Dillian chuckles at that. “No, you’re not. But still, watch your back. And hers.”
“Always,” I promise, raising my glass in a toast.
We finish our meal. The conversation shifting to lighter topics, the motorcycle parts I’ve been waiting on, Mia’s plans to expand the print shop. But my mind keeps drifting back to Lila, to the way her breath caught when our eyes met, to how she clutched the book to her chest as she drove away.
As we pay the bill and head out to the parking lot, Dillian claps a hand on my shoulder. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “she did look at you differently. Not just scared. Something else.”
A grin spreads across my face. “I told you.”
“Just do it right,” he warns, but there’s a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And maybe try approaching her like a normal person next time. Ask her out for coffee or something, instead of breaking and entering.”
I laugh, the sound echoing in the night air. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Dillian shakes his head, already walking toward his car. “You’re a lunatic, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one!” I call after him, still grinning as I head toward my bike.
As I swing my leg over the seat, I can’t help but glance in the direction Lila’s SUV disappeared. She’s out there somewhere, maybe already home, maybe sitting in her library reading the book I left her. Thinking about me. About us. About what happens next.
The anticipation is almost as sweet as having her will be.
19
Anthony
The sea oats swayaround me, a perfect natural blind on this moonless night. I’ve been crouched in these dune grasses for nearly an hour, the salt air clinging to my skin while I watch Eli’s house. My muscles ache from stillness, but I don’t shift position. It's much easier to stand still like this when I'm watching my girl. Headlights finally sweep across the darkened windows of Lila’s prison, I check my watch: 11:42 PM.
Eli’s red BMW gleams under the moonlight as he pulls into the driveway. The car is too flashy, too attention-seeking, just like him. I watch him climb out, his movements jerky with the kind of tension that comes from a day of hiding who you really are. He fumbles with his keys at the front door, disappears inside. Lights flip on, first the entryway, then the kitchen. Through the window, I can see his shadow moving, probably heading upstairs to the bedroom Lila no longer sleeps in. She’s safely tucked into her library.
I count to one hundred, giving him time to settle. Then I move.
The soft sand gives way to the pavement as I cross the street, keeping to the shadows. My dark clothes blend with the night. The garage door is still open. Eli always leaves it up for a few minutes when he gets home, like he’s too important to wait the extra seconds it takes to close. Arrogant fuck.
I slip inside, ducking below the windows of the house. The space smells like Eli’s expensive cologne, sickly sweet and some type of cleaner, bleach maybe? His car sits there, cooling with soft ticks. I crouch by the rear bumper, retrieving the small magnetic tracker from my pocket. It’s no bigger than a quarter, matte black and virtually undetectable unless you’re looking for it. I slide beneath the car and reach up, feeling for the perfect spot along the frame. My fingers find the metal ridge I’m looking for, and I press the tracker firmly into place.
Ten seconds in and out. I’m back in the shadows before the garage door starts to descend, probably triggered by Eli finally remembering to hit the remote inside.
As I retreat across the driveway to the dunes, my heart isn’t racing. This isn’t adrenaline—it’s purpose. Every move I make is calculated, designed to protect her. To watch over what’s mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
The wind shifts, bringing the scent of the ocean stronger now. I take one last look at the house. Inside, Lila is living with a monster who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. I’ve seen the fear in her eyes when she thinks no one is watching. The way she flinches at sudden movements. The way she’s become a ghost in her own home.
I melt back into the darkness, heading toward my motorcycle parked three blocks away. No one notices me. No one ever does. Invisible to most, I’m just a shadow with more money than a God and enough resources to dismantle a man like Eli piece by piece.
And that’s exactly what I intend to do.
Three days later, I’m standing in my townhouse overlooking Assateague Bay, a steaming cup of black coffee in my hand. The morning light bounces off the water, creating a gentle shimmer that does nothing to calm my mood. My phone sits on the marble countertop, the tracking app open and active.
The small red dot that represents Eli’s car hasn’t moved in eighteen hours. It’s parked in an enclosed garage about sixty miles north, at a private residence that belongs to someone who doesn’t exist on paper. I’ve had Dillian run the property records. The owner is a shell company that traces back to another shell company. Classic move for someone with something to hide.
I set an alert that will notify me the moment Eli’s car moves again. There’s no reason for him to leave his precious BMW in a garage when he could drive straight to GameStream headquarters. That’s where he told Lila he was going, another business trip to meet with the executives. Another lie.
I’ve never introduced myself to Lila’s husband. He was never on my radar until I saw her. Though I’ve watched him from a distance for months now. He doesn’t know that the company he claims to visit regularly for “work” belongs to me. He knows that GameStream only hosts executive events four times a year, and that the last one was two months ago. But my company still seems to be what he uses to lie to his wife.
I remember spotting him there, in the corner of the hotel bar, his hand resting possessively on the lower back of a woman who wasn’t Lila. Her dress was expensive, her laugh practiced. I recognized the signs immediately, the way she leaned in at precisely the right moments, the calculated touches, a professional. Though, warmth never reached her eyes.
My suspicions were enough to have Dillian look into it. As a police officer with access to resources I technically shouldn’t have, he’s invaluable. It didn’t take him long to confirm what I already knew: the woman was a high-end escort using an alias. According to Dillian’s investigation, she specializes in multi-day appointments, fly-away weekends with wealthy men willing to pay for her time and discretion.
I pick up my phone and dial Cainen. He answers on the first ring.
