"I started seeing a therapist when I was seventeen, someone who helped me understand that what was happening wasn't normal or healthy. When I told my parents I wanted to go to college instead of immediately pursuing more acting work, they were furious. They said I was throwing away everything they'd built, that I was being selfish and ungrateful."
His gaze was intently pinned on her, but he didn’t interrupt, allowing her to speak at her own pace. She sipped her wine, then returned the glass to the coffee table.
"When I turned eighteen, I took control of my finances and my career. To their credit, they hadn't stolen from me. They'd been paid well as my managers and had put most of my earnings into trust accounts. But they couldn't accept that I was making my own decisions." She paused, the memories clearly painful. "They tried to start their own talent agency, thinking they couldreplicate their success with other young actors, but they never managed to sign anyone significant. My mother attempted to open a modeling agency, but that didn't work out either."
"Did they try to maintain contact?"
"They initially backed off. I think they hoped I'd come crawling back when college got difficult or when I realized how hard it was to make it in the industry without their connections. But when my screenwriting career took off, and especially after I won the Oscar, they came back with demands. They felt entitled to a percentage of my success and claimed they deserved credit for launching my career."
"Fucking hell," he muttered.
She snorted at his curse and nodded. “Well put.”
After another sip, she continued, “I had to get attorneys involved. They were showing up at industry events, telling people they were still my representatives, even contacting my agents and trying to negotiate deals on my behalf." Willow's voice grew steadier as she talked about taking action. "My legal team sent cease-and-desist letters, and eventually we had to get a formal agreement that they would have no contact with me or my professional representation."
"Do they know about your current living situation?"
"I don't think so. Well, to be honest, I don’t know. I've been very careful about keeping my location private. I’ve gone to great lengths to keep this address from being publicly linked to me, but, as you know, nothing is really hidden in our digital world. I will say that they haven’t overtly tried to contact me here.”
“But they could have hired someone?”
She blinked, her mouth opening and closing several times. “I… I…” The air rushed from her lungs as she thought about the possibility of her parents being behind the roses and notes. It was still hard to imagine they would think of terrorizing her.“Well, I’ll say that they're resourceful when they want to be, and they still have connections in the industry.”
Casper was quiet for a moment, processing the information. "Willow, I'm sorry you went through all of that. No child should have to deal with that kind of pressure and exploitation, especially from their own parents."
"I've had a lot of therapy," she said with a wan smile. "I'm in a much healthier place now, physically and emotionally. But yes, it's possible they could be behind some of this. They've never fully accepted that I'm not their meal ticket anymore."
"We'll look into their current activities," Casper said gently. "But for what it's worth, you should be proud of how you've built your life on your own terms. That takes tremendous strength."
The validation in his voice made her throat tighten unexpectedly. She'd spent so many years feeling guilty about cutting ties with her family, wondering if she'd been too harsh or unforgiving. Having someone understand the necessity of her choices without judgment felt like a gift she hadn't known she needed.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For taking all of this seriously, for not making me feel like I'm overreacting."
"You're not overreacting," he said firmly. "You're protecting yourself, and that's exactly what you should be doing."
But it was more than professional competence that drew her to him. The way he'd watched her television show to better understand her situation, the gentle patience he'd shown during her moment of doubt about the security installation, and the easy domesticity of sharing meals and conversation had all awakened feelings she'd thought she'd carefully buried.
As the evening settled around them and the new security system kept a nighttime visitor at bay, Willow realized her feelings were strong for the enigmatic man who'd appeared on her doorstep just when she'd needed him most. The timing wasterrible, the circumstances far from ideal, but her heart seemed determined to ignore those practical considerations entirely.
For better or worse, she was baring her soul for him and longed for the opportunity to know everything about him as well.
14
Two days later, Casper escorted Willow onto the chartered flight to Los Angeles, her nervous energy palpable as they settled into the luxurious cabin. Mark and Michael had completed the exterior perimeter security installation the day before, and he'd spent another hour walking Willow through the comprehensive system one final time, ensuring she was comfortable with every component.
The previous day had been productive in other ways as well. He'd sent detailed requests to the LSIMT team, asking for thorough background checks on Gloria Vasquez, Aaliyah Johnson, Willow's parents, and some of Willow's past friends. He also sent the list of people they would meet while in California. Understanding the people in her orbit was crucial to identifying potential threats, and he wanted to arrive in Los Angeles fully prepared for whoever they might encounter.
As the only passengers on the sleek private jet, they had privacy to discuss strategy and review schedules. But as the plane began its taxi toward the runway, Casper stole glances at Willow's profile. Her eyes were closed, her hands gripped the armrests with white-knuckled intensity, and he caught a glimpse of vulnerability that she usually kept carefully hidden.
"Hate flying?" he murmured.
She opened her eyes and turned toward him with a rueful chuckle. "I honestly feel safer in large commercial jets. The ride seems steadier, more predictable." She glanced around the plush interior of the charter plane and shook her head. "If it were up to me, that's the only way I'd travel. But Nathan always insists on chartering when I come to LA."
"Sounds like he's looking out for you."
An unladylike snort escaped her, making him smile despite the tension of takeoff. "Don't get me wrong, Nathan is an absolute sweetheart. But he refuses to let me sit on a commercial flight where people might take pictures, ask for autographs, or, as he puts it, mess with my creative vibe."
"Is it difficult being recognized in public these days?"
