It wasn’t a request.
Her eyes flashed, her spine straightening, but the rebellion faded as quickly as it came. She was tired, probably sore as hell, and knew she needed to rest. After a moment’s hesitation, she sank onto the mattress with a quiet sigh.
I moved closer, unable to stop myself from reaching out, guiding her head onto the pillow, and adjusting the blankets around her shoulders. Her lashes fluttered softly, hiding those beautiful green eyes from me, but not before I saw the uncertainty there. The trust that still seemed fragile and new. It did something to my chest, making my breath catch and hold for just a heartbeat too long.
“Sleep,” I murmured, my voice softer than before.
I flipped off the bedside lamp, leaving only the dim hallway light filtering into the room. Then I grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants from the dresser and ducked into the bathroom to change. When I came back out, she was already breathing deep and even.
I stood there for a moment, watching her and memorizing the shape of her curled against my sheets. Then I turned and headed down the hall to my office two doors away, leaving the bedroom door ajar. If she needed anything, I’d hear her.
I settled into the leather chair at my desk, raking a hand through my hair as I waited for the call I knew was coming. Jax’s name flashed across my phone a few minutes later, right on cue.
“Talk to me,” I answered quietly, leaning back in the chair.
“Did some digging,” Jax started, his voice steady but edged with tension. “Hadley Rivers grew up under a microscope. Her father—Frederick Rivers—is a high-profile politician. Senator Rivers—big fucking name in Tallahassee. Projected stability, wealth, and perfect family values. The kind that keeps secrets buried deep.”
“Go on,” I growled, my jaw hardening with suspicion.
“Danielle, her mother, matches him. Perfect political wife, perfect family, everything controlled. Hadley’s entire life has likely been curated from birth—image management, public appearances, and no fuckups allowed. Hadley was raised in the spotlight, taught to be the ideal daughter, seen but never heard, and to reflect the family brand. Looks like she fit into that perfectly, too, at least from the outside.” Jax’s voice sharpened. “But you and I both know how that kind of family operates behind closed doors.”
My teeth ground together, a surge of anger rippling under my skin as the pieces finally clicked into place. The way Hadley hid discomfort behind practiced smiles and how she masked herfear and pain like second nature. Of course she had. She’d been conditioned to put on a front for years, forced into the rigid mold her parents carved out for her. I knew too fucking well how it felt to need absolute control just to breathe.
My jaw tightened as Jax continued. “But here’s the thing, those glossy political families always have cracks under the surface. Hadley’s life might’ve looked perfect from outside, but I’m seeing enough whispers and rumors to know that behind closed doors, it was anything but. I imagine she grew up being treated more like an accessory than a beloved daughter.”
My hands clenched into fists, a low burn building in my stomach. I understood how appearances could hide the darkest truths, and it made me want to tear down anything that had ever made her feel trapped or helpless.
“Send the full dossier to me,” I told Jax. “And keep digging. I want everything.”
“Done,” he agreed easily. “Already on it.”
I ended the call, staring at the phone long after the screen went dark. It all made sense now—why Hadley clung to control, the mask she wore was second skin, and her defiance sparked like steel and fire whenever she felt cornered.
She was fighting her past, and I understood that battle better than anyone. I’d lived it and fought my own way out of darkness. And I’d be damned if I let anyone push Hadley back into that cage again.
She was mine now. Every secret. Every scar. Every breath she took belonged to me, and anyone who wanted her back would have to fight through hell itself.
And I wasn’t planning on letting them win.
I rubbed my jaw, glancing toward the open door to my office. The image of Hadley sleeping in my bed had stayed burned into my mind. Thinking about the soft curves of her body wrapped in my sheets was doing unspeakable things to my self-control.
I blew out a breath and thumbed through my contacts until I found Flint’s number and hit Call.
He picked up on the first ring. “Cage, been waiting for you to call.”
“Got a situation I need your eyes on.” I leaned back in my chair. The house was quiet around me, the gentle hum of the air-conditioning a faint background noise. “A woman got hit by debris at the track today. When I was checking the wound, I found a scar near her right temple—claims she got it as a toddler from hitting her head on a table, but it doesn’t add up.”
Flint went quiet for a second, thoughtful. “Explain.”
I described what I’d observed in detail. “It looks more like a botched cosmetic job than a surgical repair. Like someone was trying to remove something rather than fix it.”
“Send me a photo,” Flint ordered. “Something clear.”
I flicked through my phone to the photo we’d taken at the hospital for her medical paperwork, zooming in to make sure the scar was clearly visible. It was the perfect angle, showing exactly what he needed. I hit Send, then listened to Flint mutter softly under his breath as he reviewed the image.
“Damn,” Flint grunted after a moment, the grimness in his voice confirming my suspicions. “You’re right. That scar is definitely surgical. No way it came from a childhood injury. They cut something out. My money’s on a congenital nevus—a birthmark, maybe slightly raised, irregular edges, darker pigment. Which accounts for that faint shadowing you see and the uneven surface. They obviously weren’t careful about smoothing out the skin.”
My blood ran cold, the protectiveness in my chest growing. “Can you tell who might have done it?”
