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I'm losing focus. And that's not acceptable.

But every time I try to compartmentalize, I remember the way Megan looked at me this morning. The way her body responded to my proximity even though her mind was telling her I was off-limits.

That evening, I help Kayla with her reading project at the kitchen table.

She's working on a presentation about her favorite mystery series, completely animated as she explains her poster board, pointing out the color-coded clue boxes and the summary paragraphs she's carefully lined up in pencil.

"I decided the dog needs an official detective badge too," she announces, diligently coloring a star next to the dog's collar. "Because he found the missing necklace in chapter four, so he did half the work."

"Solid deduction," I tell her, passing over the glue stick she reaches for. "He definitely earned it."

She beams, pressing a neatly cut-out magnifying glass onto the cardboard. "Can you help me line up the title straight? It has to look neat for Friday."

"Of course." I guide her small hands, helping her press the construction-paper letters into a clean row across the top.

Kayla leans back, surveying her work with critical seven-year-old pride before declaring it finished.

Seeing her so carefree and settled makes the weight of what I'm doing settle over me like lead.

Kayla's world is safe and protected. Megan Hartley is an essential part of that world—her teacher, someone she looks up to every single day. And I'm pursuing Megan in secret, using an app and a mask to get close to her without revealing who I am.

She trusted me with things she wouldn't have shared if she'd known my real name. She let me take control. She agreed to something intimate and vulnerable—something I asked for and she gave me permission to use—while believing I was a stranger she would never see again.

If this goes wrong, it could hurt my daughter. It could hurt Megan's career. And it could destroy the trust Megan gave me when she didn't know who I was.

I should stop. I should delete the app and stay away.

But I've spent more than a year wanting Megan, and now that I know how she sounds when she comes, how she feels in my arms, how she looks when she trusts me—I can't go back to pretending I don't want more.

I just have to be careful. And eventually, I'll have to tell her the truth.

After Kayla is asleep, I sit in my study with a glass of bourbon and my phone in my hand.

The Veil app is open. Ivy-27's profile is on the screen.

I've been staring at it for twenty minutes, trying to find the right words.

This isn't just about wanting her again. It's about wanting to know her—the woman behind the profile, the fears she hinted at, the reasons she chose anonymity in the first place. I want to understand what she needs, what she's afraid of, and whether she'll let me give her more than one night.

Finally, I start typing. I read it once and hit Send before I can second-guess myself. The message disappears into the app, marked as delivered. And now all I can do is wait.

I set my phone on the desk and drain the rest of my bourbon, staring at the dark screen.

Eventually, I'll have to tell Megan the truth and face the consequences.

But for now, I need her to want Vanguard enough to say yes.

And then, when the time is right, I'll show her that Vanguard and Brock Rhodes are the same man.

Chapter Seven

MEGAN

Megan

I stare at the notification on my phone screen for a full minute before I swipe it away without reading the message.

No.