Page 57 of The Marriage Blunder

I had already made my choice, and this time, I was going to keep it.

Chapter Twelve

~ Kenneth ~

The message arrived at 1:13 a.m. The phone didn’t buzz, didn’t chime—just lit the inside of my suit jacket with a glow so cold it looked blue even in the ambient dark.

I was in the penthouse entryway, one hand braced against the black lacquered edge of the sideboard. Jude’s coat was already hung back on the hook where I’d put it when I convinced him to stay, the faint impression of his shape still evident in the fabric. The city was a silent grid below, winter sky so clear you could almost pretend the air was safe.

I read the message twice before I let myself react.

He’s watching you.

Three words, no signature, just the steady, unblinking confidence of someone who did not need to introduce themselves.

I considered deleting it. Instead, I hit the lock screen and turned to find Jude standing ten feet behind me, in the kind of posture that says I know what you just saw and I’m not going to say it first.

He was in sweats and a white shirt of mine, too big in the arms but worn without apology. His glasses were pushed high on his nose, hair a soft, scientific disaster. His eyes—the exact color of warm whiskey, as I’d discovered during the week and now kept noticing, over and over—were on me, not the phone.

I held up the phone, screen toward him. He read the message in a heartbeat.

Neither of us spoke.

A small motion in the room: the air shifting, or just the shared recognition that the next move had always been this, and that waiting for it to arrive hadn’t changed a damn thing.

I scrolled to my contacts. Found Alejandro’s number—he’d never changed it, even after the switch from Colombia to New York—and hit call.

It connected in exactly two rings.

The voice that answered was deeper, older, but carried the same edge it always had: “James.”

I didn’t waste time. “Alejandro, it’s Kenneth. I need a favor.”

A brief chuckle, like a knife sharpening itself on concrete. “That’s a new record, amigo. What is it?”

“I need a security detail. Here, tonight. Someone just threatened my husband.”

Alejandro did not pause to ask if this was a joke. He understood threat assessment as the native tongue. “I’ll have four men at your penthouse in an hour. Two lobby, two on your floor. Is it local, or are you expecting something more creative?”

“Text, from a number I don’t recognize. It’s not a casual threat.”

“I’ll get my husband on it,” he said, like he was saying “I’ll grab a coffee. Send me the text. And any other data you have on the source.”

I forwarded it while we were still on the line. “Do you know anyone who can run a trace that quickly?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Alejandro’s second laugh was more genuine. “You always asked for the best. How much do you want to pay?”

“Whatever it costs,” I said. “I want the name by sunrise.”

He whistled, and then said, “Done.” A tap of fingers in the background, the sound of a second line opening. “Delancy can find anyone. If he can’t, I’ll eat the next two years of taxes for your city firm.”

“Delancy,” I repeated, doing the mental math. “I didn’t realize you were married.”

We hadn’t actually seen each other in a few years, but we’d kept in touch through texts and phone calls. It was surprising to hear he was married.

The pride in his answer was almost invisible, which meant it was huge. “Two years. He is younger than you’d expect, and too beautiful for a man who spends his life in front of screens. You’d like him.”

I doubted it, but didn’t say so. Instead, I asked, “Is he better than Jake?”