Chapter 4- PHOENIX
Suddenly, something is different.
Color drains from her cheeks and her hands start to tremble. She shows me the screen without a word, and I feel something cold settle in my chest as I read the words.
I know what he did. And soon, everyone else will too.
Unknown number. No name, no context, no way to trace it back to whoever sent it. Just a threat hanging in the air.
”Who is this?" Jade's voice is barely a whisper. "How do they know?"
"They don't know anything." I take the phone from her hands and study the message, looking for any clue I might have missed. "This is fishing. Someone's trying to scare you into making a mistake."
"Well, it's working."
I set the phone face-down on the table, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall. Whoever sent this wants us afraid and panicking. I won't give them the satisfaction.
"We're not going to respond," I say firmly. "We're not going to engage. If they had real evidence, they wouldn't be sending anonymous texts. They'd be going to the police."
"Maybe they already have."
"Then the police would be here." I pull her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest. She's shaking, and I hate that I can't make it stop. "This is someone playing games. Trying to rattle us. We can't let them win."
She doesn't answer, just presses her face into my shirt and breathes. I stroke her hair and stare at the phone on the table, my mind racing through possibilities. Marcus's family, maybe. A friend who's asking questions. Someone from his business dealings who suspects foul play.
It doesn't matter who they are. What matters is that they don't have proof. If they did, we'd already be in handcuffs.
We stand there for a long time, holding each other in the fading afternoon light. Eventually, Jade's trembling stops and her breathing evens out. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red but dry.
"Saturday," she says quietly. "We still have to get through Saturday."
The dinner party. My parents. As if we don't have enough to worry about.
"We do," I agree. "Which means we need to prepare."
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "How do you prepare to meet your boyfriend's parents while hiding a murder?"
"The same way you prep for any high-stakes meeting." I lead her to the sofa and sit down beside her, keeping her hands clasped in mine. "You go in with a strategy. You know what to expect. And you don't let anything throw you off your game."
"This isn't a business negotiation, Phoenix."
"Everything is a negotiation." I lean back against the cushions, pulling her with me until she's tucked against my side. "Especially my parents."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. I can almost see the wheels turning behind her eyes.
"Tell me about them," she says finally. "Really tell me. Not the version you'd put in a press release. The truth."
I take a deep breath, trying to figure out where to start. I've spent my whole life managing other people's perceptions of my family, crafting narratives and smoothing over rough edges. It's strange to think about stripping all that away.
"My father is intense," I say slowly. "He's brilliant, driven, and completely ruthless when it comes to getting what he wants.
He built his empire from nothing, and he expects everyone around him to meet his standards.
If you show weakness, he'll exploit it. If you try to bullshit him, he'll know immediately. "
"That's reassuring."
"I'm not trying to scare you. I'm trying to prepare you.
" I tighten my arm around her shoulders.
"The key with my father is confidence. He respects people who stand their ground, even if he disagrees with them.
Don't try to impress him with money or status because he has more of both than anyone you've ever met.
Just be direct. Be honest. And don't let him intimidate you. "
"Easier said than done."
"You faced down Marcus Webb in that cabin. You can handle my father."
She flinches at the mention of Marcus, and I immediately regret bringing it up. But she needs to understand that she's stronger than she thinks. She's already survived the worst thing that could happen to her. A dinner party with wealthy strangers should be easy by comparison.
"What about your mother?" she asks, changing the subject.
I hesitate, trying to find the right words. My mother is harder to explain than my father. Nicholas Crawford is a force of nature, obvious and overwhelming. Olive Crawford is something subtler. Something more dangerous in its own way.
"My mother sees everything," I say finally. "She notices details that other people miss. Body language, tone of voice, the way someone holds their wine glass or chooses their words. She'll know if you're hiding something."
Jade pulls back to look at me, her eyes wide. "I am hiding something. We both are."
"I know."
"So what am I supposed to do? Sit across from her at dinner and pretend everything is fine while she's reading my every move?"
"Yes." I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze. "That's exactly what you're going to do. Because you're smart and you're strong and you can handle this."
"Phoenix, I don't know if I can."
"You can." I brush my thumbs across her cheekbones, feeling the softness of her skin beneath my fingers. "We're going to get through this. Together. I promise."
She searches my face for something, reassurance or certainty or maybe just hope. I try to give her all of it. She's my whole world. I won't let anything hurt her, not the police, not anonymous threats, not even my own family.
"What if they find out?" she whispers. "About Marcus. About what we did. What if your mother sees it on my face?"
"She won't."
"You can't know that."
"I know you." I lean closer until our foreheads are touching, until I can feel her breath mingling with mine.
"You've been carrying this weight for days, and you haven't broken.
You sat in front of two detectives and lied straight to their faces without flinching.
You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. "
"I flinched."
"But you didn't break. That's what matters."
She closes her eyes, and I feel some of the tension leave her body. We stay like that for a long moment, breathing together, anchoring each other. The anonymous text message still hangs over us like a storm cloud, but for now, in this moment, we're okay.
Then she opens her eyes, and there's something different in them. Something darker and more desperate.
"Make me forget," she says quietly. "Just for a little while. Make me forget about all of it."
I don't need to be asked twice.
I kiss her hard, swallowing whatever she was going to say next. She responds immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. There's nothing gentle about this, nothing tender. This is need and fear and desperation all tangled together, and I give myself over to it completely.
I pull her up from the sofa without breaking the kiss, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. She gasps against my mouth and wraps her arms around my neck, letting me lift her. I carry her across the room until her back hits the wall, and she moans at the impact.
"Phoenix."
"I've got you." I pin her there with my body, one hand braced against the wall beside her head while the other slides up her thigh under her skirt. "I'm right here."
She's already wet when my fingers find her, already desperate for me.
I groan at the discovery, stroking her through the thin fabric of her underwear while she writhes against the wall.
Her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat, and I press my mouth to her pulse and suck hard enough to leave a mark.
"More," she breathes. "I need more."
I push her underwear aside and slide two fingers inside her.
She cries out, her hips bucking against my hand, and I feel my own control starting to fray.
I want to take my time, want to draw this out until she's begging, but I need her too badly.
I need to be inside her, to feel her wrapped around me, to prove to both of us that this is real.
I fumble with my belt while she tugs at my shirt, both of us clumsy with want. She manages to get my shirt over my head while I shove my pants down just far enough to free myself. I lift her higher, her legs wrapping around my waist, and then I'm pressing into her and nothing else matters.
She gasps as I fill her, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood. I don't care. The pain grounds me, reminds me that this is happening, that she's here and she's mine and no one is ever going to take her from me.
I start to move, driving into her with a desperate rhythm. The wall shudders with each thrust, and somewhere in the back of my mind I register that we're going to leave marks, dents in the plaster, evidence of what we've done here. I don't care about that either.
"You're mine," I growl against her throat. "Say it."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Phoenix." Her voice breaks on my name, half sob and half moan. "I'm yours. I've always been yours."
The words push me higher, closer to the edge. I reach between us to find the spot where she needs me most, circling and pressing until she's shaking in my arms. Her inner walls start to flutter around me, and I know she's close.
"Come for me," I demand. "Let go."
She shatters with a scream that she muffles against my shoulder. I feel her clench around me, pulling me over the edge with her, and I bury myself as deep as I can go as my own release crashes through me in waves.
We stay pressed against the wall for a long time afterward, both of us trembling, neither of us willing to let go. I can feel her heartbeat pounding against my chest, fast and wild. My legs are shaking from the exertion of holding her up, but I don't move. I can't.
"I love you," I murmur into her hair. "Whatever happens on Saturday, whatever happens with the police or the text messages or any of it, that doesn't change. I love you."
She pulls back to look at me, and her eyes are shining with tears. "I love you too. That's what terrifies me."
"Why?"
"Because I've never had anything worth losing before." She touches my face, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "And now I have everything. And every day I wake up wondering if this is the day it all falls apart."
I turn my head to press a kiss against her palm. "It's not going to fall apart."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me." I ease her down from the wall, keeping my arms around her until I'm sure her legs will support her weight. "Saturday is going to be fine. My parents are going to love you. And then we're going to figure out who sent that text and make sure they never threaten you again."
She doesn't argue, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. She's been hurt too many times, let down by too many people, to believe that happiness can last. It's going to take more than words to convince her.
Good thing I'm a man of action.
I take her hand and lead her toward the bathroom, already planning the rest of the evening. A hot shower together, a good dinner, an early night with her wrapped in my arms. Small gestures that add up to something larger. Proof that I'm not going anywhere.
Saturday will come soon enough, with all its complications and dangers. But tonight, we have each other. And I'm going to make sure she knows exactly what that means.