The typing dots appear. Vanish. Come back.
CAMI:I’m calling Mav. He’s in the Order. He can help.
Relief hits so hard my knees almost buckle. I sag back against the dresser, breathing for the first time since I walked into this place.
Thank God. Someone with power. Someone who—
A new message pops up. A screenshot.
My stomach twists as I read.
CAMI:She’s been kidnapped. Some psycho named Asher Redmont. You need to take him down.
MAVERICK:Slow down. Are we sure she’s in immediate danger?
CAMI:What the hell do you meanslow down? He took her. He’s keeping her.
MAVERICK:That’s not the same as her being in danger.
CAMI:You don’t know him like I do.
MAVERICK:I’m sure she’ll be fine.
My blood goes cold.
Fine.
Like this is a scheduling conflict. Like I’m overreacting. Like men like Asher Redmont don’t ruin lives quietly, efficiently, and without ever raising their voice.
My fingers twitch over the screen. I want to scream at them. Tell them they don’t understand. ThatIdon’t understand and that’s the problem.
But something stops me. I swallow, lock the phone, and shove it under the pillow like it can’t hurt me there. I need to move. I need to dosomethingbefore I come apart.
I push off the bed and throw open the closet doors looking for something I can use or a way out or something.
And freeze.What the hell.
I step inside slowly, fingertips grazing fabric after fabric. Perfectly arranged. Immaculate. All designer. All expensive.
All…mine? My size. My proportions. Things that would actually fit—not “close enough,” not “maybe if I suck it in,” not “this would look better on someone else.”
I’m not a size two. I’m not easy to shop for. This doesn’t justhappen.
A sharp breath punches out of me. Anger flares first—hot, and defensive. Then something else slips in beneath it.
Shock. And—God, no—flattery?
Because it isn’t easy to shop for me. Because most of the time I’m the problem in the mirror. Because here—here everything would hug me like it was made to.
I curl my fingers into the fabric, chest tight.
How did he know?
My mouth is dry as I back into the bathroom.
And then I see the vanity.
Every product. Every brand. Every scent. My shampoo. My cleanser. My stupid vanilla lip balm I keep losing in my purse.
