Chapter 16
Callum
“I could just stay here,” I say, smirkin’ like it’s not the most dangerous shite I’ve ever offered. “Save ya the trouble o’ missin’ me.”
She rolls her eyes and turns toward the kitchen, but I catch the twitch of her lips. That little give-away. The part of her that doesn’t hate the idea. That maybe wants it more than she should.
Still perched by the window, I reach into my jacket—careful, slow—and pull out the slim black phone I’ve been carryin' for weeks. Fits in my palm like it was meant to be there all along. When she turns back, I hold it up between two fingers.
“Or… y’could use this.”
Her brow furrows as she steps closer, eyes narrowin’ with curiosity and a trace o’ caution. “What is that?”
I flip it over once before tossin’ it gentle her way. She catches it without thinkin’.
“Just one number in it,” I tell her. “Mine.”
She glances down at the screen. Blank, save for one contact: Ghost .
“You carry burner phones around like mints?”
“No, love.” I lean against the wall, lettin’ my tone dip low, honest. “That one’s special. Been in my pocket a while.”
She doesn’t answer right off. Just stares at the phone like it’s tickin’. And maybe it is. Not with danger—but with weight.
She knows what it means. What it costs me, givin’ her this.
“I don’t want anyone else trackin’ it,” I add. “Encrypted. Untouchable. You call, I answer. You need me…”
I hold her gaze. “...and I’ll come runnin’. No questions. No delays.”
She sets the phone on the coffee table, arms foldin’ across her chest.
“You planned this?”
I nod once. “Before I even spoke to ya in the archives.”
“Why?”
A pause. Then quieter than I meant it, “I already knew who ya were. Read the files. Knew the target points. But then I saw you . Not the name. Not the bloodline. Just you . And I couldn’t fuckin’ walk away after that.”
Her breath catches, barely. Not enough most would notice—but I do.
She sinks into the couch, lookin’ up at me with that strange mix of softness and fight in her eyes. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Yeah?” I sit beside her, leavin’ a breath o’ space between us. “What’d ya expect, then?”
“I don’t know.” She fiddles with the edge o’ her jumper. “Something colder. More... controlled.”
I huff a bitter laugh. “Sweetheart, I’m the coldest bastard you’ll ever meet. Just not with you.”
I don’t touch her. Could. She’s close enough I could reach out, tuck that wild strand behind her ear, let my fingers trace her jaw. But I don’t. ‘Cause this isn’t about want. This is about warning.
“I meant what I said,” I tell her. “This doesn’t stop at Blackdawn.”
She tilts her head, eyes cautious now. “What do you mean?”
“I mean your da’s enemies aren’t the only ones sniffin’ ‘round. You think you’re protected ‘cause the name on your birth cert’s worth somethin’ to the suits upstairs—but that name? It paints a target on your back. One you haven’t been trained to see comin’.”
Her expression tightens. That softness she’d let me see retreats behind the wall again. She hates feelin’ vulnerable. Hates bein’ reminded she’s not the one holdin’ the reins. But she doesn’t cut me off.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I don’t think that bastard in the alley was freelance. Someone sent him. Someone who knew your route, knew you’d be alone.”
Her voice drops. “You think there’s someone feeding information?”
“I don’t think ,” I say, lockin’ eyes with her. “I know .”
Her breath stutters. Just a flicker. But it’s there.
“That woman in HR,” I go on. “Clarissa. Long tenure. Spotless on paper. But her loyalty’s not with your father. It’s with power. She’s been keepin’ tabs—on anyone gettin’ too close to you. Trackin’ patterns. Runnin’ quiet surveillance. I can’t prove it. Not yet. But I’m watchin’ her.”
Seraphina swallows. “Does Dominic know?”
I shake my head. “Doubt it. She’s clever. Slippery. Not skimming files or nickin’ secrets. Just watchin’ you. Real subtle. Real dangerous.”
She looks away, lips pressin’ into a hard line. “So what do I do?”
“You go to the gala tomorrow night like nothin’s changed.”
Her head snaps back to me. “You want me to pretend—”
“I want you to live ,” I cut in. “The second you start actin’ off, people’ll notice. That’s when they strike. You keep playin’ the game, Seraphina. But this time, you’re not playin’ it alone.”
She stares at me, and when she speaks, her voice is steady. “Will you be there?”
I nod. “Not on the guest list, no. But close. Watchin’ every exit. Listenin’ to every fuckin’ word.”
She raises a brow. “How?”
Now I grin. “Let’s just say I’ve a friend who makes magic happen.”
I reach into my jacket again, pullin’ out somethin’ smaller than the phone—a tiny black earpiece, sleek, matte, near invisible.
“This?” I say, holdin’ it up. “Custom job from Reaper. Bone conduction mic. No wires. No signal trail. Even if someone scans ya head to toe, it won’t show.”
She blinks, lips partin’ just a bit. “You’re serious.”
“As a bullet to the skull.”
I take her hand, palm up—soft, a bit hesitant—and drop the piece into it. She just stares at it for a moment. Like it weighs more than it should.
“You’ll wear it,” I murmur. “I’ll be in your ear. If you need me, you say the word.”
Her eyes flick up. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll still be there.”
The silence that falls between us ain’t cold. It’s warm. Heavy. Full of things we’re not sayin’.
Then she whispers, “But I hope you talk to me anyway.”
That one lands hard. I look at her—really look—and she’s not wearin’ the sharp mask this time. Just that quiet, open look. Like maybe she doesn’t want to fight the whole world today.
“I’m not used to people giving a damn,” she breathes.
I lean in, voice low and rough. “Then you’d best get used to it.”
She’s still lookin’ at the earpiece when her brows knit.
“Wait,” she says, liftin’ her gaze. “Who the hell is Reaper?”
A grin tugs at my mouth. “Friend o’ mine. Not the kind you meet at brunch.”
She arches a brow. “Obviously.”
“He’s the ghost in every system, the shadow in every signal. Man’s a bloody genius with tech and a healthy dose o’ paranoia. Built that piece for you from scratch.”
She looks back down at it, then up at me again. “You trust him?”
“With my life,” I say without missin’ a beat. “And yours.”
That earns me a strange look—half soft, half wary. The kind that says she doesn’t know what to do with that kind o’ loyalty. Not yet.
But she will.