Chapter 53 Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
As I’m getting ready for work the next morning, my phone beeps. I tense when I read the text.
It’s the private investigator I hired. A recommendation from a business associate I trust.
When I saw Silas lingering outside the café the day Ivy met Aaron, I knew it wasn’t random. When I returned to the office, I made some phone calls and ended up hiring someone. I’m nothing if not thorough.
I schedule a meeting at my office, but I don’t tell Ivy. If he finds something of concern, I’ll talk to her. I’m nervous about how she’ll react, given I didn’t discuss it with her first.
After coffee and breakfast, I give Ivy lingering kisses at the door before finally heading to my car and leaving for the office.
Once there, I check my calendar, respond to some emails, and prepare for my meeting with the PI.
The knock on my office door is precise.
“Come in,” I say without looking up from the document on my screen.
The door opens and closes softly behind him. Elliott Grayson strolls to my desk. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He sets the manila file on my desk, fingers resting on the cover like he’s bracing it.
“Mr. Locke,” he says. He’s in his mid-forties, wearing a gray suit. “You were right to be concerned,” he says. “But not for the reasons you think.”
My stomach tightens.
“Thank you for coming, Elliott.” I nod to the chair in front of my desk. “Sit.”
He does.
“You hired me to run a background check on Silas Reeve.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“He doesn’t have a public record.” His voice is calm.
That’s not comforting.
“But,” the PI continues, “he does have a sealed one.”
My jaw tightens. “Explain.”
He opens the folder and slides it to me. I look through it, my jaw clenching. Police reports. Court documents. Names redacted in places—but not all.
“He grew up wealthy,” Elliott says. “Family connections. Private settlements. NDAs. You know the type. Things disappear when money insists they do.”
My fingers curl slightly around the folder. “Yeah. I do.”
“There was a woman,” he continues. “About five years ago.”
I flip the page, my mouth going dry when I see it. Stalking. Escalation. A no-contact order.
My pulse begins to tick faster.
“She reported him for obsessive behavior.” Elliott’s expression is grave. “Showing up uninvited. Monitoring her schedule. Following her home. The usual early-stage markers.”
I swallow. Early-stage.
“She filed a restraining order. It was granted.” He pauses. “That’s when it escalated.”
My chest goes tight.
“She disappeared for twelve hours,” he continues evenly. “Taken from her apartment parking garage. He kept her in a rental property owned by his family.”
The room goes cold.
“She escaped,” he says. “Barefoot. Injured. She flagged down a delivery driver.”
I stare at the words on the page, my vision tunneling.
“He was arrested,” Elliott finishes. “Charges were reduced. Records sealed. The story never hit the media.”
I look up slowly. “His parents?”
He meets my eyes and nods. “Yes. They paid for silence.”
My heart pounds inside my chest.
“There’s more,” he says quietly.
He slides one last page across the desk. It’s a photo.
My breath leaves my lungs in a sharp, involuntary pull. The woman staring back at me has dark hair. Green eyes. A familiar softness to her features that doesn’t read as weakness. Only openness.
I feel something primal and violent unfurl in my chest. “She looks like Ivy,” I say.
Elliott nods. “That’s what caught my attention.”
My hands flatten on the desk.
“She was the same age Ivy is now,” he adds. “Similar build. Similar presence. The report mentions her being ‘Friendly.’ ‘Trusting.’ ‘Bright.’”
Each word lands like a blow.
I shove the chair back and stand.
This isn’t a coincidence. It’s a pattern.
“He saw Ivy,” I say slowly. “She reminded him of the girl from his past.”
Elliott doesn’t contradict me.
“He’s been circling her,” I continue. “Testing boundaries.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “And when you intervened publicly, it likely shifted his focus.”
I turn back to the photo on my desk.
The realization that hits harder than anything else so far.
I was right to be afraid. I was just afraid of the wrong thing.
I grab my phone, my fingers curling around it.
“What’s your recommendation?” I ask tightly.
His voice is steady. “Immediate safety measures. Increased surveillance. And you need to assume he will escalate.”
My blood runs cold.
“Where is Ivy right now?” he asks too quickly.
She was home when I left, but is she still there?
I check my phone. She texted me.
Ivy: Having lunch with Dad. The driver’s taking me.
My throat constricts. “She’s going to have lunch with her father,” I say.
“Hmm,” Elliott rubs his chin, a look on his face that makes me uneasy.
Something shifts in my gut. Sharp. Instinctive. Wrong.
“Thanks for the information.” I grab my keys, moving to the door. He follows me, stepping out behind me. “If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The urge to make sure Ivy’s okay hits me, hard and sudden.
Silas has a history and a pattern.
And I’m suddenly terrified that while I was studying Ivy… Silas was studying me.
If he were, he would know my schedule. My patterns.
And hers.