The room continues around me. Declan flipping pancakes, Mateo and Ethan discussing security protocols, but I'm frozen, the words on the page blurring as my eyes fill with unwanted tears.
"Jade?" Ethan's voice seems to come from far away. "Whatis it?"
I force my expression to remain neutral, years of modeling training helping me mask the turmoil raging inside. My hands want to tremble, but I will them steady as I fold the letter carefully and slide it back into its envelope.
"Nothing important," I lie, my voice surprisingly even. "Just contract updates."
Ethan's eyes narrow slightly. He's too perceptive, too attuned to shifts in my mood already. But he doesn't press, just watches me with that penetrating blue gaze that seems to see straight through my defenses.
Mateo pauses mid-sip, eyes flicking to Ethan. A silent question passes between them. Declan doesn't stop cooking, but the tight set of his shoulders says he noticed too.
I turn away, unable to bear their scrutiny. "I'm going to shower," I announce, needing escape, needing space to think.
The envelope burns in my hand like a live coal. Its contents have just shattered the fragile happiness I'd begun to build. Because what's inside means the end of everything. It means I need to push these men away. For their own good, for their safety.
As I walk to the bathroom on legs that somehow still support me, I'm already calculating, planning. How to extract myself from them. How to make them leave without revealing what I've learned. How to face what's coming alone, as I've always been meant to.
The water runs hot over my skin, washing away the evidence of last night's passion but not the memory of it. Not the feeling of belonging that had begun to take root in my heart.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile and allow myself one moment, just one, of weakness. One silent sob that's swallowed by the rush of water.
Then I straighten, shut off the tap, and reach for a towel. By the time I emerge, my face is composed, my strategy set.
They can never know what was in that envelope. Never know the sacrifice I'm about to make.
For their sake. For their lives.
35
JADE
The walls of my living room have never felt both so confining and so necessary. I pace the polished hardwood floors, the envelope clutched in my hand like a live grenade. Getting out of the pool house had been essential. I couldn't breathe there, couldn't think with their scents lingering on my skin, their voices in my ears, their presence overwhelming my senses.
"I need space," I'd told them, forcing my voice to sound annoyed rather than broken. "I can't stay cooped up in this pool house another minute. The main house has been checked, right? I'm going stir-crazy."
They'd objected, of course. Ethan with his stern practicality, Declan with his quiet concern, Mateo with his attempts to lighten my suddenly dark mood. But I'd insisted, using the spoiled diva persona like armor. It was disturbingly easy to slip back into, like muscle memory for a dance I'd performed too many times.
Now, alone in the living room, I spread the contents of the envelope across my white marble coffee table. The heavy cream paper with its official-looking letterhead is only the first page. A ruse, designed to get past Ethan's inspection.
But the documents inside are very real.
A criminal record. Declan's criminal record.
My fingers trace over the mugshot, and my heart constricts. He looks younger, his face unmarred by the scar that now bisects his cheek. His expression is defiant, angry, but his eyes hold the same quiet pain I've glimpsed beneath his stoic exterior.
Two years for assault. The details are sparse, just that he attacked a man. But I know Declan now. I know the gentle way his massive hands cradle my face. I know the careful restraint in every movement, like a man constantly afraid of his own strength. I know how he stands between me and any perceived threat without hesitation.
Whatever happened, whatever drove him to violence, I trust him. It changes nothing about how I feel.
But it's not the record that makes my blood run cold. It's the handwritten note clipped to the front page:
You've been a very bad little doll.
I told you to behave, to be a good little doll. But you couldn't help it, could you? You let them in. You let them touch you.
Send them away by theend of the day, or I tear everything they've built apart. Starting with Cross Security. How long do you think Ethan's precious reputation will hold once the world finds out he knowingly hired an ex-con? That his right-hand man went to prison for assault? That your "bodyguard" is a violent liability?
And when the dust settles, when contracts drop and clients vanish, what will be left of their friendship? Of your little foursome fantasy? You think Mateo will laugh his way through the fallout? You think Declan can survive watching Ethan lose everything just because he tried to save him?
