Because standing in the middle of our suite—in our space—is a ghost I wish had stayed buried.
Paul fucking Meadows.
And he’s holding a gun.
Pointed right at my husband—my heart.
My breath locks in my chest so hard it hurts.
Everything goes sharp.
Too sharp.
The lights.
The shadows.
The way Benji stands in front of me—solid, unyielding, a wall between me and the worst person I have ever met in my life.
I whisper, my voice trembling despite everything I try to do to steady it, “Paul, you need to leave. I’m with Benji. We’re married”
““NOOOO!” He snaps, his voice twisting into something ugly and unrecognizable.
We exchange more words.
They get lost in the shuffle.
I’m terrified.
I can’t think straight.
He waves that damn gun at Benji.
My stomach drops.
Because this isn’t the guy who lingered too long, who made me uncomfortable, who crossed lines I didn’t even realize were being crossed until it was too late.
This is something worse.
Something broken.
Something dangerous.
“I’ll die before I let you touch her.”
Benji’s voice cuts through everything.
Low.
Certain.
Final.
My heart slams.
Because I believe him.
I believe he means it.
