Page 71 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

The house smells of coffee and toast and the clean, piney laundry detergent Wayne uses. Because Wayne is the kind of man who finds one brand that works and sticks to it for the next twenty years.

Everything in this house says safe.

While my phone says danger.

It buzzes again.

I stare at it like it’s a feral snake.

Evan looks up. “Your phone’s mad.”

I blink. “It’s not mad.”

He squints. “It’s yelling.”

Fair.

I swallow, forcing my fingers to move, to grab the sandwich bag, to press the zip closed as though my hands aren’t shaking just a little.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, mostly telling myself. “Just someone calling.”

“Do you know them?”

“No,” I say too quickly.

Evan’s eyes narrow with the little kid suspicion that feels weirdly adult sometimes. “Daddy says don’t talk to strangers.”

“I’m not talking to them,” I promise.

He nods once, satisfied. “Good.”

The phone buzzes again anyway.

And this time, I pick it up because it’s a text, not a call.

Unknown Number: June. I can get you your job back. Just answer me.

The room tilts.

I stare at the words until the letters blur.

He can get my job back?

That’s specific, not just begging or guilt tripping or “I miss you.” It’s leverage.

I swallow hard.

My brain tries to do what it always does. Tries to make it logical, tries to make it less scary.

Maybe he just thinks he can.

Maybe he’s lying.

Maybe he’s saying whatever he has to in order to get a reaction out of me.

But the sick, cold truth is that Max has always been good at getting what he wants—through pressure, charm, and the kind of quiet manipulation that leaves you doubting yourself while he still looks reasonable.

That’s what makes him dangerous.