Chapter 18
Lili
I step out of my suite, muscles still aching from the stitches in my arm.
I tried to do some of my yoga earlier, but stretching or putting any kind of weight on the injury hurts too much.
The main dungeon of the club is in front of me, dimly lit and heavy with tension.
Since we’re closed, it’s got a vastly different vibe from the last couple of times I’ve been in this space.
Tyson sits at a corner table with Sabrina, his hand covering hers. She looks pale and shaken. Grace came and told me what happened while Victor went into what can only be called a war council with the other owners.
Hunter and Trinity occupy the seating area near the bar.
Trinity’s wheelchair is positioned so she can see the entire room, her well-trained eyes taking in every detail.
Some people still view her as nothing more than a glorified party planner, but she’s taken over most of Hunter’s private events for VIP guests and high rollers, and it takes next-level attention to detail to be the best at what she does.
Hunter hovers nearby, his usual commanding presence softened by worry for his wife.
But it’s Grace who draws my attention immediately.
She paces near the main bar, steps measured but restless. Her arms are wrapped around herself, a defensive posture I’m well acquainted with. Every few seconds, she glances toward the corridor leading to Owen’s office, waiting for Victor to return. The anxiety radiates from her in waves.
I make my way across the room, navigating between tables and conversations. A few people nod as I pass, offering concerned smiles.
“Grace,” I say softly as I approach.
She turns, face lighting up with relief. “Lili. What are you doing up? The doctor said you needed rest.”
“I’m fine. Better than Harper, at least.” I study her face, noting the tight lines around her eyes, the way she’s biting her lower lip. “How are you holding up?”
Grace shrugs, a gesture that tries to be casual but falls short. “Worried about everyone. About what’s happening. About what comes next.”
I reach for her hand, interlacing our fingers. Her skin is cold despite the warmth of the club. “Victor will figure this out. They all will.”
“I know.” But her voice wavers. “It’s just... everything keeps escalating. First the flowers, then my tires, then Trinity getting shot, and now Harper and the bomb threat. I’m bringing danger to everyone I care about.”
The guilt in her voice makes my chest tight.
I’ve wrestled with the same thoughts, the weight of being at the center of violence that could get people I love hurt or killed.
“This isn’t your fault, Grace. None of it.
Especially not Trinity. That’s connected to me.
Your stalker situation started before I came into the picture.
Don’t take on burdens that aren’t yours. ”
Grace nods, but I can see she’s not convinced. In the brief time I’ve known her, I’ve come to recognize that the tendency to blame herself runs deep, likely carved by years of feeling invisible and unworthy. It’s going to take more than words to heal that wound.
Something shifts in the room’s energy. Conversations pause. Heads turn toward the corridor.
Victor emerges from the back hallway, his presence commanding attention even in the dim lighting. He moves with purpose, but there’s tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that speaks of bad news or challenging decisions.
I watch as he scans the room, his gaze finding Grace immediately. His expression softens, but only slightly. He approaches us with measured steps, his poker face firmly in place.
“Ladies,” he says, voice warm but controlled. “How are we doing?”
Grace releases my hand and moves toward him. “Better now that you’re here. What did you find out?”
Victor’s hands find her waist, and he pulls her in close, dropping a kiss to her forehead. It’s sweet, and tugs at my heart. “We’re making progress. Owen is working on some technical leads.”
His words are carefully chosen, I realize. Vague enough to be reassuring without providing actual information. Grace accepts them at face value, leaning into his touch with visible relief.
But I’ve spent enough time around powerful men to recognize evasion when I hear it. Victor’s tone is too measured, his answers too polished. He’s hiding something. Has been for days.
I study his face as he continues speaking to Grace, offering gentle reassurances and empty platitudes about security measures and precautions. His eyes never quite meet mine, and when they do, there’s something there. Guilt, maybe. Or calculation.
“The important thing is that everyone stays together,” Victor continues. “No one goes anywhere alone. No one takes unnecessary risks.”
Grace nods eagerly, grateful for direction, for someone taking charge of her safety. But the protective instincts that have kept me alive through years living with Phineas are screaming warnings.
Victor catches me staring. For just a moment, his composure slips. I see the flicker of something in his expression before he rebuilds his walls.
“Lili,” he says. “You should probably get some more rest. The doctor said—”
“I’m fine.” My voice is colder than I intended. “Actually, I’d like to speak with you. Privately.”
Grace looks between us, sensing the shift in temperature. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” Victor says quickly. “Lili probably just wants an update on the warehouse situation.”
The lie comes so smoothly that I almost admire it. Almost.
“Something like that,” I agree. “Grace, why don’t you get something to eat? You look like you haven’t had a proper meal today.”
She glances at Victor, who nods encouragingly. “Good idea, butterfly. Get something for all three of us.”
Grace hesitates, clearly sensing undercurrents of something between us. But Victor’s authority and my gentle pushing win out. She heads toward the bar area where Tyson and Sabrina are sharing a plate of food.
I wait until she’s out of earshot, then gesture toward the quieter seating area near the edge of the dungeon. Away from prying eyes and sensitive ears.
Victor follows, but his posture is stiff. He’s smart enough to know what I have to say.
We settle onto a couch, sitting at an angle to face each other, the leather creaking under our weight.
“What aren’t you telling her?” I ask once we’re settled.
Victor’s jaw tightens. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Victor. I’ve lived with a man who built his career on lies and misdirection. You’re hiding something from Grace, and you need to tell her.”
He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. “Even if I were keeping something from her, which I’m not saying I am, why would that be your concern?”
“Because I care about her.” My voice drops lower, more intense. “Because she trusts you completely, and if you’re lying to her, she deserves to hear the truth. And because if the three of us are building something together, I won’t be party to lies.”
We stare at each other. Victor’s brown eyes are hard, calculating. But there’s conflict there too. He’s wrestling with something.
“Sometimes protecting someone means not telling them everything,” he says finally.
“Protecting her? Or protecting yourself from her reaction?”
The hit lands. I see it in the way his fingers tighten against his arms, the slight tension in his jaw.
“You don’t understand the situation,” he says.
“Then explain it to me.”
Another long moment of silence. Around us, the club continues its subdued conversations, but we might as well be alone in the world.
“We think we might know who’s been stalking Grace,” Victor says finally. “But we’re not certain yet. I don’t want to tell her until we have more concrete evidence.”
“Who?”
Victor hesitates. I can see him weighing how much to reveal, how much he can trust me with. “Someone from her past. Someone who might blame her for something that wasn’t her fault.”
The careful phrasing tells me more than the words themselves. This isn’t just about protecting Grace from worry. This is about protecting her from pain. I can respect that, but it’s not his choice to make.
“She has a right to know,” I say. “If someone is targeting her specifically, she should be prepared.”
“She should be safe,” Victor counters. “And sometimes that means not knowing every detail of every threat. She already knows she’s a target. That’s enough for now.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
“Yes, it is.” His voice hardens. “I’m responsible for her safety. For yours too, now. That means making hard choices about what information to share and when.”
I lean forward, matching his intensity. “You’re not her father, Victor. You’re not her legal guardian. Being her Dom doesn’t mean you can decide what she gets to know about her own life.”
“I can and I will decide what she gets told and when.” His tone brooks no argument. “Grace has been through enough trauma. I won’t add to it unnecessarily.”
The frustration builds in my chest, hot and sharp. This is too familiar, this assumption that he knows what’s best for everyone else. That his protective instincts override our autonomy.
“What if you’re wrong?” I ask. “What if keeping her in the dark puts her in more danger?”
Victor’s expression flickers. And there it is. The doubt he’s been trying to suppress.
“I’m not wrong,” he says, but there’s less certainty in his voice now.
I sit back, studying his face. The guilt is there, barely hidden beneath his authoritative mask. He knows I’m right, but he’s too committed to his course to change direction now.
“Grace trusts you completely,” I whisper. “Don’t make her regret that trust.”
I stand and walk away without another word. My steps echo against the polished floor. Victor’s protective instincts might come from a place of love, but they’re suffocating Grace just as surely as Phineas’s control suffocated me.