Chapter 14
Holly
The Next Morning—Maplewood, NJ
I wake to perfect quiet.
The kind of quiet that feels heavy with snow and secrets.
It’s not a bad thing. In fact, it feels good. I feel good.
For a moment, I don’t move. The world beyond the frosted window is wrapped in white.
Blankets of snow are piled high across the trees and fences, the whole neighborhood swallowed in stillness.
Even the air feels different, softer somehow, like the universe is holding its breath.
Inside, the warmth of the fire lingers, faint but comforting.
And beside me, Noel’s arm is heavy around my waist, anchoring me to something solid and real.
I should feel awkward, maybe even guilty. But I don’t.
Instead, I feel safe.
Happy even.
That word used to feel like fiction. A thing other people got to have.
But lying here in his arms, the low rumble of his breathing steady against my back, I almost believe in it.
Almost.
I shift just enough to look at him.
His face is softer in sleep, the hard edges of command smoothed away by the dim light.
There’s a streak of gray at his temple I hadn’t noticed before, and something about it hits me harder than I expect—he’s lived, fought, survived.
And somehow, he’s still capable of gentleness.
“Don’t fall for him,” I whisper to myself. But the warning comes too late.
Because I think I already am.
I close my eyes again, soaking in the warmth, the silence, the feel of his body pressed close to mine—when suddenly, a sharp buzz slices through the stillness.
My phone.
Somewhere near the nightstand.
The sound makes me jump. I reach over, half-annoyed, half-asleep, fumbling for it before it can wake him.
The screen flashes with a text, lighting up the room with a cold, blue glow.
Unknown Caller
You shouldn’t get so comfortable with the help, Holly.
A grainy image of me sitting beside Noel in his truck pops up next.
For a heartbeat, I can’t move.
The words blur. My throat tightens.
No. No, no, no.
A gust of wind rattles the windowpane, and I realize the house is too quiet—no hum of the heater, no creak of settling wood. Just my pulse hammering in my ears.
Then another text blinks across the screen.
Unknown Caller
Wakey wakey, Holly. Time to cancel the gala before it’s too late. Oh, and if you think Maplewood is safe, trust me, it isn’t far enough to keep me away.
Cold floods my veins.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
The warmth from the fire, from Noel’s body wrapped around mine, vanishes in an instant—like someone opened a window and let all the safety out.
He found me.
Through my phone. This crazy stalker tracked me.
We’re not safe here.
I must make a sound—something small and strangled—because Noel shifts behind me, the hand resting on my waist tightening protectively.
His voice is gravel-soft but immediately alert.
“Holly? What is it?”
I can’t speak. I just turn and hold the phone out with shaking fingers.
He takes one look at the screen—and everything in him changes.
The affection, the easy comfort, the post-storm glow in his eyes? Gone.
Replaced with something cold and deadly.
A soldier, awake and on a mission.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
Then he’s up, already pulling on jeans, sliding his gun into a shoulder holster, grabbing his phone with quick, practiced hands.
“He’s been piggybacking your GPS,” he says, voice clipped. “Probably set it up weeks ago—before the gala prep even started. Could’ve been through a corrupted link, or maybe a press badge scanner at the preview. Doesn’t take much these days.”
I clutch the blanket tighter around me, heart slamming against my ribs.
“How? I—I don’t even know—”
“It doesn’t matter.” His tone slices through my panic like a blade. “We’ll find out later. Right now, we prioritize containment.”
He strides to the window, scanning the yard. White still falls in thick, blinding waves. It should feel peaceful. It doesn’t.
It feels sentient.
Like the storm is watching. Waiting.
My phone is already in pieces on the dresser.
Noel dismantled it without fanfare, like it offended him just by existing.
“This place is locked down, but I’m not taking any chances. We’ll head into HQ—get you under full protection until I have a tech team here to sweep the perimeter and pull video.”
He tosses me one of his robes—soft, oversized flannel—and I catch it with frozen fingers.
“I-I’ll take a shower,” I manage, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“Ten minutes, max,” he says, but then his tone softens.
He crosses the room again and pulls me into his chest. His arms wrap tight around me, anchoring me in place.
I don’t realize I’m trembling until I feel how steady he is.
Strong. Steady. Unshaken.
His heartbeat thuds beneath my ear.
“It’s going to be okay, Tinsel. I swear it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Because what else can I say?
I want to ask how he’ll find this lunatic.
I want to demand why someone is doing this to me.
I want to scream, cry, rage at the sky and demand to know what the hell I ever did to deserve being hunted like prey.
But instead, I stay quiet.
Because voicing those fears might make them real.
And right now, the only thing holding the panic at bay is the strength in Noel Kane’s arms.
The storm howls louder outside as I slip into the bathroom. The hot water will help. Maybe.
But as I close the door, I glance back one last time.
Noel’s already in motion—speaking into his comms, eyes razor-focused, checking his weapon, giving orders like the ex-soldier he is.
Calm. Deadly. Determined.
The illusion of safety is gone.
The quiet, the sweetness, the stolen night of firelight and kisses—all torn away by one blinking message.
But even through the fear, only one thought burns clear in my mind.
If he can find me here?
Then nowhere is safe.
Except maybe in Noel's arms.