Chapter 3
TESSA
Six months. That’s how long it’s been since the conference. Since the night I swore would stay a one-time mistake, tucked into the dark corners of my memory. Since I quit AegisTech, walked away with my head held high, and then set fire to everything by blowing the whistle.
That day, I swore I would make Richard pay, and I finally did it.
Three months ago, I handed over the evidence to the FBI.
Every file I’d buried, every encrypted string I’d risked jail time to keep hidden.
I told myself it was the right thing, that people needed to know how deep Richard Kane’s corruption went.
And maybe it was the right thing. Maybe. But now? Now I’m the one paying for it.
No one wants to hire the girl whose name is forever linked to a company blacklisted by half the government. My resume is poison. Every interview feels like a trap, every polite smile from a recruiter brittle at the edges. They all know I’m the one who “couldn’t be trusted to keep company secrets.”
Like integrity is a liability.
I let out a humorless laugh as I sit cross-legged on Sienna’s couch, scrolling through yet another “We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates” email. That makes nine this month. My inbox is a graveyard of rejection.
And then there’s the other inbox.
The one I never admit I check at three in the morning, hand trembling as I open message after message filled with threats.
Death threats. Promises written in jagged caps lock about what happens to traitors.
Sometimes I can almost smell Richard Kane’s cologne behind the words, feel his presence like a shadow brushing the back of my neck.
I’ve moved twice already, changed cities, locks, and phone numbers, but none of it matters. Somehow, he always finds me.
I rub my temples, trying to ease the ache that never really goes away. My skin prickles with that familiar crawl—paranoia, or maybe instinct—telling me eyes are on me even when I’m alone.
“Still doom scrolling?” Sienna’s voice cuts through my spiral.
She pads in from the kitchen, a mug of tea in hand, her dark curls piled high in a messy bun. She looks maddeningly fresh for someone who stayed up till two, debugging client software.
I close the laptop with a sigh. “Another rejection. That makes—“ I squint, pretending I’ve lost count, ”—a lot.”
“Then stop looking at it,” she says firmly, setting the tea on the coffee table in front of me. Her eyes soften. “You’ll find something. Not every company is terrified of hiring someone who actually has a conscience.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter, but I wrap my hands around the warm mug anyway, letting the heat bleed into my fingers.
Sienna flops down beside me, stealing the blanket I’ve cocooned myself in. She tucks her legs under her and leans her head on my shoulder.
This dark-haired beauty is my best friend, my person, and the reason I’m sane even after all I’ve been through.
We met freshman year of college during admission at Stanford, hit it off, and found a way to hack the system so we could share a room, and the rest is history.
She is the only family I have, literally, since I grew up in the system after my parents died in a car accident when I was seven.
I wouldn’t know what to do without her, so I’m blessed to have her in my life.
“You know what you need?” she says, voice muffled.
“A new identity? Witness protection? A plane ticket to New Zealand?”
She snorts. “Retail therapy. The safer, cheaper, way less felony-level option.”
I groan, tipping my head back against the couch. “Si—“
“Don’t ‘Si’ me.” She sits up, eyes flashing that dangerous mix of determination and mischief. “You’ve been holed up here like a sad raccoon for weeks. I refuse to let my best friend turn into a hermit. We’re going shopping. I need new boots for my Texas gig anyway.”
I blink at her. “Texas?”
The name triggers memories of a certain cowboy. The one good thing that came of that night. Too bad it was over the next morning.
“Mm-hm.” She grabs her phone and waves it like proof. “Got a client out there who’s too paranoid to trust anyone local. He’s flying me out for a few weeks and paying stupid money.”
She makes it sound so easy, but then again, she’s Sienna Carter, queen of freelancing.
She floats from one contract to the next, no strings, no baggage, like the digital nomad she always dreamed of being.
Meanwhile, I’m choking on the ashes of my old life, wondering if I should even bother applying to jobs anymore.
“You’re really going all the way to Texas for one gig?” I ask, trying to keep the envy out of my voice.
She shrugs. “Why not? Sunshine, cowboy hats, barbecue. What’s not to love?”
I roll my eyes, but she’s already on her feet, hands on her hips like she’s gearing up for battle.
“Come on, Tess. It’s one afternoon. We’ll hit the shops, grab a coffee, maybe even laugh at something stupid for once. You remember laughing, right?”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. She’s impossible to resist when she’s like this, all relentless optimism and stubborn cheer.
“Fine,” I grumble, pushing off the couch. “But if I end up broke and crying in a Zara changing room, I’m blaming you.”
Sienna beams. “Deal. Now, put on something cute. You’ve been in sweatpants long enough.”
As she disappears into her room to grab her bag, I linger for a moment in the living room. My laptop sits closed on the table, the weight of rejection letters and threats pressed between its sleek silver shell. For a second, I almost reach for it again. Almost.
Instead, I take a breath and let it go. Because maybe, just maybe, a little normal isn’t the worst idea.
The mall is buzzing in that over-lit, overstimulating way that makes me want to crawl out of my skin. People chatter too loudly, music thumps from every corner, perfume samples cling to the air. I keep my hands shoved in my pockets, trying not to look like I’m casing the place instead of shopping.
Meanwhile, Sienna is in her natural habitat. She struts ahead of me like she owns the damn corridor, swinging her tote bag, scanning every window display with the precision of a hawk.
She stops dead in front of a store with cowboy chic splashed across the mannequins before grabbing my hand and dragging me inside.
The sales associate pounces. “Can I help you ladies find anything?”
“Show me your best boots. I’m going to Texas,” Sienna announces.
I duck behind a rack of jackets, smirking as she launches into a full interrogation of leather quality, stitching, and heel height.
She’s in her element—bold, charming, impossible to ignore—while I nervously fiddle with a zipper on a jacket I don’t need, ears pricked for anything out of place.
A laugh too sharp, phone camera pointed too long.
Ever since the threats started, I can’t stop scanning for danger like some paranoid soldier.
“Earth to Tess.” Sienna appears at my side, boots in hand. “What do you think?”
They’re brown, polished, expensive-looking. They’re perfect.
“They scream ‘don’t mess with me,’” I say.
Her grin widens. “Exactly what I was going for.”
She turns to the sales associate and hands her the boots before the shopping spree continues.
Four hours later, we lug shopping bags back to her car, her chatter filling every quiet space. For the afternoon, she’s managed to help me forget what I’ve been running from.
Almost.
By the time we haul the shopping bags up three flights of stairs, I’m sweaty, cranky, and already regretting every single purchase. Sienna fumbles with the keys, juggling her coffee cup and a box that wouldn’t fit in any of her bags.
“Next time,” I pant, “we order online or hire a Sherpa.”
She laughs, sliding the key into the lock. “What, and deprive you of this cardio? You’ll thank me later.”
But the lock doesn’t turn. She frowns, wiggles it.
“That’s weird,” she mutters.
A prickle races up the back of my neck. “What’s weird?”
She tries again, and the door creaks open with barely a twist, like it wasn’t locked at all. My stomach drops.
The air inside is wrong—heavy and off. I feel it before I see it, the moment we step inside.
The living room is gutted. Couch cushions shredded, drawers yanked open, papers scattered across the floor like confetti. The TV on the floor, screen spider-webbed into a hundred cracks. The windows are wide open, curtains whipping in the night air.
For a second, I can’t breathe, like someone has pressed pause on my lungs.
Sienna’s whisper cuts through the silence. “Oh my God.”
Her coffee cup slips from her hand and crashes to the floor, brown liquid seeping into the mess.
I know. I don’t even have to say it out loud. We both know.
Richard.
Because who else? Who else has been sending those messages, those threats that slithered through my phone at all hours? Who else wants to remind me that blowing the whistle wasn’t just a career-ending move but a death sentence?
My pulse pounds in my ears, every shadow looking like him, waiting to pounce.
“Don’t move,” Sienna says, voice shaking but firm. She pulls me back toward the hall. “They could still be here.”
Her hand is tight around mine, grounding me, even as panic claws its way up my throat.
We stumble out, slam the door shut behind us, and bolt down the stairs, bags forgotten, adrenaline burning through our veins.
On the sidewalk, under the yellow glare of the streetlight, we stand there gulping air like survivors of a shipwreck.
Sienna paces the sidewalk, hair flying loose around her face, hands slicing the air as if she can cut through the terror clinging to us. I sink onto the curb, elbows on my knees, staring at the way my hands won’t stop trembling.
“I can’t believe this,” I whisper, more to myself than her. “I thought—God, I thought moving again would fix it.”
She spins on me, eyes blazing. “Tess, this isn’t about apartments. You could move a hundred times, and Richard would still find you. He’s not just pissed—he’s obsessed.”
Her words hit like a punch. I know she’s right, but hearing it out loud makes my chest cave in.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, hating the break in my voice. “I can’t exactly stop existing.”
She stops pacing, crouches in front of me, and grabs my shaking hands. “No. But you can disappear for a while. Lay low. Somewhere he wouldn’t think to look.”
I shake my head. “Where? I’ve already—“
“Texas.”
I blink. “What?”
“My gig. The one I was supposed to take tomorrow. It’s perfect.
Out of state, rural, off his radar. You can slide right in under my name.
I’ll head to Miami; I’ve got work lined up there anyway.
He’ll think I’m still moving around, hard to pin down.
But you…” She squeezes my hands tighter. “You’ll be safe.”
My stomach lurches. “Sienna, no. That’s your job.”
Her mouth twists into a humorless smile. “You think I’m worried about missing a paycheck when my best friend’s life is on the line? Screw that. I’ll manage. You need this more than I do.”
The night air chills my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the cold knot forming inside me. She’s serious.
“I can’t just…” I swallow hard. “Pretend to be you?”
“Sure you can,” she says, fierce and fast. “You’ve got the skills, Tess. Hell, you’re better than me in half the stuff they’ll need. All you have to do is show up, do the work, and keep your head down. Meanwhile, he’ll be looking for you here.”
My pulse hammers. Texas. Some ranch in the middle of nowhere. Trading one kind of fear for another.
But when I look into her eyes—wide, desperate, full of that stubborn love that’s carried me through worse—I realize I don’t have a choice.
Finally, I nod. “Okay.”
Sienna exhales, relief flooding her face. She pulls me into a hug so tight it almost hurts.
“You’re going to Texas,” she whispers into my hair. “And you’re going to live.”
“So, this job. Where exactly am I going?”
“Texas,” she says again, like the single word explains everything.
“Yeah, I got that part,” I mutter. “But where in Texas? You didn’t tell me much.”
“Iron Stallion Ranch. Some big family enterprise. They hired me to audit their cybersecurity systems, mostly upgrades, hardening their networks, and staff training. Easy stuff. Remote, quiet, isolated. Perfect for you to blend in.”
The name hits me like a faint bell. Iron Stallion. Something about it tugs at the edge of memory, a conversation overheard, maybe an article I skimmed once. It scratches at me like a half-forgotten dream, but I can’t pin it down.
“Sounds… familiar,” I say slowly.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that no one there will connect you to AegisTech. You’ll be anonymous. Safe.”
Anonymous. Safe. Two words that feel like luxuries these days.
I nod, even though unease coils low in my gut. Maybe it’s just the weight of everything pressing down. Or maybe it’s that echo, the nagging sense that Iron Stallion isn’t just some random ranch. But I push it aside. Because right now, survival trumps everything else.
Iron Stallion Ranch in Wrangler Creek, Texas, and whatever else waits for me there—here I come.