Beneath the Surface (Everhart Family #4)

Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

B rad’s car cruised down the quiet morning streets, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between them. He glanced at her as they drove, appreciating the rare moment of calm. “How’s your day looking?”

Isobel smiled, a lightness returning to her face. “Pretty easy. Just normal therapy sessions today. Nothing too complicated. Should be a quiet day.”

Brad gave a short nod, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. “That’s good. You need an easy day.”

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Would I even know what to do with an easy day?”

Brad’s mouth quirked up into a faint smile. “Maybe you’ll figure it out today,” he teased lightly. “After everything, you deserve a bit of normal.”

“Normal,” she echoed, her voice thoughtful. “I’d take boring over anything we’ve been through lately. Maybe I’ll read some more on how to keep my Dom happy.”

Brad chuckled. “Hmm.” He reached for her hand and linked his fingers in hers.

“What are you up to today?”

“I’m going over your profile with Larson. Then I need to head into my office and meet with my people.” He bobbed his head, checking off his internal list.

The sky above was overcast, the clouds low and heavy, but even the weather couldn’t dampen the subtle sense of relief that had settled between them. Brad shifted gears as they pulled into her office building’s parking lot. “You sure you’re okay? How’s your bottom feeling?”

Isobel nodded, her smile a little wider this time. “I’m okay, Brad. I really am.”

He parked the car, turning to face her more directly. “I’ll be close by. Call me if you need anything.”

“I know.” She reached over to squeeze his hand. “I’ll be fine. I have my two shadowing cops, after all,” she added with a slight grin.

Brad warned, “Just make sure you stay with them. We can’t take any chances right now.”

Isobel nodded. “I promise. I’ll be careful.”

As they approached the entrance, two uniformed officers stood waiting by the door, their expressions neutral but alert. They nodded at Brad as they approached.

He glanced at them and then Isobel. “You’re in good hands.”

She gave him one last reassuring smile. “I’ll check in when I’m done with my first patient.”

“I’ll let you get settled.” Brad glanced briefly at the officers. “Stay safe.” He gave her one last look before heading toward his car, though the unease lingering in the back of his mind refused to leave.

As Brad drove to meet Larson, he tried to focus on the meeting ahead, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Isobel. Even though she had looked relaxed, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was coming, that the calm they had found was temporary.

His phone buzzed again as he neared the station, this time with a call from Officer Dillon. His grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“Brad, we’ve got a problem,” Dillon said. “You need to get back here. Larson is on his way.”

Brad’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s happened?”

Every word Dillon spoke sent a chill down Brad’s spine: “There’s been an incident at Isobel’s office. We’re clearing the building now, but... it’s bad.”

Brad’s gut twisted. He slammed his foot on the gas, his pulse racing. “What kind of incident?”

Dillon hesitated, and the silence that followed was like a punch to the chest. “It’s Kathy. It’s a homicide.”

The world seemed to tilt. Kathy. Isobel’s assistant. The one person who had been with her through everything.

“I’m on my way.” Brad’s voice masked the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He ended the call and sped back toward Isobel’s office, his mind already racing with worst-case scenarios.

He pulled up to the building, greeted by flashing lights and the sight of officers moving in and out of the entrance. He parked haphazardly, not caring about anything but getting inside to Isobel.

As he rushed toward the door, Officer Dillon met him at the halfway point. His face was grim, his mouth set in a tight line. “We’ve locked down the building. Isobel’s still inside, but we’ve secured her away from the scene.”

“Where is she?” Brad demanded, his eyes scanning the building.

“Downstairs in the lobby with Officer Riley. We found Kathy in her office.”

Brad’s stomach twisted, and he forced himself to stay calm, to stay focused. “Isobel—does she know it’s Kathy?”

Officer Dillon nodded, his expression grim. “We cleared the reception area first. Everything seemed normal, but when she didn’t find Kathy at her desk, things got a little strange. She picked up her phone and called Kathy because she knew she was supposed to be there. Saw her car in the parking lot.”

Brad shifted uneasily as he listened.

“When she called,” Officer Dillon continued, “we all heard Kathy’s phone ring from inside her office. It was coming from inside, but the door was locked, and there was no answer to a knock. So, we unlocked the door to clear the office.” He paused, his eyes darkening as he met Brad’s gaze. "That's when we found her. We got Isobel out of there and called it in… She’s shutting down, Brad.”

Brad’s jaw clenched, his mind racing as he made his way inside. Isobel was sitting in the lobby, her face pale, her eyes vacant as she stared at nothing. The look of shock and helplessness on her face hit him like a blow.

He knelt down in front of her, his voice soft. “Belle.”

She didn’t respond at first, her mind seemingly far away, locked in a state of shock. He reached out and gently touched her hand. “Belle, look at me.”

Isobel blinked, her gaze slowly shifting to meet his. Her lips trembled, her voice barely a whisper. “Brad... he killed her. I knew he was going to hurt someone I cared about. Why is he doing this? These murders are all linked to me.”

Brad’s grip on her hand tightened. “I’m so sorry, Belle. We’re going to figure this out, but right now, I need you to trust me. You’re safe. You need to stay with Officer Riley and Dillon. I’ll try to get you the answers you need.” He placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “How about we call your mom? You can lie down. I need to work this.”

“No, she will be in danger. Everyone around me is in danger.” She hiccupped.

“Isobel, trust me.”

“O-kay.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she remained otherwise silent.

Brad called Charlotte, who instantly agreed. He turned to the two officers. “Take her to her mom’s home. I’ll have Waverly Junction send another patrol car. Call me when you get there.”

Mark Dillon pulled Brad to the side. “Find this guy. He’s crazy. And he’s wearing her down.”

Brad’s anger was barely contained as he walked away, knowing whoever did this just made a fatal mistake. He wasn’t going to stop until he found the person responsible, and when he did, they would pay for every ounce of pain they had caused.

Brad exited the elevator. Officers stretched down the corridor. The moment he stepped outside, he could feel this wasn’t just any crime scene—this was a message. He could feel it in the way they all avoided eye contact with him, in the way their voices lowered to murmurs as he passed.

As he walked down the hallway, everything grew too quiet. The usual hum of office life, the soft clatter of keyboards, the occasional ring of phones were gone, replaced by a stifling silence that made his skin crawl. His footsteps echoed loudly, each one falling like a countdown toward something inevitable, something he already knew he didn’t want to see.

He thought about Isobel, still crumbling in the lobby, broken by Kathy’s death. He’d kissed her head, feeling the few tears against his cheek, but there were no words to comfort her in a moment like that. All he could do was promise to be there, to stand between her and the darkness that was closing in.

But now, as he approached her office, he had to steel himself for the reality of what that darkness looked like.

“Killian,” John Larson broke through the fog of his thoughts as he stepped toward him, his expression grim. He gave a small nod, his mouth tightening. “It’s bad. We’ve secured the scene, but... it’s personal. Real personal.”

Brad locked his jaw, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check. “Show me.”

Larson led him through the final stretch of hallway, and when they reached Isobel’s office door, Brad’s heart pounded in his chest. The door was half open, a yawning gateway into the horror that waited inside. He pushed it open slowly, his breath catching in his throat.

The sight that greeted him hit like a physical blow. “I wanted you to see it. We will cut her down now.” Larson signaled to the deputy medical examiner on duty. Brad knew Molly, Isobel’s sister, was on restricted duty because she was due to give birth any day.

Kathy was there—hanging from the light fixture. She was naked. Her nipples had been cut off. The blood loss was small—he assumed they were removed post-mortem. Her wrists were bound tightly behind her back in an intricate pattern, blood seeping from her skin where the rope had bitten in too deep. A gag had been forced into her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear, frozen in the last moments of her life. Blood stained her chest and abdomen, her body limp and broken.

Brad’s stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he took in the scene. But it wasn’t just the violence that turned his insides, it was the meticulousness of it. “Rigor has released. He killed her yesterday. Can we match it to one of her cases yet?”

Larson watched the ME cut her down. “No. We’re running it through NCIC and the FBI’s Universal Crime Report. And if Isobel will talk to you, you can ask her.”

Brad’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “This—this isn’t just about recreating an old crime. This is a message meant for Isobel. It’s an attack on her, designed to tear her apart from the inside.”

Brad moved forward, his fists clenched as he approached Kathy’s body, now lying in the open body bag on the stretcher. He forced himself to breathe, to stay calm, though the rage simmered just beneath his skin. Someone had done this to hurt Isobel, and they had succeeded. “Whoever did this had to have left something behind. Where is it?”

His eyes scanned the room, searching for the one detail he knew would be there—the calling card, the final piece of the puzzle that would make it all painfully clear.

And then he saw it: jagged letters scribbled on the wall behind Isobel’s desk in blood he assumed belonged to Kathy.

Isobel.

Brad’s own blood ran cold. The letters were crude, hasty, dripping down the wall like an accusation, like a sick parody of a signature. This was meant for her. Kathy’s life had been taken as collateral, a warning shot in a war the killer had begun. Her nipples lay in the candy dish on her desk.

“There has to be a note.” His breath came faster, but he forced himself to stay focused. There had to be more. Something else. He and Larson scanned the desk, the floor, the other walls, searching for anything else the killer might have left behind.

And then Brad found it.

A note, folded neatly, peeking out from her desk blotter as if waiting for Isobel to find it. It stood out among her special filing system, too deliberate to be accidental. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Brad slipped on gloves and reached for it. The paper felt heavy in his hand. He unfolded it slowly, allowing Larson to see it too, their eyes scanning the jagged, erratic handwriting.

Dear Isobel,

It’s all falling apart, isn’t it? You couldn’t save her, just like you couldn’t save the others. The more you try, the more people will die. Maybe you should stop me before it’s too late. Or maybe... you like watching them suffer. Maybe you’re just like me, Belle. Maybe you enjoy the pain. It won’t be long now before you’re mine.

I’m always watching.

The words clawed at Brad’s mind, sinking in like poison. His hands shook as he placed the note flat on her desk, his vision narrowing with a hot, blinding rage. This wasn’t just a murder—this was a declaration of war. The killer had targeted Isobel directly, playing with her mind, trying to break her.

But Brad wouldn’t let that happen. Not to her.

He shot a picture of it. A picture just like he had of the others. He slid the note into the evidence bag Larson held, his mind already working through the next steps. He needed to protect her. He needed to track down this monster before they could get any closer. Whoever they were, they had crossed a line, and Brad wasn’t going to stop until they were behind bars—or worse.

With one last glance at Kathy’s body, Brad lifted his chin to Larson, turned and strode out of the office, his fists clenched tightly. He had work to do, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop him. Isobel needed him more than ever, and this time, he wasn’t going to fail.

Brad paced nervously in the small office. The space was cramped, barely furnished except for a desk and two chairs, but it had become their makeshift command center. The office was right next to Isobel’s, and that proximity was what made Brad anxious.

“We need to assume he’s listening,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around the room. “I don’t know how, but we can’t rule it out.”

Larson, standing by the door, nodded in agreement. He pulled off his shoes and checked them, then inspected his jacket and shirt, mirroring Brad’s nervous actions. They both knew the killer was methodical, and Brad couldn’t shake the feeling that every move they made was being watched or overheard.

“How is he doing this?” Brad called out, almost to the air itself, frustration lacing his voice. “He’s always a step ahead, always knows what we’re doing.”

Larson looked up from where he was checking his shoes. "It’s like he’s in the room with us, hearing every word we say."

Brad stopped pacing and looked at Larson, a grim realization setting in. “I’ve got Isobel’s profile. She wrote in it that the killer would target someone close to her. And now Kathy’s dead.”

Larson frowned. “And Kathy wasn’t just a random choice, was she?”

Brad shook his head. “No, she wasn’t. Isobel’s been spot-on with her predictions. Kathy’s murder lines up with her profile—it’s personal. He’s doing this to hurt Isobel, and by extension, us.”

Larson leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “We need to go over the details of Kathy’s murder again. Every single thing we’ve got.”

Brad nodded. “Agreed. But first, we need to talk to building security. I want to see those tapes, find out if there’s anything we’ve missed. Maybe he slipped up.”

Larson followed Brad as they left the small office and headed toward the security office down the hall. Kathy’s death pressed heavily on them both, and neither of them could shake the sense that they were being outmaneuvered by the killer at every turn.

When they reached the security office, Brad knocked firmly on the door. The building’s security manager, a middle-aged man with a serious expression, opened it and let them in.

“We need the security footage from the last twenty-four hours,” Brad said without preamble. “Everything from the lobby, hallways, any cameras outside the building. Especially the hallway outside of Isobel Everhart’s office.”

The security manager raised an eyebrow. “You looking for something specific?”

Brad exchanged a look with Larson, then turned back to the manager. “We’re not even sure when he got into the building. But we need those tapes.”

The manager nodded, sitting down at his desk and beginning to pull up the footage on his computer.

As they waited, Larson sighed and leaned in closer to Brad. “You need to talk to Isobel. I know it’s tough, but she’s the key to this. Especially with how personal this is getting. There has to be a common denominator we’re missing, and I think Isobel can help us find it.”

Brad nodded slowly, frustration bubbling up in his chest. “I’ll try, John. But she’s locked up tight. When she left, I couldn’t get her to speak more than a word, let alone give us what we need.”

Larson placed a hand on Brad’s shoulder, giving him a steady look. “You’ve got to try harder. If there’s anyone who can get through to her, it’s you. We don’t have the luxury of time anymore. This guy is escalating, and Isobel’s the only one who can help us understand why.”

Brad’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth. He knew Larson was right, but that didn’t make the task any easier. This had to be calculated on his end. Getting her to trust him enough to share what she knew was a monumental challenge. But Kathy’s death had raised the stakes, and if they didn’t find a way to stop this killer soon, more lives would be at risk.

“I’ll do what I can,” Brad muttered. “But we need to be ready for anything. He’s playing a game, and we’re just catching up.”

The security manager interrupted them as the footage began to play on the screen. Brad and Larson leaned in, watching closely as people moved in and out of the building, but nothing stood out. No one looked out of place.

“We don’t even know when he got into the building,” Larson said, frustration creeping into his tone. “We don’t know what he looks like, if he’s wearing a disguise, or if he had help. This guy could be anyone.” They were chasing shadows, and the killer always seemed one step ahead.

Brad pulled up to Charlotte Everhart’s house, his chest tightening. The porch light flickered against the night sky, illuminating the Waverly Junction patrol car, the County PD cruiser, and the South Dakota investigator's sedan, all lined up in a solemn display. Parked behind Charlotte's familiar Ford Explorer, they marked the house as a scene of tragedy, not the warm, inviting home it had always been for him. He had shared countless meals with the Everharts, a staple at their dinner table. But tonight, everything was different. So painfully different.

The crisp air brushed against him as he climbed the front steps, his boots heavy with dread. Before he could knock, the door creaked open, and Alex Marcel stepped onto the porch. His eyes were rimmed with fatigue. "How are you doing?"

Brad shook his head, fighting the weariness pulling at him. "We're jumping at shadows. I just hope the lab or the ME finds something." His gaze drifted through the open doorway, a home he knew so well, now feeling like a foreign place. "How is she?"

Alex blew out a long breath, his frustration palpable. "She hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t eaten. Drank. Nothing. She hasn’t even been to the bathroom. If she keeps it up, we’ll need to call Tristan and Sophie to get her on an IV." He paused, his voice lowering. "She’s in the den. Charlotte wouldn’t let her go upstairs."

Brad nodded, the knot in his stomach tightening as he steeled himself. Rolling his shoulders, he walked inside. The house smelled the same—wood polish and lavender, Charlotte’s signature scent—but it felt hollow. Empty.

Isobel sat in the den, cross-legged on the floor, absently petting the family dog, Bailey. The animal saw him enter and padded over, tail wagging, as if hoping Brad could bring back some sense of normalcy. But Isobel didn’t even flinch. She kept her head down, now staring at the space vacated by the dog.

Brad crossed the room with measured steps, lowering himself to his knees before her. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, a grounding presence against the storm raging in her eyes. He didn’t touch her—he knew better than to reach out too soon—but his voice softened, deep and steady.

"Belle," he said, his tone brooking no argument but laced with unmistakable care, “we’re going home. But before we do, you’re going to drink a glass of milk and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You need it, and you know it."

Her head shook almost imperceptibly, her lips parting to protest. The words, though, didn’t come.

Brad leaned closer, the firm command in his voice gently coaxing her back from the edge of her silence. "Look at me."

She hesitated before meeting his gaze, her defiance flaring momentarily. Brad held steady, letting her see the unwavering strength behind his concern. He wasn’t angry; he was here. For her. Always for her.

"Belle," he said again, his voice dropping an octave, calm but resolute. "This isn’t a debate. You’re eating something. If I have to carry you to the table, I will. But I’d rather you choose to meet me halfway."

Her chin trembled slightly, her resistance cracking beneath the weight of her own exhaustion. Slowly, she pressed her lips together then gave a reluctant nod. It was small, but it was enough.

"You can stay here, and I’ll bring it to you," Brad tilted his head slightly to keep her eyes on his, "or you can sit at the table. I’ll let you decide."

Her glare shot through him, sharp and full of anger. But he saw the helplessness beneath it, the vulnerability she so rarely let surface. It twisted something deep in his chest, but he didn’t waver. She needed this—needed him to guide her back to herself, one step at a time.

After a long, tense moment, she pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaky. Brad stood, offering his arm to steady her, but she brushed past him. He let her, watching as she shuffled toward the kitchen with heavy, reluctant steps.

Behind him, the room exhaled collectively—the officers, Charlotte, Alex, all of them clearly relieved at the small progress. The tension lifted just slightly, but Brad knew they weren’t done. Not even close.

He trailed after Isobel, keeping a careful distance. For now, she needed space. But his eyes stayed on her, his attention unwavering. She sat at the table without a word, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Brad moved to the counter, preparing the sandwich with the same precision he brought to everything he did. As he worked, he spoke softly, though he wasn’t sure if she was listening. "You’re not alone in this, Belle. I’m here. I’ll always be here."

When he set the plate and glass in front of her, he didn’t demand anything more. He simply pulled out a chair and sat beside her, close enough for her to feel his presence. He wouldn’t push further tonight.

For now, it was enough that she was at the table. It was enough that she’d taken the first step.

Isobel sat at the kitchen table, staring at the half-eaten sandwich in front of her. The soft hum of the refrigerator filled the awkward silence. Charlotte insisted Brad eat something too, like it would make things better, make this whole nightmare more normal. It didn’t. Nothing felt normal. The conversation around the table was forced, the words brittle, crumbling under everything left unsaid.

She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t care. She’d lost her appetite the moment she saw Kathy hanging there. Kathy was dead. Kathy, who had been more than her assistant, more than a colleague. She was her friend. She had always been there for Isobel, through every day, every last-minute deadline, every quiet lunch in the office. And now she was gone.

Isobel's hands clenched into fists under the table. She couldn’t stop the anger swirling inside her, thick and suffocating. She blamed herself. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she had done something different—anything—Kathy would still be alive. And now Brad was here, telling her what to do, acting like he had the right to order her around.

Eat this. Drink that. Come here. Sit down. Go there.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But instead, she just sat there, pushing the sandwich around on her plate, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. Brad was beside her, calm and steady like always, but she felt trapped under his scrutiny, like a fragile object he was trying not to break. It was suffocating. Everything was.

After what felt like an eternity, she forced the last bite down. The food tasted like dust, sitting heavy in her stomach. She didn’t feel better, didn’t feel stronger or more ready to face anything. She just felt... empty.

Brad stood up and placed his hand on her shoulder, a silent signal that it was time to go. She followed him without a word, too tired to fight. Outside, the cool air hit her face as they made their way to his car. She slid into the passenger seat, her body moving automatically as Brad buckled her in. She felt like a child being managed, being taken care of because she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself.

Once Brad got into the driver’s seat, they pulled away from Charlotte’s house. Isobel stared out the window, the world passing by in a blur of streetlights and shadows. She barely registered where they were going, too lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t care where they ended up. Nothing mattered anymore.

Brad’s voice cut through the silence, "Your mom offered us the guest room, but I thought we’d go back to our place."

Isobel didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the dark road ahead. Our place?

"I asked Larson to take a cyber team and sweep my house and all our electronics," he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "They’re checking for any bugs, making sure no one’s listening."

She didn’t know why, but that made her feel... something. A flicker of relief, maybe. At least no one else was watching. No one else could hear how broken she was, how much of a mess everything had become.

But that didn’t change the fact that Kathy was gone. It didn’t stop the guilt that ate at her, that told her this was all her fault. That she should have done something—anything—to prevent it.

Brad kept his eyes on the road, the tension between them thick, but he didn’t push her. For now, the only sound was the rumble of the engine and the occasional swish of tires against pavement. Isobel’s thoughts churned, a storm of anger, guilt, and exhaustion, but she couldn’t find the words to say any of it.

She didn’t know if she ever would.

Brad’s mind raced as they entered his house. He watched Isobel, her face like a mask, every emotion hidden behind a wall he couldn’t see through. Her silence cut deeper than any words might have. She was shutting him out, bottling everything up—her pain, her anger, her guilt. And he knew it was only going to get worse if she didn’t let go.

Normally, he’d give her space, let her come to him when she was ready, but this was different. He was terrified. The killer was still out there, and the thought of something happening to her while she was in this fragile state made his blood run cold.

He couldn’t allow it. Not when she was breaking inside.

Brad turned on the security system with methodical precision. He kept his eyes on Isobel, who stood by the door, arms wrapped around herself as if holding herself together was the only thing she could do. She didn’t look at him, didn’t speak. It was like she had checked out, was lost in her own head, drowning in emotions she refused to share.

"Stay here," he ordered softly. He moved through the house, checking every room, every closet, every cabinet. He looked under every piece of furniture, his movements measured, ensuring their safety. When he returned, he announced, "The house is clear."

Isobel barely nodded, moving mechanically as she walked past him and headed up the stairs. She was locked down so tight, it scared him. He had never seen her like this before. This was different. Darker.

Brad followed her, his mind a swirl of thoughts. He had to do something— something to get her to release, to let go of the burden she was carrying. He was her Dominant. It was his responsibility to take care of her, even if that meant taking control when she couldn’t. And right now, she was spiraling, sinking into a place where he couldn’t reach her unless he did something drastic.

He considered his options as he followed her up the stairs. Normally, he’d give her a choice, let her tell him what she needed. But she wasn’t in a place to choose. She was so closed off, she didn’t even realize how much she was hurting herself. His job was to keep her safe, even if it meant stepping in when she couldn’t ask for help.

Once they reached the bedroom, Isobel moved toward the bed, but Brad’s voice stopped her. “Isobel,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”

She paused, still facing away, her shoulders tense. She didn’t move, didn’t turn, just stood there as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Isobel,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a commanding growl.

She flinched but didn’t turn.

Brad’s chest tightened. He knew what she needed, even if she didn’t. He had to break through the walls she was building, pull her out of that dark place. She needed to feel again, to release everything she was holding inside, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

He closed the distance between them, taking her by the shoulders and gently but firmly turning her to face him. Her eyes were wide, defiant, but beneath that, he saw it— the hurt , the raw pain she was trying so hard to bury.

“You can’t stay like this,” he said, his voice low and full of authority. “You think bottling this up will protect you, but it won’t. It’s going to tear you apart, and I won’t let that happen.”

Isobel’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, and she quickly looked away, her jaw clenched in stubborn silence.

Brad inhaled deeply, his mind made up. He wasn’t going to let her shut down. Not tonight. His hand moved to her chin, tilting her face back to him. “I’m not asking anymore.”

Her breath hitched at the finality in his voice.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, she stood still, the tension in her body almost palpable. But then, slowly, she moved. She stripped and climbed onto the bed, her movements slow, deliberate. She was still defiant, still fighting him in her own way, but she obeyed.

Brad watched her carefully, his own emotions a storm beneath the surface. He knew she needed this—needed to be vulnerable, to give up the control she was clinging to. He walked to the bedside drawer and pulled out a set of soft restraints. She hadn’t let him restrain her before. Visible goose bumps broke out across her body.

Without a word, he secured her wrists to the bedposts, his touch firm but gentle, grounding her in the moment. He watched her closely, gauging every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. She was locked down tight, but he could see it— the cracks , the way her chest rose and fell faster, the way her eyes betrayed the fear and anger swirling inside her.

Brad’s hand moved to her thigh, then her waist, a slow, deliberate touch that made her shiver. “I need you to let go,” he said, his voice a quiet command. “I need you to trust me to take care of you.”

Isobel’s eyes squeezed shut, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She was fighting so hard, but Brad knew she couldn’t win this battle on her own. She needed to break, to release, and he was going to make sure she did.

He trailed his hand higher, his touch just enough to make her breath hitch. “You don’t get to hide from me, Isobel,” he said softly. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

She trembled beneath him, her body taut with everything she was holding in. She seemed to be on the edge, teetering between holding on and completely breaking apart.

Brad leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice dark and commanding. “And I’m not letting you go until you feel every bit of what you’re hiding.”

In that moment, he knew she was close—so close to breaking. He pressed his hand between her thighs, the touch both firm and gentle, a reminder of his control. Her breath came faster, her body responding to him despite the turmoil raging inside her. He pushed her to the edge, drawing her further into the moment, away from the pain, away from the guilt, until all that was left was the sensation—the undeniable pull of his dominance, anchoring her to him.

Isobel closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation. Brad’s hands roamed her body, possessive but gentle, as he moved her exactly how he wanted. He pressed deeply into her, his control absolute, his movements slow but deliberate. Every motion was designed to remind her to whom she belonged, and with each thrust, he claimed more of her.

And when she finally let go, when the dam inside her broke, it wasn’t just pleasure that coursed through her—it was the release of everything she had been holding back, every tear, every scream, every ounce of guilt and anger. She shattered beneath him, and Brad held her through it, his touch the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

When it was over, Isobel lay limp on the bed, her body trembling, her breaths coming in ragged sobs. But she was here again, present .

Brad untied her wrists and pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as the last of her tears fell. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his lips brushing her hair. “I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”

As the intensity of the moment faded, Brad helped her off the bed, guiding her gently to the bathroom, where he took her into the shower and bathed her. When he finished, they returned to bed. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling the covers up over them as she settled into his warmth.

“Rest now,” Brad whispered softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Isobel’s eyes fluttered shut, the safety and comfort of Brad’s arms lulling her into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Brad watched her for a long moment, his mind already moving to what needed to be done next. He slid from the bed and left the room quietly, pulling out his phone. He needed to make arrangements to get her somewhere safe.

Dialing Isobel’s mother, Charlotte, he waited as the line rang twice before she picked up.

“Brad?” Charlotte’s voice was filled with concern. “How is she?”

“Better. I need to get Isobel someplace safe again,” Brad said. “I don’t want her to be alone. I need to make sure she’s somewhere secure.”

Charlotte sighed. “The girls and I will be at Tristan and Sophie’s.” Their home was on the Blackwell Institute grounds. “Molly was told by her OB to stop working. So, we’re all staying together, waiting for the baby.”

Brad smiled to himself, knowing it would be the safest place for Isobel to stay, surrounded by her family. “I’ll take her there,” he said, his tone firm. “I’m going to add some extra security. I’ll give Tristan a call to go over the details.”

“Of course,” Charlotte replied, her voice soft. “We’ll take care of her, Brad. Thank you.”

Brad ended the call, his mind already planning how to move her safely. Tomorrow, he’d take her to the Institute, where she would be protected, surrounded by people who loved her. But for tonight, she needed rest.

He returned to the bedroom, watching over Isobel as she slept. He would protect her. Whatever it took, whoever he had to face, she would be safe in his care.

And he wouldn’t let anyone take the feeling of safety from her again.