I exhaled. “Then don’t.”
He frowned slightly.
“I don’t need you to erase who you are,” I said. “I need you to be honest about it. And I need to decide what I’m willing to carry.”
He nodded once.
We stayed like that until the light shifted, until my phone buzzed again—Harper, probably.
I didn’t answer.
Not yet.
Because right now, in this house that smelled of salt and old wood, with Cassian’s heartbeat steady beneath my ear, I understood something new.
I hadn’t just asked for a hunter.
I’d asked for a man who would hunt me forever—and let me hunt him back.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
25
The afternoon light had shifted by the time I finally stirred from the sofa, the sun slanting lower through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Cassian’s arm was still around me, his breath steady against my hair, but the quiet between us felt heavier now, laced with the unspoken.
I shifted slightly, and he loosened his hold without a word, letting me sit up. My body ached in that familiar way—sated, marked—but my mind was already pulling away, threading back into the world outside these walls.
I’d have to get back to work soon.
“I need to check my phone,” I said, reaching for where it had fallen onto the rug during our urgency.
He nodded, watching me with that unblinking focus. No questions. No demands for reassurance. Just observation.
The screen lit up with notifications—texts, emails, voicemails. Harper’s name appeared twice more, her messages escalating from concern to insistence:Call me back. This is blowing up.And then:A reporter from the Post and Courier just reached out. They have more on him.
My stomach tightened. I opened my email next. The inbox was a minefield: subject lines from colleagues (“Quick check-in?”), from my assistant, Abigail (“Urgent: Board Call Request”), from donors (“Concerned About Recent Developments”). One stood out, bolded and unread, from Eleanor Hayes—the chair of my organization’s board.Re: Public Image and Funding Implications.
I clicked it.
Lia,
We need to discuss the circulating images and reports. Several key donors have reached out, expressing discomfort with your association to Mr. Locke. His business interests appear to directly contradict our mission. Please call me immediately to schedule a strategy session. We can’t afford a scandal—not with the spring gala approaching.
Best,
Eleanor
I set the phone down slowly, the words burning behind my eyes. Cassian must have seen the change in my posture because he sat up, his hand brushing my back.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The board. Donors. They know.”
He didn’t look surprised. “How much?”
“Enough.” I turned to him. “The photo’s spreading. And someone’s connected the dots on your properties.”
He exhaled once, short and controlled. “I’ll handle it.”
