Chapter 28
JAVIER
White peonies—delicate but resilient—chosen for what they stood for: protection, healing, and courage. That’s what she needed right now, what I wanted to give her in whatever way I could.
Renée had left my apartment the other night to stay with Hael. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. Knowing she wasn’t within reach made my chest tight, my nerves frayed. But I also knew Hael wouldn’t let anything happen to her. There was just this something about him that I didn’t quite like, even if he was her brother. Still, the guy was earning my respect—grudgingly, sure, but it was there.
One call and he’d had the mess in Renée’s apartment cleaned up like it had never happened. No questions, no hesitation. That kind of efficiency didn’t come from simple connections; it came from power. And Hael had plenty of it. Renée and her family had plenty of that power. The extent of it? I could guess, but honestly, I didn’t care. I wasn’t here to unravel their world. My goals were clear: protect Renée, find the bastard responsible for Leila’s death, and the fucker who had dared to put his hand on my Renée and right now—make sure Renée felt something good waiting for her when she got to work.
She’d insisted on coming back to the office today, no matter how much I tried to persuade her otherwise. Stubborn, just like always. I didn’t expect her to listen, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.
I stepped into her office early, swapping out the dried-out camellia on her desk for the bouquet of peonies. I set the fresh flowers down, brushing the desk off. I turned around, and my pulse stuttered—a sensation I hadn’t felt in years. Not fear, not hesitation, but something that hit me square in the chest like a sledgehammer. There she was. Renée. Standing in the doorway, her wide, disbelieving eyes locked on me like I was the last person she expected to see.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. The dried bouquet in my hand suddenly felt like dead weight, and every carefully laid plan I’d had for the morning evaporated in the space between us. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to find out. Not yet. I was supposed to slip out and avoid whatever this was.
But there she stood, her expression a mix of shock and something I couldn’t quite name. Vulnerability? Confusion? Maybe even anger? It all slammed into me at once, stripping away the composure I’d been clinging to like a lifeline.
“Renée,” I said, her name catching on my tongue like it didn’t belong there. Like I didn’t deserve to say it with her staring at me like that.
“So, it really is you,” she said, her voice calm but pointed, like a needle sliding under my skin.
“You knew?” I asked, caught off guard.
“I figured it out yesterday.” She shrugged as she walked in, like it wasn’t a big deal. “The dried, pressed bouquets. The flower in your kitchen. It wasn’t exactly subtle.”
I couldn’t read her, and that was starting to drive me insane. Her face gave nothing away, her tone steady and unreadable. She dropped her bag onto her desk and drifted toward the flowers, her fingers grazing the petals like they were the most delicate thing in the room. Then she turned to me, her eyes pinning me in place.
This woman. She didn’t have to lift a damn finger, and she was still making me feel things I hadn’t felt in years. It was like she had this quiet hold over me, something I couldn’t shake, no matter how hard I tried. She didn’t just occupy my thoughts—she consumed them. And every day I spent with her, it only got clearer—she owned me in ways I didn’t even know were possible.
“Why do all this, Javier?” she asked, her brows pulling together in a slight frown. “Why put so much effort?”
It wasn’t just a question. She was drawing me out, coaxing me to say the words I’d been choking on for months. She wanted me to admit it, to tell her what I felt, how I felt. If this had been a few months ago, I would’ve walked out and banged my head against a wall later. Emotional confrontations? Confessions? They’d never been my thing. Hell, I thought they never would be.
But now? If I didn’t say something, I’d explode.
I opened my mouth, but the words were like a storm inside me, too tangled and overwhelming to escape. I wanted to grab her, kiss her, tell her I loved her. Because I did. I loved her. I fucking loved her. The feeling was so raw, so powerful, it stole my voice. She kept staring at me with those eyes—those goddamn eyes—and the words twisted even further, refusing to come out.
Fucking say something .
“I-I,” I stammered. Me. Javier fucking Densmore, stammering. “Renée...” I took a step toward her, but before I could get any closer, the door swung open.
“Renée,” Elise paused, her gaze flicking between us, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“What happened?” Renée asked, turning to her.
“Wane is looking for you,”
I wanted to break something—preferably Wane’s head. I wanted to smash his smug head into the very table he was pointing at. Let him choke on the lies he spewed while she stood there.
My fists clenched at my sides, the muscles in my jaw locking as I glared at him. Every word he spat out was another spark in the wildfire roaring through my veins. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Renée. Not like this. Not with her hands trembling as she flipped open the folder he’d shoved in her face, her shoulders drawn tight like she was trying to keep herself from falling apart.
Thirty minutes ago, I was ready to finally admit everything I’d been holding back, make her see that she wasn’t just a passing thought in my life—she was it. And now? Now, I stood in this room, watching someone crush her under the weight of accusations she didn’t deserve.
Her fingers faltered as she turned the page, her breath hitching audibly when she saw it. A photo, grainy but clear enough. Inara, her high-profile client, lips locked with her bodyguard in an intimate tangle. It wasn’t just the kiss that was rattling though—it was the setting.
Her office.
The background of the photo, unmistakable with its sleek furniture and signature décor, it was her office.
“Do you recognize anything about that picture?” Wane’s voice sliced through the room like a blade.
Renée’s lips parted, her voice faint, shaky. “That’s... my office,” she whispered.
“It was taken in your office, Renée,” Wane snapped and I wanted to snap his fucking head in two. “Now tell me how the fuck this ended up on every tabloid's front page.”
“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “I didn’t even know this happened.”
Wane laughed. “You didn’t know? You didn’t know a goddamn pop star was making out with her bodyguard in your office? And that someone was there taking pictures? Are you fucking serious?”
She looked lost. “I didn’t—Wane, I swear, I have no idea how this happened.”
Her eyes darted to me then, desperate, searching for some kind of lifeline. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Every instinct I had screamed at me to step in, to shield her from this mess, but the rage coursing through me was a tidal wave, drowning out reason. I kept my gaze fixed on Wane, refusing to look at her directly. If I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold it together.
“Don’t bullshit me, Renée!” he barked. “The photos came from your office. The leaked designs were on your computer. Everything points to you. And now, Inara’s team is threatening a lawsuit for breach of confidentiality.”
Her voice cracked as she tried to push back. “I didn’t—”
“And who’s going to believe that, huh?!” Wane thundered, slamming his palm down on the desk. “Do you have any idea what this is going to cost us?”
My vision tunneled, my breath coming fast and harsh. This wasn’t about evidence or responsibility. This was Wane choosing to turn her into a scapegoat, and he would fucking pay for it.
I wasn’t sure when I moved, but I found myself gripping the edge of Wane’s desk, leaning forward until my shadow loomed over him. “That’s enough,” I growled.
He paused mid-rant, his eyes flicking to me. “What?”
“You’ve made your point,” I said, each word measured, like I was holding back the urge to snap his neck right then and there. “You don’t need to tear her apart to make yourself feel better.”
His lips twitched, like he was about to argue, but the look I gave him stopped him cold. He backed off, at least for the moment, but I wasn’t done. He would pay for this. For every word he hurled at her, for the way he made her look so damn defeated. I’d make sure he regretted it. I would make sure of it.
But first, I had to get her out of here. Out of this office, away from this mess. Because seeing her like this—broken and hurting—it wasn’t something I could let stand. Not now, not ever.
She was gone before I could get to her. One moment, I was pulling together the strength to stand by her, to fix what Wane had broken, and the next, she was nowhere in sight. I scoured the building, checked her office, the lounge, even the parking lot. Nothing. Just the cold emptiness she’d left behind.
I called her that night. Once, then twice. By the third time, my hands were shaking. And the silence that followed was worse than her rejection. It was absolute.
The days crawled by, suffocating me in their monotony. She wasn’t at work. Her desk sat untouched for a few days before it was cleared, her absence loud and sharp in every corner of my day. I called again. And again. At first, I told myself she just needed time. But as the days stretched into weeks, the hope I clung to started rotting into something darker.
And then came the final blow—her phone was shut off.
I wanted to storm her place, bang on her door until she opened it until she looked me in the eye and told me what the hell was going on. But I couldn’t, I had no idea where she was. And deep down, I knew.
She was punishing me. And maybe—no, definitely—I deserved it.
But that didn’t make the pain any easier. It crushed me, hollowed me out until all I could do was sit there, staring at my phone like a fool, waiting for a call or a message that would never come.
She was shutting me out. She was building walls, and I’d break every bone in my body before I let her think I wouldn’t tear them down.