He crosses the room, setting the glass down beside me. His fingers trail across the top of my shoulder, light and possessive. I go rigid under the touch.
He notices, and his smile flickers, just slightly. “Mara.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat, keeping my voice even.
He moves behind me, hands brushing the tops of my arms. “You’ve been so good lately. I know this isn’t easy, but it’ll get better. You’ll get used to this.”
I say nothing.
His hands pause. “Say something.”
“I said I’m fine,” I snap, then instantly regret the edge in my voice.
There’s a shift. The warmth in him curdles.
“Watch your tone.” He folds his arms. The muscles in his forearms twitch, like he’s barely containing the urge to grab me. “I’ve done nothing but protect you. Do you understand what I’ve kept at bay for you? What I’ve cleaned up? You’re still breathing because of me.”
I almost laugh.
“Those ‘precious boys’ you think you’re protecting?” I lift my eyes to meet his. “They don’t need protection. Certainly not from you.”
I stand. “I need a shower.”
He steps into my path. “Mara.”
My name is a warning now. Soft, sharp, and calculated.
“I said I need a shower.”
We stare at each other for one second too long.
He finally steps aside, but his voice follows me out of the room.
“You don’t want to make me remind you what’s at stake.”
I pause at the threshold. “I don’t need reminding,” I say, and head for the bathroom.
I twist the lock. Not that it matters—he has the override codes. And it’s not fear that makes my hands shake as I peel off the robe, it’s fury. Fury at him, at myself, at the cameras that might be watching me even in here.
I turn the faucet all the way to cold.
Let the water numb me before I burn the whole thing down.
After my shower, I get dressed and head to the living room only to find my mother sifting through papers with her assistant, Savannah. Her coffee is steaming in one hand while her iPad is in her lap, as she scrolls through a calendar.
“Oh good!” Savannah chirps and a part of me dies inside.
I smile back, stiff as a statue, letting the water from my damp hair drip on the rug. I hadn’t dried off completely, but that’s fine. It’s not like I have anywhere to be except here.
My mother barely acknowledges me, but Savannah is enough to fill the silence. She taps the iPad. “We have a lot to go over!” She scrolls as I sit down across from them on another sofa and cross my legs.
“Let’s see... In two weeks you have that major television interview, then a photoshoot with Chase at the botanical gardens. Next weekend is the charity brunch downtown. And we have a dress fitting—with press access—in ten days. After that, the children’s hospital visit. I will send this all to your calendar as well?—”
“I—” I manage, trying to force some spine into my voice. “I... wait. What about my classes? Did we... finalize the plan to let me keep going with the semester? My professors put me on remote learning for safety with all the murders. Will I even be able to do my midterms?”
Savannah’s forehead creases the tiniest bit as she drinks her coffee with a measured sip. “Mara, darling, we talked about this. Your studies can wait. America needs to believe you’re stable. Let’s not split your focus.”
My father spent the last month spinning my trauma into tabloid fodder.
