Her face is pale now, lips parted slightly. "And... the notes? The ones at the gate, in my dressing room?"
I nod. "The police will be analyzing the handwriting. But we found papers with similar phrasing. The threat assessments line up. It's him."
Her next question is quiet, like it's caught on the edge of a hope she doesn't quite trust. "Little Doll?"
I hesitate, but only for a moment. "We found a file on his hard drive labeled that. 'My Little Doll.' It's how he referred to you."
Relief crashes through her in an audible exhale. Her shoulders slump, and the grip she has on my hand tightens, just for a second. "So it's over."
"It's over," I echo, though a corner of my mind whispers that danger never really ends. But for her, for tonight, I let it be true.
Something about this doesn't quite align with our previous threat assessment, but now isn't the time for those details.
"It appears so. We'll know more after a full investigation."
She exhales, a shaky sound that seems to deflate her. Only then does the reality of what just happened between usseem to register on her face. She blinks, as if coming out of a trance, her cheeks flushing with color.
She doesn't let go of me. Not yet. Her thumb moves against the back of my hand like she's trying to memorize it.
"I..." she starts, then falters. "I was so scared for you... You could really have gotten hurt..."
Her concern for me warms me in a way I've never felt. I look at our still clasped hands. Both trying to anchor each other in this turmoil of emotions.
But the contrast, rough versus soft, bursts the warm bubble that had enveloped us. Reality crashes back, cold and clarifying.
What was I thinking? She's Jade Sinclair, twenty-three years old, beautiful beyond reason, with the world at her feet. And I'm a thirty-six-year-old ex-military, with nothing to offer, a past full of ghosts, and a future that's always been more about duty than desire.
And then there's Mateo. He told me about the kiss. Not to brag, but because that's the kind of man he is. Transparent. Loyal.
And good for her.
He's younger. Lighter. Makes her laugh. Doesn't carry ghosts in his chest like I do. Doesn't think about exit points in restaurants or how many shots it would take to neutralize a threat. He sees her joy. I see herrisk.
She deserves joy.
She was caught in the moment. Adrenaline, relief, instinct. It meant something to me. But it can't mean anything more to her.
I stand, putting physical distance between us, reclaiming professional space.
"I should brief the team," I say, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. "We'll maintain security protocols until everything is confirmed, but it looks like the immediate threat is neutralized."
She looks up at me, confusion and hurt flickering across her face. "Ethan..."
"It's over," I cut her off gently but firmly. "You're safe now. That's what matters."
Before she can respond, before I can weaken and reach for her again, I turn and walk out of the room. Each step away from her is an exercise in willpower, my body rebelling against the direction my mind is forcing it to take.
In the hallway, I lean against the wall, allowing myself one moment of weakness, one moment to replay the feel of her in my arms, the taste of her mouth, the desperate way she'd clung to me.
Then I straighten, rebuild the walls of professionalism and duty that have defined my life, and go to find Declan and Mateo.There's work to be done, a team to brief, a client to protect.
Even if the greatest danger to her might be me and these feelings I have no right to harbor.
It’s over.
It has to be, before it even begins.
23
