Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DEVON
I watch Jade sleep.
It's almost three in the morning. Her breathing is even now, finally peaceful after hours of restless tossing and turning. She fell asleep with her hand on my chest, like she needed proof I was still here.
I am. I'm not going anywhere. Ever again.
But I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see those fucking comments. Too hot for her. Like Jade is some consolation prize. Like she isn't the most beautiful, brilliant, infuriating woman I've ever known.
This is all my fault.
All of it—every tear she's shed, every moment of doubt, every cruel word strangers are typing about her right now—traces back to one stupid decision I made in a hotel bar in New York.
I kissed Mila Harris.
Weeks of lies followed. Weeks of watching my wife question her sanity while I played innocent. And now Mila is using that kiss against us, twisting it into something evil.
Jade stirs beside me, mumbling something I can't make out, and I brush her hair back from her face. She leans into my touch even in sleep.
I don't deserve this woman.
But I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to.
I must’ve nodded off, because Jade is already awake when I open my eyes, sitting up against the headboard with her phone in her hands.
"What is it?"
She doesn't answer. She hands me the phone.
It's an email this time—sent to her author account, the one she uses for reader correspondence. The subject line reads: Thought you should see this.
I open it.
The message contains a single photo.
It's me and Mila at the conference mixer. We're standing close—too close—her hand on my arm, my head tilted toward hers like I'm sharing a secret. Except I remember this moment. Mila was telling me about Grant, and I was too drunk to care about boundaries.
The photo has been edited. Someone—Mila—has added text across the bottom in pink cursive: The night I lost my husband to the better woman.
"She sent this to my subscribers,” Jade says. Her voice is flat. "To the email list I built over three years."
Fuck. How?!
"Jade—"
"There's a link at the bottom. It goes to her Instagram post. The one with all the comments." She takes the phone back and stares at the screen. "She's trying to destroy my career, Devon. Not just our marriage. My career. The one thing I built that had nothing to do with you."
"I'll fix this." But I don’t know how; I just want to take it all away from her.
"How?" she finally looks at me, and her eyes are red-rimmed but dry. She’s all cried out. "How are you going to fix this? She's already in people's inboxes. She's already in their heads."
I don't have an answer.
I call the police station at eight AM sharp.
Officer Gray isn't in yet, so I leave a detailed message about the escalation.
The email to all her subscribers—surely that violates countless data protection laws?
The edited photo. The targeted harassment of Jade's professional accounts.
I ask about expediting the protection order and about criminal charges.
Then I call the manager of my gym.
Twenty minutes later, I'm on the phone with our operations manager, walking him through the restraining order filing and the harassment campaign. He sounds weary—Mila signed a six-month contract—but he promises to review the situation and get back to me.
It's not enough. None of it feels like enough.
Jade is in the kitchen when I finish, standing at the counter clutching a mug of coffee. She's staring out the window at the neighbor's kids playing in their front yard—a boy and a girl, chasing each other with water guns, shrieking with joy.
I know what she's thinking. I can see it in the way her hand presses against her stomach unconsciously.
"Hey." I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. She stiffens for a moment, then relaxes against me. "I talked to my boss. They're reviewing her contract."
"That's good."
"And I left a message with Officer Gray. She'll call back."
"Okay."
She sounds empty, and my heart sinks. Has Mila finally succeeded in draining everything that makes Jade Jade?
I turn her in my arms so she's facing me. Her eyes are distant, glassy, almost.
"Look at me."
She does, reluctantly.
"She doesn't win," I assure her. "I know it feels like she's everywhere right now. I know it feels like she's taken everything. But she hasn't. She hasn't taken us. She hasn't taken your talent. She hasn't taken a single word you've ever written."
Jade's chin trembles. "People are going to read that post and think—"
“Fuck what people think. The people who matter know the truth. Katrina knows. Your mom knows. Your readers who've been with you for years—they know who you are."
"Do they?" Her voice cracks. "Or do they know some version of me I've been performing this whole time? The confident author who writes about love like she understands it?"
"You do understand it." I cup her face in my hands. "You understand it better than anyone I've ever met. That's why your books matter. That's why people connect with them."
She searches my face for something—truth, maybe, or proof that I believe what I'm saying.
I do. I believe it with everything I have.
"I love you," I tell her. "And I'm going to protect you. From her. From anyone who tries to hurt you."
A single tear rolls down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb.
"I'm so tired, Devon."
"I know, baby. I know."
I pull her against my chest and hold her there, feeling her heartbeat against mine. She's still here. We're still here.
I get a voicemail from Mila later that day.
It’s another unknown number; because of course Mila has found yet another way around my blocks. I step into the hallway and listen.
Her voice is strangely calm.
"Devon. I know you're avoiding me, and I understand. I've been emotional. But I need you to know something."
A pause. I hear her breathing.
"I'm keeping this baby. Whether you believe it's yours or not. This child exists, and you don't get to pretend otherwise."
She pauses.
"I saw her last night, by the way. At the bar where she works. She looked…fat and tired. It’s sad. I felt bad for her, honestly. Being married to a man who lies to her face, who wants everything she isn’t.”
I close my eyes, my temples throbbing.
"I'm not going anywhere, Devon. I can't. We're connected now—you and me and this baby."
The voicemail ends.
I stare at my phone, my hands trembling with rage.
She was at the bar. Watching Jade. Following her.
This isn't harassment anymore—it’s stalking. This is a woman who has lost all grip on reality, who has built an entire fantasy around a kiss that happened once and meant nothing.
I save the voicemail, screenshot the number, and add it to our folder.
Then I call Officer Gray.
"I need to speed up that protection order," I explain when she answers. "She's following my wife and making more threats. She sent a voicemail claiming she's been watching Jade at work."
Gray is silent for a moment. "I'll push it through today. But Mr. Locke—you need to understand something. She may escalate further before she backs down."
"What does that fucking mean?" I explode, tugging on my hair.
If she touches my wife—
"It means be vigilant. Document everything. And if she shows up in person—anywhere—you call 911 immediately."
I hang up and lean against the wall, my heart pounding.
Mila isn't going to stop. The restraining order won't stop her. The review at work won't stop her. Nothing will stop her until she's gotten whatever twisted satisfaction she's looking for.
Or until she destroys us.