? Did you really think you’re stronger than me?” She laughed in his face. “You, momma’s boy? The loser who can’t even get a job without your parents buying it for you?”
The music had stopped completely now.
“You stalked me,” she pitched her voice to ensure everyone heard. “You broke into my cottage. You crushed my shells. You left a dead doll on my porch like some kind of perverse gift. You broke into my office. You left notes in my desk. You followed me.”
A ripple passed through the crowd.
“Admit it,” she demanded. “Say what you did.”
Chester laughed—high and brittle. “You think you’re special?” His eyes glittered, fever-bright. “I smashed your stupid shells because they mattered to you. I left the doll because I wanted you to know I could reach you anytime. I left the vase in your cottage to show your precious security couldn’t stop me.”
