Chapter 23
23
CLAIRE
L ater that day, the hotel lobby was too bright. Too polished. Too full of people whose lives hadn’t just shattered.
I stepped inside, the air-conditioning sharp against my skin, and let my eyes sweep the room. Too many suits. Too many tourists dragging overpriced luggage across marble floors, their conversations a dull hum that made my pulse throb.
Marcus was behind me. Close enough that I could feel him, his presence a steady heat at my back. He hadn’t wanted me to come alone. He hadn’t said that outright—he never did—but the way his jaw had ticked when I told him my plan had been enough.
Now, he was here. A shadow at my side, a protector I hadn’t asked for but wasn’t stupid enough to refuse.
I didn’t have the energy to fight him on it. Not today.
Isabel was waiting for me near the concierge desk, her arms crossed, weight shifted onto one hip like she was prepared for a battle. I barely knew her, but I knew of her—she was engaged to Ryker Dane, which meant she’d been pulled into this world the same as I had.
She was beautiful in a way that felt effortless. The kind of woman who looked like she had secrets. Like she knew how to use them.
Her gaze flicked to Marcus, then back to me. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social visit.”
“No,” I said, my voice steady despite the exhaustion dragging at me. “It’s about Diego.”
Her expression softened just slightly. “I’m so sorry.”
A beat of silence stretched between us.
I wasn’t here as a journalist. I wasn’t here to twist her into giving me something she shouldn’t. I was here as a woman who had lost someone.
She must have seen it in my face, because after a long breath, she nodded. “Come on.”
She turned, leading us past the front desk, through a hallway marked Staff Only.
I followed, but not before noticing the two men positioned near the entrance of the lobby—broad shoulders, sharp gazes, the kind of alert stillness that only came from training. They weren’t hotel security. They were Ryker’s men.
Of course.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. The fact that Ryker had even let Isabel stay at work today was unexpected, but now I understood. He wasn’t stupid, and he sure as hell wasn’t careless when it came to what was his. If she was here, it was because he’d made damn sure she was protected.
Marcus stayed close as we stepped inside a small security office, his hand brushing my lower back. The touch was light. Almost absentminded.
But I felt it everywhere .
Isabel closed the door behind us, exhaling as she moved toward the monitors. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ll be working here much longer. At least, not in my current capacity.”
I glanced at her, arching a brow.
She let out a soft, knowing laugh. “Ryker’s buying the hotel. The deal should close soon.” She shrugged. “Apparently, owning half the city wasn’t enough for him.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course, Ryker Dane wasn’t content with just running a billion-dollar security empire. The Palmetto Rose would be his soon enough, which meant Isabel wouldn’t just be an employee—she’d be untouchable.
Safe.
Protected.
Something twisted in my chest at the thought. Not jealousy, not exactly, but something close.
The walls were lined with monitors, feeds from different angles of the hotel looping in real time. Isabel gestured toward a chair near the desk. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
I sank into it, my throat thick. “I know.”
She sighed, crossing her arms again. “Ryker’s not going to like it.”
Marcus let out a low, unimpressed sound. “Ryker already agreed we’d do whatever it takes.”
Isabel’s gaze flicked to him, then back to me, still reluctant but no longer arguing. “What exactly are you looking for?”
“The last time Diego was seen,” I said. “Anything unusual. Anyone following him.”
She hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “If this gets traced back to me?— ”
“It won’t,” Marcus said, his tone final.
I swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
For a moment, I thought she’d refuse.
But then she exhaled sharply and started typing. “We’re not so different, you know.”
I glanced at her. “How do you figure?”
She gave me a knowing look. “You’re involved with a Dane brother.”
I opened my mouth, but the denial stuck in my throat.
Isabel arched a brow, unimpressed. “You can try to lie to me, but I know what it looks like.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Marcus, then back to me. “I know what it feels like.”
“That’s different,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure it was. “You and Ryker are engaged.”
She let out a soft, almost pitying laugh. “You think a ring makes the difference? Honey, those men don’t date. They claim . And you?” She shook her head. “You’re already his.”
Marcus shifted behind me. I could feel the weight of his stare, the silent intensity that never seemed to waver.
I wanted to argue. To tell her she was wrong. That I wasn’t his, that whatever was between us was temporary, circumstantial, something that would burn out just as fast as it started.
But then the footage started playing, and the air in the room turned razor-sharp.
Diego.
He moved across the screen, the timestamp marking it before dawn. His posture was tense, his head swiveling slightly as if he were looking for someone.
Or watching for someone .
My stomach twisted as the footage played. He walked through the lobby, toward the elevators. He pressed the button. Waited.
And then?—
I leaned forward.
A man in a dark jacket stepped into the frame. He wasn’t close enough to touch Diego, but he wasn’t far either.
His face was obscured by the angle.
But Diego had noticed him.
I could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened. The way his fingers bunched into fists at his sides.
And then the elevator doors slid open, and Diego disappeared inside.
The footage kept rolling. The man didn’t follow. He just stood there.
Watching.
And then he turned and walked away.
A slow, cold chill spread down my spine.
“Who is he?” I asked.
Isabel shook her head. “He wasn’t a guest here. If he was, his face would be in the system.”
Marcus didn’t say anything, but I felt his body tense behind me.
Ryker had told me not to come here. Had looked me in the eye, voice low and edged with warning, and told me to stay the fuck away from The Palmetto Rose. He’d already decided it was too risky, too exposed.
And yet, here I was.
Watching footage of Diego’s last moments.
Standing in a hotel Ryker was about to own.
His name was already stamped on the contracts. As soon as the deal closed, this place would be his. Which meant I wasn’t just looking at security footage—I was looking at something that, soon enough, would be Dane property.
And if Ryker had already claimed it, it meant one thing: this place mattered.
“We need a clearer image, Izzy,” Marcus said, his voice tight.
Isabel’s fingers paused over the keyboard, and she smirked slightly. “Ryker calls me Isabel. It’s so formal.”
Marcus gave a low, knowing sound. “Of course, he does.”
She rolled her eyes, then turned to me. “But you can call me Izzy. All of my friends do.”
There was something unspoken in the offer—an acknowledgment that we were in this together now, whether we liked it or not. A quiet sort of loyalty.
“Thanks, Izzy.”
She sighed, rubbing her temple before turning back to the screen. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I nodded, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what I’d just seen.
Then the phone at the security desk rang.
Izzy’s head snapped toward it. “That’s the main line.”
She hesitated before picking it up. “The Palmetto Rose, security office.”
A pause.
Her face changed as she listened. Her eyes flicked to me. Then she slowly held out the phone.
“It’s for you,” she said. “Diego’s parents.”
My breath hitched.
Marcus’s hand landed on my shoulder, warm and solid.
Ryker had been right. Coming here was a mistake. But I reached for the phone anyway, my fingers shaking slightly.
I wasn’t ready for this. But I didn’t have a choice.
I lifted the receiver with unsteady fingers, pressing it to my ear. “Hello?”
A sharp inhale crackled through the line, followed by a woman’s voice—soft, desperate. “Clara? Mija, gracias a Dios.”
María Gil . Diego’s mother.
Her relief hit me like a punch to the gut. My throat tightened as I gripped the phone harder, trying to keep my voice steady. “Senora Gil, I?—”
“Where is Diego?” she cut in, her voice trembling. “He hasn’t answered all day. Not his phone, not his texts. We’ve been calling you too, but—” Her voice broke. “He always calls or texts us back, always.”
Guilt twisted sharp inside me. My own phone was still buried in my bag, silenced beneath hours of grief and chaos. I hadn’t seen their calls, hadn’t even thought to check.
Beside me, Marcus shifted, his presence grounding, his eyes locked on me, unreadable.
Senor Gil’s voice rumbled faintly in the background—lower, steadier, but laced with the same strain. “His phone …” he said in halting English, his accent thicker with emotion. “The locator … it was last here. At the hotel.”
My stomach dropped.
They knew. Not everything, not yet. But they felt it. The same way I had before Ryker’s call shattered my world.
I forced myself to speak, to breathe. “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Yesterday,” María whispered. “After the gala. He sent a message saying he got back to the hotel safe. That he’d call today.” A shaky breath. “But he never did.”
Her words blurred in my mind, tangling with the image on the screen—Diego, shoulders tense, waiting for the elevator, sensing something was wrong.
They didn’t know.
They hadn’t heard from the police yet. Hadn’t gotten the call that would change their lives forever.
Marcus stepped in closer, his hand still firm on my shoulder, like he knew exactly what was coming next.
Because I had to say it.
I had to be the one to shatter them.
I swallowed hard. “Senora Gil, listen to me.” My voice wavered, and I hated it. “Have the police contacted you yet?”
A pause. Then, softer, wary: “No.”
My heart clenched painfully.
They don’t know. They don’t know. They don’t ? —
“Clara,” María whispered, voice barely audible. “Is my son okay?”
The grief I’d been holding back all day surged up my throat, sharp and unforgiving.
I turned my head slightly, my temple brushing against Marcus’s chest, just for a second, just to ground myself. His grip tightened in silent understanding.
And then, voice breaking, I whispered the words I never should have had to say.
“I’m so sorry.”
María made a small, strangled sound—half gasp, half sob—before the words even sank in.
“No,” she whispered. Then louder, desperate, her voice cracking like splintered glass. “No, Clara, no me digas eso.”
Don’t tell me that .
I squeezed my eyes shut. The grief in her voice was unbearable, a mother’s world tilting off its axis.
In the background, I heard Senor Gil’s voice—lower, steadier, but no less broken. “Qué pasó?”
What happened?
How was I supposed to answer that?
I gripped the phone tighter. “We—we don’t know everything yet,” I managed, my voice barely holding. “The police?—”
“What happened to my son?” María’s voice rose, high and trembling, each syllable edged in agony. “Dime la verdad, Clara!”
The truth.
But what was the truth? That I didn’t know how Diego had ended up face-down in a pool? That I didn’t know why someone had targeted him? That all I had were grainy security images, a feeling in my gut, and an anger so sharp it could cut through bone?
My breath hitched.
Marcus moved closer, so close his chest pressed against my back, his warmth a barrier against the ice creeping into my veins. His hand skimmed down my arm before settling over mine, steadying, grounding.
I swallowed hard. “They found him at the hotel,” I said finally, my voice hollow. “In the pool.”
A sharp inhale from María. “En la piscina?”
“I don’t believe it was an accident.” The words came out low, firm. “I think someone did this.”
Senor Gil cursed under his breath, but María made another choked sound, and the devastation in it shattered something inside me.
“Mi nino …” she sobbed, the words slipping into frantic Spanish, too fast for me to catch everything. But I didn’t need a translation .
She had just lost her son.
A son who was supposed to be safe.
A son who had promised to call.
“María,” I said, barely holding myself together. “I—I don’t have answers yet, but I swear to you, I’m going to find out who did this.”
Silence.
Then a broken, fragile whisper. “Dónde está?”
Where is he?
My throat burned.
“The police have him now,” I forced out. “They’ll—” My voice faltered. “They’ll be calling you soon.”
Marcus’s grip on my hand tightened.
María made a sound that wasn’t quite human—something ripped straight from a mother’s soul—and I had to bite my lip hard to keep from breaking.
I should have been stronger.
But I wasn’t.
I wasn’t ready for this.
“Nosotros vamos para allá,” Senor Gil said.
We’re coming there.
The weight of those words settled over me, cold and final.
I should have told them not to. Should have told them to stay where they were, to wait for the authorities.
But how could I?
If it were me, if I had lost someone I loved, no force on Earth could keep me away.
I nodded, even though they couldn’t see me. “Okay.” My voice barely worked. “I’ll be here.”
Another sharp breath, a sniffle, and then a click.
Silence.
The dial tone buzzed in my ear .
I let the phone slip from my fingers, landing with a dull clatter on the desk.
For a second, I just sat there, staring at nothing, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on my chest like a boulder.
Then a hand wrapped around the back of my neck, warm and firm.
Marcus.
He didn’t say anything, just held me there, his thumb brushing the base of my skull. A silent anchor. A reminder that I wasn’t alone, even when it felt like the whole world had collapsed.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to sit up straighter, to breathe.
Then I turned back to the screen.
“Play it again,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “From the beginning.”