Raymond. My stomach twists at the mere mention of my stepfather. What is Sutton doing looking into Raymond?
"No, I don't care about the cost," he continues after a pause. "This is priority one. And I want that connection investigated thoroughly. There has to be a reason why Cecily ended up at my building specifically. In a city this size, that level of coincidence stretches credibility."
I press my hand to my mouth to stifle a gasp. He thinks there's some kind of connection between us beyond chance? That my ending up at his building wasn't just random desperation?
"Look deeper into his business partners," Sutton commands. "Particularly the ones in real estate and development. I want to know if he's ever had dealings with any of my companies, if our paths have crossed before."
My mind races. Could Raymond and Sutton have known each other? Is that why he took me in, why he's so determined to keep me? As some kind of leverage in a business rivalry?
"And Hargrove," Sutton says, the name making my blood run cold. "I want everything on him too. Especially his... proclivities. If he was willing to pay for a seventeen-year-old girl, it's unlikely she'd be the first."
I sway on my feet, nausea rising in my throat. How does he know about Hargrove? I never told him the specifics of why Iran, never mentioned Raymond's plan to sell me to his business partner.
"No, she hasn't told me everything yet," Sutton admits after another pause, confirming my suspicion. "She's still guarded. Traumatized. But I've pieced enough together from what she has said, from her reactions to certain questions."
A silence stretches, and I should move away, should pretend I never heard any of this. But my feet remain frozen to the floor.
"Of course I'm personally invested," Sutton snaps suddenly, a dangerous edge to his voice. "She's mine now. And I protect what's mine."
The possessiveness in his tone sends a shiver down my spine—half fear, half something darker and more primal.
"Just get me what I need," he concludes. "And remember, this stays between us. No one else needs to know about her or her connection to?—"
The office door swings open suddenly, and I find myself face to face with Sutton, his phone still held to his ear. His eyes widen briefly in surprise, then narrow as he takes in my guilty expression, my obvious eavesdropping position.
"I'll call you back," he says into the phone, his eyes never leaving mine. He ends the call, slips the phone into his pocket, and then we're just standing there, staring at each other in a silence that stretches taut between us.
"How much did you hear?" he finally asks, his voice deceptively calm.
I consider lying, but something tells me he'd see right through it. "Enough," I admit. "You're investigating Raymond. And me. You think there's some connection between us that brought me to your building that night."
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Come in," he says, stepping back from the doorway, gesturing for me to enter his office.
I hesitate, suddenly nervous. I've never been in this room before—his private domain within his already private sanctuary.
"Cecily," he says, my name a command on his lips. "Come in. Now."
I obey, stepping past him into a space that screams masculine power—dark woods, leather chairs, walls lined with books that look actually read rather than just for show. A massive desk dominates one end of the room, multiple computer screens glowing with information I can't decipher from this distance.
Sutton closes the door behind us with a soft click that sounds like a prison cell locking. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room.
"Sit," he says, pointing to one of the leather chairs facing his desk.
Again, I obey, sinking into the buttery softness of the leather, watching as he stalks around the desk to his own chair—a throne, really, high-backed and imposing.
"You shouldn't have been listening at the door," he says, his voice level but with an undercurrent of steel. "If you wanted to know what I was doing, you should have asked."
"Would you have told me?" I challenge, finding my voice. "Would you have admitted you're investigating me and my past?"
"Yes," he says without hesitation. "I don't lie to you, Cecily. I may not always volunteer information, but I don't lie."
I absorb that, turning it over in my mind. It's true that for all his mystery, all his control, he's never outright lied to me.
"What did he do to you?" Sutton asks suddenly, changing tacks with dizzying speed. "Your stepfather. What exactly did he do that made you run that night?"
I stiffen, the question hitting me like a physical blow. "I told you. He wanted me to do something I couldn't do."
"Be specific," he presses, leaning forward, his eyes intense. "I need to hear you say it."
