Chapter 32
Alex
Breakfast in this house has always felt like a performance, especially now with Liv watching everything like it’s all new to her. But since it is, I guess it makes sense.
The dining room is too large for three people. It’s polished and precise with sunlight spilling through the tall windows and catching on crystal and silver like everything here was designed to reflect light.
And then there’s Liv next to me, seeming small and embarrassed to be in here. She doesn’t think she belongs here, I can see it all over her face.
After getting back here last night, I spoke with Wilfred quickly about Pip’s needs.
He promised to have everything taken care of by morning and he wasn’t kidding.
The manor looks like it’s been baby-proofed for a gymnast-gifted toddler.
I don’t know how he came up with as many sets of cat-sized stairs as he did.
All of the couches, Dad’s desk in his home office, and even the windowsills in the library all have stairs leading to them.
He also set up a few litter boxes around the manor so Pip would always be near one.
I lead Liv to the two seats near the head of the table. They’re already set but are not served yet. Dad should be down at any moment. Breakfast has always been his favorite meal of the day, so I know he won’t be long.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, he walks into the room, dressed for the day and sporting a smile directed at Liv.
“Liv,” I say, stepping forward. “This is my father, Arthur.”
He doesn’t rush; he never does. “Olivia,” he says, offering a hand. “It’s good to see you again.” His voice is warm with practice. It’s controlled in a way that reads as effortless unless you know what to look for.
Liv takes his hand. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
My good, polite girl. She’s measured, not submissive.
“I insist,” he replies smoothly. “Anyone important to my son is welcome here.”
His words land for her, I can see it in her expression. Her shoulders shift just slightly, calming down a fraction.
“Please,” he adds, gesturing to the table. “Sit.”
We do.
Wilfred appears like he's been waiting just out of sight, materializing from the shadows with an almost supernatural stillness.
His posture is ramrod straight, a testament to decades of disciplined service, and he moves with the economy of motion that comes from a lifetime of practice.
Though elderly, his shoulders remain broad under the impeccably tailored butler's uniform, and his hands, though spotted with age, are steady as he places a plate in front of Liv with quiet efficiency.
His face is a roadmap of his years, with deep-set eyes that miss nothing and a mouth perpetually pressed into a neutral line that somehow conveys both sternness and understanding.
Even his white hair is perfectly styled, not a single strand out of place, completing the picture of a man who has dedicated his entire existence to the art of silent and impeccable service.
“Miss,” he says with a small nod.
She blinks at him for half a second. “Uh, thanks.”
Wilfred doesn’t react, just continues his work like this is routine. To him, it is. To her… not even close.
“You’ll have a driver while you’re here,” my father states as he picks up his coffee. “To and from your shifts.”
Liv looks up immediately. “That’s not necessary-”
“It is,” I cut her off.
Her gaze snaps to mine.
“This isn’t optional,” I add, quieter.
She studies me for a few seconds, then nods once. “Okay.”
My father watches the exchange with quiet interest. He doesn’t comment on it. Of course he doesn’t.
“Your work is demanding enough without additional concerns,” he adds, directing his attention back to Liv. “The driver is a precaution.”
“A very intense precaution,” she mutters.
I almost smile.
Breakfast continues like that with light conversation layered over tension that never full leaves the room and Liv’s persisting nervousness about being here.
Liv answers questions about her work with ease.
Her voice stays steady and confident. She doesn’t shrink under my father’s attention. She meets it.
For a second, I see it. The version of her that belongs anywhere, even here.
My father’s gaze lingers on me a second longer than it should, like he’s filing something away. He always is.
The garden is quieter than the house, that’s why it’s always been my favorite place on the property. I brought Liv out her after breakfast to get some air.
Liv walks a few steps ahead of me, her hands tucked into the pockets of the sweatshirt she borrowed from my old closet after realizing she didn’t pack any. It swallows her frame, sleeves too long, causing the hem to brush her mid-thigh. She looks softer in a way that fits in the garden.
I send a quick text to Mason explaining what’s going on, like he hasn’t figured it out already, and let him know that I won’t be in today. I need to make sure I get Liv familiar with the property and comfortable enough here before I leave her alone.
As I stuff my phone back in my pocket, I notice she’s focusing on a large purple lilac plant next to a bench.
“Sometimes I still can’t believe I ever lived here,” I say, half to myself.
Her eyes flick to mine. “Yeah?” she asks.
I shrug lightly, joining her by the lilacs. “It doesn’t feel real.”
“That makes two of us,” she murmurs.
“This place is insane,” she blurts, glancing around at the perfectly maintained grounds. “Like… do people actually live like this?”
“Some do.”
She shakes her head. “I’d break something in the first hour if not supervised.”
“You haven’t yet.”
“Give me time.”
A faint smile tugs at my mouth. It fades just as quickly, because I can’t stop thinking about the warehouse, the stakeout, and the way everything is starting to connect in ways I don’t like.
About her.
“You’re doing it again,” she says.
I glance at her. “Doing what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what.
“Thinking too loud.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Occupational hazard.”
She turns to face me, the sun reflecting in her hair and lighting up a slight tinge of red amongst the brown locks that I hadn’t noticed until just now.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asks.
I step closer, close enough to see the shift in her expression. Close enough to tell her everything. I almost do… but stop just before I let it spill.
“Working angles,” I say instead. “Trying to stay ahead of this.”
Her gaze lingers on mine, like she knows that’s not all of it. But she lets it go, for now. “Okay.”
She trusts me. The realization sits heavy in my chest. Because I don’t think I deserve it, not since she’s in this circumstance because of me.
Not with what I have in mind.
Back at the precinct the next day, feels like I’ve been thrown into a kindergarten classroom. After the peace and quiet of the manor all day, and Liv by my side, this damn place is too loud. It’s harsh, both the noise and the people.
I made sure Liv got out the door and on her way to work with Manny, the driver, in a non-descript black sedan. No more eyes on her than necessary.
And once she was out the door, I went into the en suite and pulled out the evidence bag I’d gotten from Mason before leaving her neighborhood with her in a rush the night before last.
I pull a few hairs from her brush and stick them into the baggie, sealing it and slipping it back into my pocket.
Now I’m making my way through the precinct to the forensics lab, the bag burning a hole in my pocket.
This is a line, I know it is. And I absolutely shouldn’t be crossing it. Not without her trust, her autonomy in mind… and her consent. I’ve spent my entire career respecting those lines in every other case.
But I’m crossing it this time. Because I’m scared.
I’ve seen what happens when I don’t act fast enough.
And if there’s a connection like I’m worried there is, something tying her to this case beyond her physical description and my interference.
Since she grew up in foster care, I need to make sure she isn’t connected to the other victims. I’m worried that she might have a long-lost half-sister or something and that’s adding to her being targeted.
And I need to know what it is before it kills her.
“That better not be what I think it is.”
I look up. Derek stands a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, eyebrows raised in that way he has that makes him look perpetually unimpressed.
At barely thirty, he already has the salt-and-pepper hair of a man twice his age, cut short and practical.
His wire-rimmed glasses are perched on a nose that was broken as kid but never healed right, giving his otherwise forgettable face a bit of character.
He's wiry and deceptively strong, with the lean build of someone who spends more time hunched over microscopes than at a gym.
One of our lab techs, one of the best. Also, someone who owes me a favor.
“You still mad about that pharmacy audit?” I ask.
He snorts. “You mean the one where you kept my name out of an internal investigation I definitely shouldn’t have been part of?”
I shrug. “Details.”
He steps closer, nodding toward the bag in my hand. “What do you need?”
I hesitate. This is my last chance to back out before I do something I might regret.
“Off the record,” I say, lamenting my fate.
His expression shifts immediately. “No.”
“Derek-”
“No,” he repeats. “You don’t come to me with that tone unless you’re asking for something that can get both of us fired.”
He’s not wrong.
I exhale slowly. “It’s a comparison,” I say. “Quick turnaround. No paperwork.”
“Absolutely not.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “This ties to the trafficking case.”
His jaw sets like stone. “You’re playing dirty.”
“Yeah,” I admit.
He visibly mulls it over in his head for the longest second of my life.
“Gimme a few hours,” he obliges in a defeated tone. “That’s all I can do. And if this blows back-”
“It won’t,” I cut in.
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe that for a second. But he takes the bag anyway. “God, I hate you,” he mutters.
“You don’t,” I reply.
He walks off without responding.
And just like that, it’s done. The line’s been crossed.
My father is in his office when I get back to the manor. Liv’s still on her shift and won’t be back for a few more hours, and I already touched bases with Mason, so I decide to take a while by getting some time with Dad. I need a solid head to work with right now.
He looks up as I step inside. “You look troubled,” he perceives.
I close the door behind me. “Occupational hazard.” I’m getting tired of that line.
He studies me for a moment, then gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit.”
I do, because when he uses that tone, it’s not a suggestion.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I hesitate before letting it spew. “They’re targeting her.”
His expression doesn’t change; he knew that part already. But I see it, the calculation behind his eyes.
“Olivia,” he says.
“Liv,” I correct.
“And you believe this is connected to your case.”
“I know it is.”
He stays silent for a moment too long. “Why?”
That’s the question right now, the one I don’t have an answer to yet. But I’m close. “I think there’s a connection,” I say slowly. “Something we’re not seeing yet.”
His eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
I shake my head slightly. “I can’t. Not yet.” Because I don’t have proof. Not until-
My phone rings, too loud in the quiet room. I pull it out. Derek’s name lights up the screen. My pulse spikes, I didn’t expect him to have the results already.
I glance up to see Dad give me a nod, encouraging me to take the call. I answer immediately. “Yeah.”
“You need to come down here,” Derek snips. Something in his voice is wrong, very wrong.
“What did you find?” I ask.
He pauses. “Just get here.” The line goes dead.
I’m already standing.
“What is it?” my father asks.
“I gotta find out,” I say, barely comprehending the words as they leave my mouth. Derek’s tone has my mind racing with worry. Was I right? Is Liv related to one of the victims? Am I about to find a missing relative that she never knew about?