The casualness of her response hits hard. How many times has she woken up to headlines dissecting her face, her body, herlife? How many fabricated scandals has she weathered alone in this beautiful, isolated house?
"Is this why you maintain such a small staff?" Declan asks quietly. "Why you rarely go out?"
I see the moment of surprise in her eyes before she masks it. "Partly," she admits. "It's easier to control what gets out when fewer people have access."
"But last night was worth the risk," Ethan says, watching her intently.
Her expression softens, and for a split second, I see something genuine break through. "The exhibition was important. Those women's stories deserved to be told, to be seen." She hesitates. "That matters more than whatever nonsense they print about my face."
I find myself staring at her, really seeing her. Not Jade Sinclair the supermodel or Jade Sinclair our client, but this woman who's somehow developed the armor to face a world that feels entitled to rewrite her reality daily. Who cares more about an art exhibition honoring female resilience than her own public image.
The silence stretches too long, and I can't bear it. This heavy, serious atmosphere isn't helping anyone. Besides, I've never been good at keeping my thoughts to myself.
"Well," I say, injecting my voice with my best mischievous charm, "if they're going to pair you with one of us in the gossip rags, it really should have been me and not Mr. Brooding over here." I gesture toward Ethan withexaggerated disappointment. "I'm much better for your brand. More photogenic. Better hair. I smile occasionally."
The laugh she gives in response is genuine, bright and unexpected, making her eyes crinkle at the corners.Dios mío, she's beautiful when she laughs like that, unguarded, real.
"Is that so?" she asks, and I swear there's a hint of flirtation in her voice.
I lean toward her, encouraged. "Absolutely. The internet would love us together. We'd break Instagram. They'd call us... Jateo. Or Maje. We'd be a power couple."
"You're ridiculous," she tells me, but her tone is warm, amused rather than dismissive.
"I prefer 'charming,'" I counter, giving her my best smile. The one myabuelaalways said could charm the birds from the trees. "You could use some charm in your life, sunshine."
The nickname slips out naturally, and I half-expect her to correct me. Instead, I'm rewarded with a faint blush coloring those freckled cheeks. Progress.
She leans her hip against the counter, coffee cradled in one hand. "So? Anyone else getting surgery next week? I hear collarbone shaving is all the rage."
We groan. She grins. And for a second, the darkness waiting outside these walls feels very far away.
But it's not. Not really.
Whichis why when I catch Ethan's eye over the rim of my mug, we both know what the laughter's hiding: this world of hers? It's brutal. It's relentless. And she's been surviving it mostly alone.
Not anymore.
Now she's got us.
And whether we're listed as bodyguards or boyfriends in tomorrow's headlines... we're not going anywhere.
17
DECLAN
The pool house has become our unofficial war room.
It's the one place on the property where we can speak freely without worrying about Jade overhearing something she shouldn't, or Sophie stumbling in at the wrong moment. The sun is just beginning to rise outside, casting pale gold across the hardwood floors, but inside, the mood is anything but serene.
The pool house is quiet except for the rhythmic tapping of Mateo's fingers on his keyboard. He's been at it for hours, eyes locked on multiple screens, hunting digital ghosts. I respect his focus. The way his usual playful demeanor gives way to intense concentration when he's working tech security.
After seven days of searching, we're still no closer to identifying who planted the camera in Jade's living room. No fingerprints. No traceable components. No digital footprint that Mateo can follow back to a source.
A dead end. Which makes the upcoming Bali trip a security nightmare.
"Any progress?" Ethan asks, sipping from the mug that's practically become a fifth limb.
"Nothing new," Mateo replies without looking up. "Whoever set this up knew what they were doing. The camera transmitted to a proxy server that bounced through multiple countries before hitting its destination. I'm still trying to isolate the endpoint, but they covered their tracks well."
