Chapter 26
T he next morning, my townhouse was quiet in a way that felt temporary, like a breath held between heartbeats.
Light streamed through the front windows, casting soft stripes across the hardwood floors.
I moved through the space barefoot, still wearing Ronan’s shirt from the night before—oversized, wrinkled, and carrying the faint, smoky scent of his skin.
The flash drive was still in my bag. I hadn’t watched it.
Not because I didn’t want to know, but because I finally felt like I did. He’d told me who he was, and more than that, he’d shown me. Not just the violence, but the restraint. The protectiveness. The absolute way he loved.
And now that I’d decided—I mean really decided—that I wanted him, the consequences of that choice had begun to crystallize.
I opened the fridge, stared at its underwhelming contents, then shut it again. I wasn’t hungry. I was unsettled.
It was Saturday, which meant I wouldn’t be heading to the coworking space, but the thought gave me pause. Would I go back on Monday? Would I want to?
That space had been a lifeline during the chaos of my career taking off—somewhere to anchor myself when the world felt loud and spinning.
But now, the thought of walking into that building with its sleek glass walls and open-concept energy felt …
off. Like trying to slip into a coat I’d already outgrown.
I wandered back to the window, chewing on the thought.
Did I even want to keep teaching? Keep writing political columns for people who only half-read them between doomscrolling and podcast episodes? What would it look like to let go of that identity—Zara Hughes, columnist, professor, voice of sharp, articulate reason in a world gone sideways?
Being with Ronan wasn’t like falling into someone’s life. It was like being rewritten from the inside out. I knew things wouldn’t be the same—not my work, not my friendships, not the way the world looked at me once they figured out who I was standing beside.
Or what he used to be.
Maybe still was.
But I’d chosen him. Chosen this. And I would figure out how to own it.
I glanced around my townhouse, suddenly aware of how small it felt. The walls seemed closer than usual, the furniture older, the whole space more temporary than I’d ever admitted. It had been enough when I was building my career, when everything felt uncertain. But now?
Now, everything had changed.
I pictured Ronan here, ducking beneath my low kitchen ceiling, his massive frame navigating my narrow hallways. It didn’t fit. He didn’t fit. And if I was honest with myself, neither did I. Not anymore.
Would I move in with him? Into that sleek, intimidating mansion tucked into the trees on John’s Island?
The idea tugged at something deep inside me. I liked his house—loved the water view, the quiet—but folding into his life felt too easy. Too passive. I didn’t want to be absorbed. I wanted to build something of our own. Together.
I’d never let myself dream like that before. About custom homes or shared closets or luxury anything. But maybe I could. Maybe I should. Maybe I was allowed to want more than survival. More than control.
Maybe I was allowed to want beautiful things.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and I grabbed it, expecting a message from him. But it was my mom.
I hesitated for half a second, then answered. “Hey, Mom.”
“Well, you finally picked up,” she said, her tone light but laced with something else. “I was starting to think you’d been abducted by aliens.”
“Just busy,” I said, leaning against the counter. “Writing. Thinking.”
“Thinking?” she echoed. “That sounds dangerous.”
I smiled despite myself. “I’m okay.”
There was a pause on the other end. “You sound okay. Happier, maybe.”
That surprised me. “Really?”
“Your father and I were talking last night. He said you haven’t sounded this settled in years. And I have to say, I agree.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Because it was true. And it scared me a little .
“But …” she continued, and there it was. The hesitation. The shift.
“But what?”
“Honey, there’s been … talk,” she said carefully. “Your piece on Alpha Mail made noise.”
My pulse quickened. “What kind of talk?”
“Just … people asking questions. Online mostly. Some at the nursery. The ladies. People wondering if you’re stirring the pot.”
“I didn’t name anyone. I just raised concerns. Asked questions.”
“I know. But sometimes that’s enough.” She sighed. “Just be careful, Zara. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual exposés. This feels … bigger.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well,” she said, softer now, “I hope you’ll come out here soon. I think being around the trees might help settle your mind. And if you want to bring someone with you—well, the invitation stands.”
My stomach flipped. “You mean Ronan.”
She didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “I mean whoever it is that’s got you sounding like you might finally be ready to stop running.”
“I’m not?—”
“I love you,” she said. “Come see us. Bring whoever you want. We’ll go swimming.”
I let out a soft laugh. “You and the swimming.”
“Well,” she replied, mock-offended, “not everyone has a gorgeous pool with lush landscaping and no one to appreciate it.”
I smiled, the image already forming in my mind again—Ronan in that pool, water slicking over his broad shoulders, his quiet intensity disarming even the birds in the trees.
Him, at my childhood home. At the house next to the nursery.
In the one place I’d never brought a man.
I wasn’t sure if the thought thrilled me or terrified me.
Because my dad? He sounded supportive now, but he wouldn’t approve.
Not really. Not of Ronan’s silence. Not of his scars.
Not of the way he looked at me like I already belonged to him.
My dad would see danger first, devotion second—if at all.
And maybe he’d be right. But that didn’t change the way I felt.
“Maybe,” I said, throat tightening.
We hung up, and I stood there for a long moment, staring out the window. The world looked the same. But something was shifting. I could feel it—rising like heat off pavement. Something was coming. Something already here.
Beneath Mom’s cheerful tone, something had felt off. I couldn’t quite name it, but I’d noticed it in her voice. A certain strain.
My parents hadn’t come right out and said it, but I was starting to get the sense that maybe things at the nursery were worse than I realized.
A knock at the front door made me jump.
It wasn’t loud. Just two precise raps. Measured. Calm.
Too calm.
I moved to the window and peeked through the curtain—and froze.
Trevor.
Standing there like he had every right to be on my porch. Like we hadn’t gone long stretches without speaking. Like he hadn’t ghosted, then reappeared with cryptic warnings and even more questions.
I opened the door just a crack, not bothering to hide my irritation. “Seriously?”
He looked … tired. Not rumpled or desperate, but of f. His usual preppy polish had slipped. No tie. Collar unbuttoned. Eyes bloodshot.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“No.”
“Zara—”
“What do you want?”
He glanced past me into the house, like he was trying to see who else might be inside. “You wrote about Alpha Mail.”
“I always write about what’s relevant.”
“Not like this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re watching you,” he said, his voice low. “And they’re not happy.”
A chill shot down my spine. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Then get off my porch.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand. This thing you’re poking—it’s not just a dating service. It’s a front. For a lot of things. Dangerous things.”
I stepped outside, pulling the door nearly shut behind me. “Like what?”
Trevor looked around, then leaned in. “I think your guy is part of it.”
My heart stopped. “Excuse me?”
“The guy you’re with,” Trevor said slowly. “I’ve seen him. I caught a glimpse. It doesn’t matter where. The point is, he’s not just some ex-military consultant. He’s connected to Alpha Mail. Maybe not directly—but close. Adjacent.”
No one knew I’d used Alpha Mail. No one but Mina. And she wouldn’t tell. I trusted her. Had trusted her for years. So how the hell did Trevor know?
My stomach twisted, a flush of heat rising under my skin. I didn’t want him knowing. Not just about Ronan, but how we’d met. It felt too private. Too raw. I’d kept it secret for a reason, and now it felt like that fragile barrier was cracking.
My spine stiffened. “You’ve seen him?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Have you been following me?” I asked, my voice sharp.
Trevor’s expression shifted—part guilt, part urgency. “I didn’t have to. You’re not exactly low-profile these days. And he’s not someone who blends in.”
I didn’t blink. “You’re wrong.”
He studied me for a beat. “Are you sleeping with him?”
I said nothing.
“Jesus, Zara. You think he cares about you? You’re just leverage.”
I moved to shut the door, but he stepped forward, palm flat against it. “He’s not who you think he is.”
“No,” I said, my voice cold. “He’s more.”
Trevor’s expression faltered. “You don’t know what he’s done.”
“I know enough.”
A tense silence fell between us.
Then: “They’re going to come after you,” he said. “If you don’t stop digging.”
“I’m not scared of them.”
“You should be.”
Something in his tone made my blood run cold. It wasn’t fear. It was resignation. Like he’d already chosen a side.
I stepped back, the screen door still between us, my grip tightening on the frame. “You’re just jealous,” I said, my voice sharp. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You couldn’t handle the fact that I moved on. That I’m happy.”
His mouth opened, but I didn’t let him speak.
“You need to let it go, Trevor. We weren’t right for each other.
We never were. You know that. Deep down, you’ve always known it.
” My voice softened, but it didn’t waver.
“We don’t want the same things. We don’t see the world the same way.
And honestly? We never belonged together—not in the way you keep hoping we did. ”
His expression flickered. A flash of something—hurt or maybe guilt—passed behind his eyes. “It’s not jealousy.”
I gave a bitter laugh. “Then why do you keep calling me? Why show up here? Why insert yourself into my life like this?”
He didn’t answer right away.
I stepped forward, pressing the edge. “You still think I owe you something. You still want me to explain why I didn’t choose you.”
Trevor looked away for a second, like he couldn’t bear the full weight of the confrontation.
Then he met my eyes again. “I just don’t understand,” he said, quieter now.
“I was good to you. I respected you. I never made you question who I was or what I wanted. But him?” His mouth tightened.
“He’s dangerous. He doesn’t even hide it. And still, you pick him.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Because he sees me. All of me. Not just the parts that are convenient. Not just the version you wanted me to be.”
“I didn’t?—”
“Yes, you did.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t back down. “You wanted me to stay safe. Predictable. Neat. But that’s not who I am. That’s not who I’ve ever been.”
Trevor’s face hardened, the mask of concern slipping. “So that’s it? You’d rather gamble everything on some shadow with a jawline than be with someone who actually gave a damn about you?”
“I’d rather be with someone who doesn’t flinch when he sees all the messy parts of me,” I said. “Someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m a project to fix.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond. And in that silence, something final settled between us. An understanding.
I backed into the house and shut the door in his face. Locked it. And stepped away with shaking hands.
The line I’d drawn in the sand had just become a battlefield.
And I had to decide—fast—how far I was willing to go.
And who I was willing to become to survive it.