A dozen potential stalkers. One of them escalating toward physical action.
"When I do the physical inspection of Dominion this afternoon," I tell the group. "I’ll be looking for cameras or evidence the stalker might have left behind."
"Want backup?" Andy offers.
"Margot's meeting me there." I stand, gathering my notes. "She knows the club better than anyone. If there's something to find, she'll know where to look."
Remy walks me out, his expression shifting from professional to concerned older brother. "How are you holding up?"
"Fine." Nearly two hours since I left Simone. "Why?"
"Because you're about to spend the next few days minimum in close quarters with a woman who's going to fight you on every protocol while you're trying to keep her alive." He stops in the doorway. "That's not a standard protection detail, Luc. That's psychological warfare."
"I've handled worse."
"Not like this." His tone sharpens. "Margot told me about Simone. High-profile CEO, performs submission at the club but never actually surrenders, spends her life maintaining control in every situation. You're asking her to give up that control while someone's actively threatening her safety. That's going to mess with her head."
"That's why it has to be me." I meet his gaze. "Anyone else would accommodate her, work around her need for control, let her dictate terms. That's not what she needs. She needs someone who can see through the performance and teach her what real submission looks like. Before the stalker uses her inability to surrender against her."
Remy studies me for a long moment. "Just remember she's not an asset. She's a person. One who's scared and trying to protect herself the only way she knows how."
"I know that." I head for the door. "Which is why I'm not accommodating the performance. She doesn't need another Dom who plays along. She needs someone who can keep her alive."
I leave before he can push further, moving back through the gardens toward the guest house. Simone should still be working, following my command to stay put while I handle business.
Except when I reach the guest house, something feels off.
The front door is closed but not locked. I test the handle, find it turns easily. Interior lights are on, laptop still open on the workspace desk upstairs. But Simone's not here.
I check every room, verify she's not in the bathroom or bedroom. Guest house is empty.
My jaw tightens. She left. Directly violated the most basic security protocol after I explicitly commanded her to stay put.
I pull out my phone, track her location through our system, installed yesterday. The signal places her in the main house. Kitchen, based on the coordinates.
The operative Remy posted is visible through the window—positioned at the far corner of the property, watching the tree line. He probably didn't even see her leave. Or if he did, didn't think to stop her since she was just moving to another building on the property. From his angle the guest house door washidden by the magnolia and the wraparound porch. His job was watching the perimeter road, not the house itself.
Security gap. One I'll need to address with the team. But first, I need to address it with Simone.
Of course she got hungry or bored or decided she needed coffee and walked over to the main house like it was a casual stroll instead of a direct violation of protective custody protocols.
I head back outside. She had one job. Stay in the guest house. Keep the doors locked. Wait for me to return.
And she couldn't even manage that.
The main house kitchen is exactly where her phone signal indicated. I find her at the island with Isabella, both of them laughing over coffee like this is a social visit instead of a protection detail. Simone's relaxed, comfortable, completely unaware that she just triggered every alarm I have about clients who don't take threats seriously.
"Simone." My voice cuts through their conversation. "Guest house. Now."
Both women look up. Isabella's expression shifts to understanding immediately. Simone's face flushes with something between defiance and recognition that she just fucked up.
"I was just?—"
"Now."
Isabella touches Simone's arm. "We'll catch up later."
Simone stands, sets down her coffee cup with careful precision. Walks toward me with that boardroom posture that says she's not intimidated, she just chose to comply on her own terms.
