The tavern noise swells, muddying Adrian’s response.“Celeste isn’t her real name, but you already know that.”
“Yeah,” Jag snaps.“I also know you found her through your talent agency, groomed her, flew her out, locked her on your island with your sick perversions and your cameras, and got her pregnant.”A pause.“Then you sold her to one of your rich, child-raping friends.”
Ice clinks.A slow exhale.
“Why would I sell a pregnant woman?”Adrian asks dryly.
“You didn’t know she was pregnant.And she wasn’t a woman.”Rage seethes through Jag’s voice.“She was fifteen.A goddamn child.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“You should’ve watched your paperwork.She ran, changed names, married my father at a legal,consensualage, and raised your kid without you finding her.”
A chair creaks, and Adrian laughs.“Except I did find her, didn’t I?I found all of you.Tell me, how’s life on the streets?”
Something slams hard, and glass shatters.Jag’s breathing turns rough and loud, all restraint gone, a deep animal sound grinding through clenched teeth.Then a violent scrape, table legs dragged, a body shoved forward, and the mic crackles.
“You’re smarter than this,” Adrian says, his voice closer now.“If you hurt me, my guards will kill you.Who will protect Dove then, hmm?”
Crowd noise spikes.Voices overlap, and Jag’s fury cuts through it all.Ragged breaths, a strangled snarl, the sound of a man holding himself one second away from murder.
Then fabric rustles, and a final, brutal exhale.
“Accept my offer and work for me.”Adrian’s tone shifts, moving farther away.“She’ll no longer need protection, and you’ll have everything my friends have.Planes.Retreats.Women who don’t say no.A real seat at the table.”
My blood boils, and a vein throbs in my temple.
“I’ll die first,” Jag growls.
“That can be arranged.”A smile floats through Adrian’s voice.
“Stay away from her.”
“I’m not interested in the girl.But if you walk away from my offer?I’ll make her my only interest.”
“If you touch her—”
Static spikes, and the audio ends.
“Holy fuck.”I can’t feel my legs.“Adrian Crowe is Dove’s father.”
“Yeah.”Monty scowls.“He raped Dove’s fifteen-year-old mother.”
“When Dove was eight, he found them.That’s when he killed David and Celeste.And Jag knew.All this time, he fucking knew who killed them and never told Dove.”
He put himself directly in front of a monster, never stepped aside, and never accepted the offer.
Bees swarm my stomach as the pieces click into place.Jag and Dove on the run, always half-packed and ready to disappear.The way Jag hovered without hovering, following Dove from city to city, never leaving her unprotected, never telling her about her past.
His control wasn’t about ownership.It was about distance from her raping sperm donor, a human sex trafficker who would see her as a business deal instead of a person.
Jag watched everything.Cameras where they didn’t belong.Feeds no one else knew existed.He tracked patterns, who circled too close, who asked the wrong questions.
When he hacked, it wasn’t about money and power.It was surveillance.
When he stalked, it wasn’t desire.It was protection.
Even the way he curated her companions makes sense now.The boundaries, betrayals, and constant friction… He needed her angry enough to push back, sharp enough to run when she had to, smart enough to surround herself with loyal people, and mean enough to survive without him.
