"I don't leave loose ends, Audrey."
"I know." I trace the edge of the marble counter with my index finger. "Do you think Simon will try again? With a different investigator?"
"He might." Malcolm picks up his glass of water. "But it won't matter. I spent the afternoon restructuring the firewalls aroundyour personal data. Your mother’s financial records are buried under three layers of encrypted shell accounts. If someone goes looking for Barbara Jennings, they will find a very boring, very secure trust fund."
I stop breathing for a second.
I look up at him. He is watching me over the rim of his glass, his dark eyes steady and completely unapologetic.
"You..." I swallow hard, the tightness in my throat making it difficult to speak. "You hid her debt?"
"I erased it," he corrects smoothly. "And I paid off the remaining medical collections. It was a nominal amount."
The air leaves my lungs in a rush.
I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. I should be angry. He accessed my family’s private information. He threw his money at a problem I have spent a decade trying to manage on my own. It is the ultimate violation of my independence.
But I’m not angry.
I feel a massive, crushing weight lift off my chest. The shame I’ve carried since I was twelve years old—the fear of the phone ringing, the panic of the mail arriving—is just gone. Erased.
"You paid it off," I repeat, my voice cracking slightly.
"It was a vulnerability," Malcolm says. He sets the glass down. He is trying to sound clinical. He is trying to frame it as a tactical maneuver to protect the fake engagement.
But he’s a terrible liar.
"Malcolm." I push away from the counter and take a step around the island, closing the distance between us. "You didn't haveto do that. You already bought the laptop from Russo. The immediate threat was gone."
"The immediate threat was gone," he agrees, turning his body slightly to face me. "But the anxiety wasn't. You spent the entire ride back to the city staring at the window, calculating how long it would take Simon to find another angle. I don't want you calculating, Audrey. I want you sleeping."
He says it with such absolute, terrifying sincerity that I physically take a half-step back.
He is too much. The money, the power, the sheer, unrelenting focus he aims directly at me. It’s overwhelming.
"I don't know how to repay you for that," I whisper, wrapping my arms around my stomach. "I can't afford—"
"Stop." The word is sharp. It cuts through my panic instantly.
Malcolm pushes off the counter. He steps into my space, stopping just inches away from me. The scent of cedar and the faint, lingering smell of the cold city air surrounds me.
"You do not owe me anything," he says, his voice dropping to a rough, quiet register. "This is not a transaction. I am not Simon. I do not keep a ledger of what I give you so I can use it against you later."
"Then why do it?" I ask, tilting my head back to look at him. The golden light from the kitchen pendants casts harsh shadows across his cheekbones. "Why go out of your way to fix something that has nothing to do with the contract?"
He looks down at me. The muscle in his jaw flexes.
He reaches out. His hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second before his fingers brush against the side of my neck. Thetouch is so light it barely registers, but the heat of his skin sends a violent shiver straight down my spine.
"I told you in the car," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "Protecting you is the only thing I am certain of."
My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic, erratic rhythm that I know he can feel under his thumb.
I should pull away. I should remind him of the rules I tried to set yesterday morning.If you ever try to use this fake relationship to leverage me into anything physical, I walk away.
But he isn't leveraging me. He is just standing here, offering me everything, and waiting to see if I am brave enough to take it.
I lean into his touch.
