1. Emma #5
He takes one measured step toward me.
“Their home.”
Another.
“Their reputation. Their son’s career. Their daughter’s business.”
My spine presses harder against the doorframe.
“You bring ruin into people’s lives, Emma.” His voice remains quiet, almost conversational. “I’m protecting them from you. Staying away from that family may be the kindest thing you’ve ever done for them.”
The words drive into the place where every old fear lives.
“You don’t believe that.”
“Don’t I?”
He stops close enough for his warmth to reach me.
“I don’t care how lonely you get or how many excuses you make. You will not invite anyone into this house. You will not encourage them to come looking for you.” His gaze holds mine. “The next time someone ignores that boundary, the consequences will be worse.”
His scent clouds the air between us. Clean soap, leather, the faint bite of cedar and whiskey. My body wants him before my mind can erect its defenses. My breath catches. Heat gathers beneath my skin while every sensible part of me screams to step away.
I force myself to remember why I came in here.
Luis.
“Luis asked questions because he cares about me. That’s all. He was trying to help.”
“Help you.”
Alex makes the words sound obscene.
“Help you do what, exactly? Leave?”
“I wasn’t going to leave.”
“He didn’t know that.”
Alex closes another inch of space.
“He came into my building, asked for you by name and told the concierge he needed to make sure you were safe.” His jaw tightens. “As though your safety belongs to him. As though he has some claim on you.”
“He doesn’t.”
“No.”
His eyes have darkened from gray to storm.
“He doesn’t. But he wants one.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I watched him.” Alex’s voice lowers. “I saw the way he looked at this building. The way he said your name. He came prepared to fight for you.”
My throat tightens.
“And that bothers you.”
“Yes.”
The answer is immediate.
For a moment, I can only stare at him.
“This isn’t about Luis,” I say. “You can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting close to me.”
“You’re not wrong.”
His fingers curl against his palms and release. Once. Twice. As though he wants to reach for me and hates himself for it.
“Luis Moralez doesn’t get to ask questions about you,” he says. “Neither does his family. Neither does anyone in that town who thinks they’re entitled to your secrets.”
“But you are?”
“I’m the one who paid for them.”
The answer turns my stomach. “You don’t have a right to my story, Alex. You took it.”
Something moves across his face. Hunger.
“Yes,” he says. “I did.”
Silence presses against us.
Every inch we aren’t touching becomes impossible to ignore. The space between his chest and mine. His breath against my forehead. The memory of what it felt like when closing that distance was the most natural thing in the world.
I hate that my body remembers.
“Luis is a good man,” I say. “He doesn’t deserve this. Stop the investigation.”
“Why would I?”
“Because I’m asking you.”
A humorless laugh leaves him. “You think asking nicely gives you leverage?”
I hold his gaze for another second, then turn away. His hand lands against the doorframe beside my head. Not touching me, but still blocking me.
“If I make this disappear, you cut contact with him.”
I turn back slowly. “What?”
“No calls. No messages. If he comes here again, security turns him away, and you let them.”
“You don’t get to decide who I speak to.”
“Yes, I do.”
His other hand rises to the opposite side of the frame. He cages me without laying a finger on me, his body filling every avenue of escape.
“That’s the arrangement,” he says. “You stay here. I keep Liam’s future intact. I leave the Moralez family standing. In return, I own your time and your access.”
“You don’t own me.”
“No?” His gaze travels over my face. “Then walk away.”
My heart stumbles. He knows I can’t.
“If you want me to leave Luis alone,” he says, “this is the price.”
I should shove him aside. Scream. Tell him I would rather watch his entire empire burn than give him another piece of me.
Instead, I calculate.
Luis’s career against a phone number. His family’s future against one friendship.
The answer is simple.
“Fine.”
Something shifts in his expression. Surprise first. Then anger. “That easy?”
“You made it easy.” I force each word past the ache in my throat. “You named the price. I’ll pay it. That’s how transactions work.”
His jaw flexes. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you won’t contact him again.” His voice roughens. “Say you’ll delete his number and let him worry while you stay here with me. Say that if he drives across Texas for you again, you’ll let security send him home.”
I hold his gaze.
“I won’t contact Luis. I’ll delete his number. If he comes here again, I won’t see him.”
His forearms tense on either side of me.
“You aren’t even going to fight.”
“Would it change anything?”
“Yes.”
The word comes too quickly.
Too raw.
His gaze drops to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.
For one fractured second, I see the man beneath all the cruelty. The man who wants me to resist because my surrender feels too much like losing me again.
Then he steps back.
The sudden space between us feels cold.
“You need to understand something,” I say. “This doesn’t make you powerful.”
His expression closes.
“It makes you small.”
I walk away before he can answer.
Back in the guest room, I close the door and pull out my phone.
Then I open his contact.
Dr. Luis Moralez.
His photograph was taken at one of the Moralez Sunday dinners. He’s laughing at someone outside the frame, a plate balanced in one hand. Maria must have taken it. Maybe Elena. I was probably somewhere nearby, surrounded by people who made room for me without demanding payment in return.
I press delete.
A confirmation appears.
My thumb hovers before I force it down.
His name disappears.
The loss feels absurdly physical, like cutting through a thread I hadn’t realized was still tethering me to home.
I set the phone on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed.
My fingers find the locket at my throat. I rub my thumb across the worn metal and count my breaths.
One.
Two.
Three.
A shadow darkens the narrow gap beneath my door. I close my eyes and will it away.