Gasps sounded around them.
“And the notes?” Lena pressed. “The ones in my office?”
“I wanted you to doubt yourself.” His smile twisted. “I wanted you scared. Jumping at shadows. Wondering if you were losing your mind.”
“You tampered with my golf cart.”
“I loosened the brake line,” he smiled. “I didn’t think you’d flip the damn thing. You always were dramatic.”
Murmurs turned sharp now. Angry.
“You hate me that much?” Lena asked.
“Hate you?” His voice rose. “You humiliated me. You were nothing. I gave you a job. I gave you attention. You should have been grateful.”
Grateful. Her stomach twisted—but not from shame. From fury. She didn’t interrupt. Let him keep talking.
“You are mine,” he ranted, stepping closer. “My parents bought you for me. You worked for me. You owed me. And when you rejected me—” His lip curled. “You thought you could walk away? No one walks away from me.”
Silence fell, heavy and stunned.
“You spurned me!” he spat. “Me! You’re nothing but trash. So yes. I made you afraid. I made you look over your shoulder. I made you remember who has the power. Who owns you.”
Lena didn’t flinch at his words. Let them all hear it.
“You did this,” she said quietly. “All of it.”
“Yes,” he snapped. “I did it. And I’d do it again.”
His hands twitched at his sides, one of them sliding behind his back. Lena’s instincts screamed a warning, but she didn’tmove. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Zach’s teachings echoed in her mind—never turn your back, never show your fear. She kept her gaze leveled on his, watching his eyes, storm meeting rot gone feral.
“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, forcing him to lean in to hear it. “And this? This ends now. You end now.”
Chester’s face contorted, a mask of rage and humiliation. “You bitch! You think you can end me? I’ll kill you!” he roared, wild and unhinged, and lunged. A silver flash arced upward—a knife catching the light, hungry.
Lena was ready. She pivoted on her heel, the movement fluid and practiced, her body remembering Zach’s lessons. The blade missed her by inches, and she snapped her elbow up, striking Chester’s arm and sending the blade off course.
His free hand flailed and caught the neckline of her dress. The chain at her throat snapped. The shell pendant—small, worn smooth from years of worrying at its edges—tore loose and shattered on the deck.
Time fractured.
And then David was there. Not charging blindly. Not flailing. Precise.
He didn’t crash into Chester—he stepped to his side, just enough, catching the knife wrist mid-swing. His fingers clamped down with terrifying certainty. A sharp twist—Chester’s arm jerked backward with a strangled cry. The knife wavered.
Lena stumbled back, champagne sloshing over her knuckles.
David pivoted, sweeping Chester’s leg from under him and driving him face-first into the deck. The crack of impact split the air as he hit the floor hard—but David didn’t look wild. He looked focused. Cold.
He followed Chester down in one fluid motion, knee planting between his shoulder blades, weight settling like stone. Chester tried to roll, to buck him off—but David shifted with him, adjusting, trapping his other wrist and stretching it up his back.
No wasted movement. No rage-punching. Just control. The crowd gasped as Chester writhed under him, red-faced and spitting fury. “She provoked me! You saw that?—”
David bent down, saying something Lena couldn’t hear—but whatever it was made Chester’s face drain of color. Then David twisted. Not enough to break. Enough to promise.
“Drop it!” Logan’s commanding voice cut through the noise, badge now out and glittering in the twinkle lights. The knife finally slipped from Chester’s fingers and clattered onto the deck.
Chester thrashed once more, but it was weaker now. Contained. David didn’t let up until Logan had both wrists cuffed.
