34. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 34
Magnolia Steel
It’s edging past office hours—the time when most people have shut their laptops and gone home. But not me. I’m still here, because building a business doesn’t happen on a nine-to-five schedule.
Swatches sprawl across the design table, a few notes jotted in the margin of an open sketchpad. One more thing to finish before I can call it a day.
The bell over the front door jingles.
I glance up, not alarmed. The woman from the bakery next door often brings me an end-of-the-day treat after closing time. I hope it’s a cupcake today. Red velvet with cream-cheese icing would be great. Hers are the best.
“Back here,” I call out.
No reply.
I glance up—and freeze.
He’s standing inside the doorway, the light casting his features in shadow. The broad frame, the dark, tousled hair, the sheer size of him—too big to be anyone else.
My heart stutters in my chest, and I take a step back. “What are you doing here?”
He lifts his hands in a slow, disarming gesture. “I just want to talk. That’s all.”
“No, Tyson. You shouldn’t be here. You need to leave.”
His smile is tight. Wrong. “I’m not here to argue. I just… I miss you. I’ve been going crazy, Mags. You haven’t replied to my emails, my texts, or calls. I didn’t know what else to do.”
How about leave me alone?
“I don’t want to talk to you. This isn’t okay. You showing up here is not okay. ”
He flinches but only for a second. Then his expression hardens. “So that’s it? You’re just done? After everything?”
“Everything?” I say, a brittle sound. “You mean the lies? The manipulation? The way you wrecked my life?”
His jaw clenches. “Sebring would’ve come sooner if he loved you. It took months.”
I move around the desk, putting the wide table between us. “I’m not doing this with you.”
“You were falling for me before he showed up.”
I stare at him, stunned for half a second before my voice finds its edge. “No. I opened myself up to the person I thought you were. But that version of you was a lie.”
His jaw tics. “Something was happening between us. Don’t pretend our relationship wasn’t real.”
“My perception of you was based on lies. You manipulated me, Tyson. You made me believe in something that never existed.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that. You lied… used me. And now you’re standing here trying to rewrite history like I didn’t learn the truth of who you are.”
He shakes his head, stepping toward me.
“Don’t come any closer.” My voice is firm despite the fear curling tight in my stomach.
“You can’t believe that I would hurt you.”
I square my shoulders, voice like ice. “I’m not sure what you will or won’t do because I don’t trust you.”
“Magnolia—”
“Leave!” My voice breaks on the word.
He takes another step forward, something in his posture shifting. The mood changes. Heavy. Off. Threat laced in silence.
He continues to ignore my warnings, something sharp clicking in my head.
He’s not backing off. And that alone is enough to set every instinct I have on high alert.
My eyes land on the decorative glass bottle sitting on the display table—sea-glass green, smooth and coastal, part of the spa project I’ve been finalizing. I grip it by the neck and slam the base against the edge of the table.
The break echoes, sharp and final. Shards fall. What’s left is jagged and ugly—the weapon I need. I lift it between us, somehow steady and unshaking, the broken glass glinting under the warm light.
“Fuck around and find out how fast I’ll cut you.”
Something flickers in his expression and his mouth presses into a tight line. “I just wanted to talk and remind you of what we had.”
“You aren’t taking no for an answer, and that’s a problem.”
He looks at me for a moment, then turns and leaves without another word.
By the time I get home, the sun has dipped low behind the city skyline, throwing long shadows across the floor of my apartment. I drop my bag on the table, kick off my shoes, and sink onto the couch.
I’m okay. Nothing happened—technically––but the remaining tremble in my hands says otherwise. The way my chest still rises too fast, as if my body hasn’t realized the danger has passed.
Or has it?
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and sit there, breathing slow and deep, trying to steady myself. To not let his voice echo in my head. But it’s there anyway.
I want to scream. Or cry. Or both.
Instead, I reach for my phone. Alex called while I was driving home, but I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t ready to talk, too afraid he’d hear it—the fear I couldn’t hide in my voice.
I could tell him what happened, let the anger in his voice wrap around me like armor. Let him rage for me. Worry for me.
But I don’t. Because I know what this would do to him.
He’s still healing, still in pain, even if he won’t admit it. If I tell him Tyson showed up at my office and crossed a line, I know what will happen.
Alex won’t just be angry. He’ll be consumed. And right now, he needs peace, rest, time to recover without this polluting his mind.
So I swallow it.
The flowers arrive mid-morning.
I’m in the middle of reviewing fabric samples when the delivery driver walks in, holding a tall glass vase overflowing with red roses.
Beautiful. Thoughtful. Deliberate.
But Alex knows I prefer white hydrangeas and pale pink roses. That’s what he always sends me.
Alex didn’t send these.
My stomach turns as I reach for the envelope, fingers stiff, breath held.
Magnolia,
I’m sorry. For everything. I’ll make it right.
—T
I walk the vase to the back of the studio and toss the entire thing in the dumpster, water and all. I don’t care how beautiful they are. They reek of manipulation.
There’s a car parked across the street from my office, blacked out from top to tires. Matte finish. No chrome. No shine. The windows are tinted too dark to be legal.
It’s there when I arrive in the morning. Still there after lunch. Gone by early afternoon… but back again before I shut down for the day.
I try not to let it get to me, but my skin is tight with awareness, my every move more careful. I find myself repeatedly glancing over my shoulder without meaning to. Listening for footsteps I don’t hear.
It might be nothing. A coincidence. But deep down, I know it’s something.
I try to shake it off. Charleston isn’t that big. People park in weird places all the time. But it sticks with me—that tight feeling at the base of my spine. The itch of being watched. Of knowing I’m not alone even when I am.
My nerves are frayed by the time I leave work and go to Violet’s. I’m two steps in before she picks up on my vibe. “What’s he done now?”
God, how does she do that?
“Vi, I’m okay. It’ll––”
“Nope.” She cuts me off with a glare that could peel paint. “You don’t get to minimize what’s happening just because you’re used to carrying everything alone. Not this time.”
I open my mouth, searching for something to say—some defense, some excuse—but nothing comes out. Because she’s right. I’ve been rationalizing, trying to make it feel less serious than it is. But it’s not nothing.
It’s Tyson. At my office. Uninvited. Unhinged.
It’s the flowers I never wanted.
It’s the car with black windows and timing too perfect to be coincidence.
“You have to report this.”
“He lied, showed up uninvited, sent flowers, parked on public property. I’m not sure there’s anything to report.”
“Maybe not but doing nothing isn’t an option. This isn’t the type of man you ignore and hope he gets bored. You go to the police, and if they won’t do anything, you at least make them aware.”
And when I close my eyes, he’s there again—Tyson. That wild, unhinged look in his eyes. The sharp, dangerous edge in his voice. It takes a lot to shake me. But that? That got under my skin.
I nod. “Okay.”
I sit in the police station giving my statement, filing a formal report, requesting a restraining order. The officer is nice, professional. Seems to take my concern seriously.
But when I walk out of the building, the weight doesn’t lift. If anything… it’s heavier. A piece of paper will not stop a man like Tyson McRae. Not when he wants something. And for whatever reason—he thinks that something is me.