Chapter 46
Jess
The bar Ethan picked is the kind of place that thinks vintage typewriters on shelves and a chalkboard menu written in aggressive lowercase equals personality. Which, to be fair, I’ve definitely filmed content in worse locations.
Jag dropped me off twenty minutes ago and has the Range Rover waiting outside at the curb.
Living under Marco’s security detail means I don’t go anywhere alone anymore.
Not that I’m complaining. The protection feels necessary even if it’s a constant reminder that my life has become something requiring armed escorts.
We’re tucked into a corner booth. My brother is nursing a beer, while I have something that tastes like grapefruit tried to fight tequila and lost.
“So,” Ethan says. “How’s the therapy going?”
I take a sip. Wince. “Dr. Hale is very patient with my inability to process trauma.”
He gives me that look. The one that says he knows I’m deflecting again. “Jess.”
“It’s helping,” I admit. “Ben, too. She’s having fewer nightmares. Still anxious but managing. Going to school really helps a lot. And at home, the breathing exercises actually work sometimes.”
“And Marco?”
There it is. The question I’ve been dreading.
I stare at my drink. “No therapy. At least not that kind. He did go to a mirror circle thing earlier in the week.”
Maybe Ethan will think that counts as an intervention.
My brother’s eyebrows raise. “Mirror circle?”
“Peer support group for people with facial trauma. Neli convinced him to go.” I don’t mention that I convinced Neli to convince him. That feels like too many layers of manipulation to unpack right now. “He texted me about it. Said he went.”
“He didn’t tell you in person?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“And you still haven’t seen his face?” he presses.
I shake my head again.
He sighs. Takes a sip of his drink. “Remember the intervention we talked about?”
Yeah, guess the mirror circle doesn’t count.
I look down at the table. “I remember.”
My brother studies me. Uses his paramedic assessment face. The one that sees through every wall you try to build. “Do you love him?”
The question lands like a punch.
I open my mouth. Close it. Take another sip of my aggressive grapefruit situation.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally say. The words taste worse than the drink.
“Jess...”
I shake my head. “Seriously, I don’t. I’m just an employee.”
He doesn’t press it.
What I said is true. I am just an employee. Especially now. Hiding in his room. Refusing to let me see him. Running his empire from the shadows.
How can you love someone like that?
I find myself saying softly: “I’m not sure he’ll ever get back to his old self.” I blink sadly. “You know, I still feel guilty. About being too slow with the bear spray. About not protecting him better. About... everything.”
“Jess.” My brother’s voice is firm. “You saved their lives.” He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Give yourself some credit.”
I want to believe him. Want to accept that I did my best in an impossible situation.
But the guilt sits heavy anyway.
We finish our drinks. Ethan pays despite my protests. Something about big brother privileges.
We’re heading toward the exit when Ethan suddenly stops near the bar area.
“Larkin?” he asks, sounding surprised.
The man seated at the bar next to him sluggishly looks up. Early thirties. Messy hair. His eyes have the dull sheen of a drunk who’s still technically upright but his brain checked out three drinks ago.
“Man, I haven’t seen you in forever,” Ethan continues. “Why’d you stop coming to jiu-jitsu?”
Larkin Voss. The name registers dimly. One of Ethan’s gym buddies from a few years back.
“Oh hey.” Larkin burps. Loudly. Then he slaps the ass of a passing waitress.
The woman whirls around. Her eyes promise murder.
“Hey, I tip well don’t I?” Larkin grins like that makes harassment okay.
The waitress glowers and walks away. Probably debating whether assault charges are worth it.
“Nice friend,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was the question?” Larkin asks. He’s swaying slightly.
“Never mind,” Ethan says. He’s already steering me toward the door. “Good seeing you.”
But Larkin isn’t done.
“Oh yeah. Why I don’t do jiu-jitsu anymore?” He laughs. Too loud. “Man, that’s actually kind of funny.”
We stop. Something in his tone makes my skin prickle.
Ethan turns around. “Funny how?”
“I only went to your class because I was getting paid.” Larkin takes another swig from his mug. “Private investigator gig. Had to investigate this girl’s life. Find everyone she knew. Map her whoooooole fucking orbit.”
The world tilts slightly.
Oh no.
“What are you talking about?” Ethan’s voice sounds distant.
“Some billionaire hired me.” Larkin waves his hand vaguely. “Marco Fiore. You know, the restaurant guy? Man, what I would do with his billion dollars.”
Ethan and I exchange looks. His face has gone very still. The way it does before he tells someone their loved one didn’t make it.
“You’re saying Marco Fiore hired you to investigate my sister?” Ethan’s voice is dangerously quiet.
“Yeah. Figure out who she hung out with. Where she went. Who mattered to her. Like you!” Larkin giggles, seeming genuinely oblivious to the bomb he just dropped.
“Had to embed at your gym to get close. Easy money though. Just had to show up, roll around on the mats, take some notes. Then I gave him the report and that was that.”
The report.
The report that enabled Marco to “randomly” befriend my brother.
The report that let him orbit my life without me knowing.
The report that means everything... every moment... every conversation... every breath we counted together.
All of it was built on surveillance.
And a sham friendship with my brother.
My face burns. The kind of heat that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with humiliation so complete it feels like a second skin.
When you realize you weren’t falling in love.
You were being stalked.
Ethan’s hand is on my arm. Steady and grounding.
“We’re leaving,” he says.
Larkin goes back to his drink, completely unaware he just detonated a friendship.
And a relationship.
And maybe an entire life.
Ethan pulls me toward the exit. The cold night air hits my face and pulls me out of my dark thoughts.
“You don’t go back to his house alone, you hear me?” Ethan’s voice is tight.
“I don’t intend to.” My own voice sounds hollow. Automated, even. Like I’m reading lines from a script I never auditioned for.
“We’re going to have a little talk with Marco right now,” Ethan continues.
I should say no. Should tell him I need time to process. To think. To figure out what this means.
But the anger is already building.
I’m absolutely done being patient with Marco Fiore.
He hired someone to investigate me.
Everything we had was a lie.
When you realize the man you thought you knew never actually existed.
I think about Ben. Sweet, anxious Ben who calls me for her nightmares. Who counts breaths with me. Who trusts me completely.
Ben.
She didn’t ask for any of this. Didn’t deserve a father who hires private investigators or befriends people so he can fuck their sister.
“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “Let’s go talk to Marco.”
Jag is still waiting outside and we climb into the SUV. The door closes. Jag’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Just great,” I say. “Living the dream.”
He doesn’t push. Just drives. Doesn’t comment that Ethan is joining us.
Ethan is Marco’s ‘best friend’ after all.
The townhouse appears too fast.
Jag parks.
We get out. Ahead, the front door looms.
I stop on the sidewalk. Ethan’s already halfway up the steps before he realizes I’m not following.
“Jess?”
My hands are shaking. The anger from the bar has crystallized into something colder.
I don’t want to talk to him through a door again. Don’t want to hear whatever explanation he thinks will make hiring a private investigator to stalk my life acceptable.
“I need to pack,” I hear myself say. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Ethan comes back down the steps. Studies my face. Then he nods.
Ben’s face flashes through my mind again.
I’m abandoning her.
The guilt hits harder than anything Larkin said in that bar.
But I can’t do this.
Can’t pretend everything’s fine when nothing is fine.
Can’t keep being the steady one while my entire world reveals itself as a carefully constructed lie.
Can’t do this when Marco keeps hiding behind his door.
“Let’s get my stuff,” I tell Ethan. “And then I’m done.”