"You think he killed her."
Rebecca nods. "I think Jennifer was going to expose him. I think she had evidence of what he'd done to her, and I think Thad made sure she couldn't use it." Rebecca pulls out a folder from her bag—physical documents, not digital. "After what happened to me, I started digging. I found Jennifer's roommate and got her to talk. She gave me copies of everything she'd saved—Jennifer's journal entries about Thad, photos of bruises, a draft of the restraining order she never got to file."
She hands me the folder, and my hands are shaking as I open it. Jennifer's handwriting is neat, precise, and the entries are dated from eight years ago. I read them quickly, my stomach turning with each page.
Thad showed up at my dorm again today. I told him we were done, but he won't listen. He says I belong to him. That I don't get to make decisions about our relationship without his permission.
He's been following me. I see him everywhere—outside my classes, at the library, at the coffee shop where I study. When I confronted him, he said he was just making sure I was safe. But it doesn't feel safe. It feels like being hunted.
I'm scared. He grabbed my wrist so hard yesterday that I have bruises. When I pulled away, he said it was my fault for trying to leave. That if I just stopped fighting him, everything would be fine.
I'm going to file a restraining order. My roommate helped me draft it. I have photos of the bruises, records of all his calls and texts. I'm going to make sure everyone knows what he is.
The entries stop three days before Jennifer died.
"The roommate gave this to the police," Rebecca says quietly. "But Thad's father made it disappear. Paid her off, threatened her, made sure she understood that talking about it would ruin her life. She kept copies anyway, just in case there was ever anyone else who needed to know. She said she couldn't live with herself if she didn't."
I close the folder, and I can feel something hardening inside me—the last remnants of the girl who thought she could handle this situation diplomatically, who thought there was a way to walk away from Thad without destroying him first. That girl is gone. In her place is someone colder and more calculating, more willing to do whatever it takes.
"Can I keep these?" I ask.
Rebecca hesitates. "If Thad finds out I gave you this?—"
"He won't. I promise." I meet her eyes, and I let her see the determination in mine. "I'm going to stop him. Not just for me, but for you and Jennifer and whoever comes after me if I don't. But I need evidence. I need proof that he's done this before."
She studies me for a long moment, and I can see her weighing the risk against the possibility of finally being free from the fear that's controlled her life for a decade. Finally, she nods.
"Take it. Just—be careful. Thad is more dangerous than you think. And he has resources you can't imagine."
"So do I." I stand up, and Rebecca stands with me. "Thank you for meeting me. For trusting me with this."
"Don't thank me yet." Her voice is sad and resigned. "I just hope you make it out of this.”
I leave the bookstore with the folder clutched against my chest. Luca is waiting outside exactly where Romeo said he'd be. He takes one look at my face and doesn't ask questions, just guides me to the car and tells the driver to take us to the airport.
I spend the flight back to New York reading through everything Rebecca gave me—Jennifer's journal, the photos, the medical records from Rebecca's hospitalization, the threatening messages, the drafted restraining order that never got filed. By the time we land, I have a plan forming in my mind. Not for the police, who Thad controls. Not for the legal system, which has already failed every woman who's tried to use it against him.
For my father.
Because as much as he’s disappointed me, made me feel like I’m less important as his daughter than as a tool, I know one thing about him that's always been true: he cares about the family reputation. He cares about legacy. And if I can make him see that Thad is a threat to both of those things—that marrying me to a man who's done these things is a liability he can't afford—then maybe I can turn him into an ally instead of an enemy.
As soon as the plane lands, I call him. He answers on the first ring.
“Savannah?”
“Daddy—” I take a deep breath. “I need you to meet me. I have something you need to see. And if you ever loved me at all, you’ll listen.”
24
SAVANNAH
My father arrives at exactly two o'clock the next afternoon. Edgar Beauregard is nothing if not punctual. I watch from the window as his town car pulls up to Romeo's building and watch him step out in his perfectly tailored suit. He looks up at the façade with the kind of disdain that only old Southern money can muster.
Romeo is standing behind me, his hand resting on my lower back, and I can feel the tension radiating from him in waves.
"He's here," I whisper.
"Are you sure about this? About meeting him alone?" His voice is controlled, but I can hear the edge underneath.
