Chapter 5
JADE
Three days of hiding in my own home.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking inventory.
The bruise at my hairline has faded to a sickly yellow-green, less dramatic but somehow more pitiful looking.
The ache in my ribs when I breathe too deeply has subsided to a dull throb.
Physical recovery seems to be progressing on schedule.
Mental recovery? That's another story entirely.
I step back into my bedroom. Late morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the canyon.
The view that normally brings me peace now feels like a liability.
The rustle of leaves, the occasional glimpse of wildlife, the ever-changing play of light and shadow seem like threats.
Too exposed. Too many places someone could hide, watching.
For three days, I've limited my movements to the areas of the house where I'm least likely to encounter my unwanted houseguests.
Breakfast at six, before they're active.
Working in my studio during their security checks.
Late dinners after they've retreated to the pool house.
It's exhausting, this choreographed avoidance dance, but preferable to facing those men.
Especially the quiet one. Declan.
The way he looked at me during our confrontation three days ago left me unsettled in a way I can't quite define. Like he could see straight through the carefully constructed facade I've spent years perfecting. Not afraid, exactly. Just... seen. I hate being seen.
Though if I'm being completely honest with myself, it's not just Declan who's been on my mind.
There's something equally unsettling about Ethan's steady, measuring gaze, as if he's constantly calculating risks and possibilities.
And even Mateo, for all his initial prejudice, has a certain direct way of looking at me that makes me feel exposed in ways I'm not used to.
Three different men, three different kinds of discomfort. And something else I refuse to name.
A gentle knock interrupts my thoughts.
"Jade? It's me."
Gloria. Despite my self-imposed isolation, I can't bring myself to shut her out. Not Gloria.
"Come in," I call, settling onto the window seat, tucking my legs beneath me.
She enters carrying a tray with tea and toast, setting it on the small table beside me.
At fifty-three, Gloria Hayes carries herself with the same elegant posture that made her a sought-after model in the nineties.
Silver threads now weave through her dark hair, laugh lines frame her eyes, but she still has that presence that commands attention without demanding it.
"You need to eat something more substantial than toast," she chides gently, taking a seat in the armchair across from me.
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't eaten properly in three days. This isn't you." She pours tea for both of us, the familiar ritual comforting in its normalcy. "This can't continue, Jade."
I accept the cup she offers, warming my hands around the delicate porcelain. "What can't continue? My reluctance to share my home with three strange men?"
"You're hiding." Gloria takes a sip of her tea. "This isn't you. Since when does Jade Sinclair retreat?"
"Since someone tried to drown me and then sent me a note calling me 'Little Doll,'" I counter, unable to say those two words without a shiver running down my spine.
Gloria's expression softens. "I know you're scared. That's why they're here."
"They're here because you invited them without consulting me."
"Because you would have said no."
"And that should have been my choice!"
The words hang between us, louder than I intended. Gloria doesn't flinch. She never does, no matter how sharp my tone gets. It's one of the many reasons I've trusted her for so long when I trust so few.
"You're right," she says finally. "I should have talked to you first. I was scared, Jade. When I saw that note..." She sets her cup down, and I notice the slight tremor in her hand. "I thought we were past this. I thought when he died, it was over."
I close my eyes briefly at the mention of him. Charles Mercer. The scout who "discovered" me at twelve. The man who became my manager. My abuser by fourteen. The one who called me his "Little Doll" when no one else could hear.
"Someone knows, Gloria. Someone knows what he called me."
"That's why I called Cross Security. The detective who investigated your attack recommended them specifically, said they handle high-profile cases with discretion and are former military. The best protection available."
I trace the rim of my teacup with my finger. "I remember the day you came to work for Charles. I was fourteen."
"Fifteen," Gloria corrects softly. "You had just done that Valentino campaign in Paris."
"Right." The memories blend together sometimes. "You were different from his other assistants. You actually looked at me, not through me."
Gloria's smile is sad. "You were just a child, being treated like a commodity. It wasn't right."
"You knew, didn't you? Before I ever said anything."
"I suspected." She meets my eyes directly. "The way he looked at you. The way you flinched when he touched you. Small things, but enough."
When I finally told Gloria what Charles had been doing, she didn't question me, didn't doubt me for a second. Instead, she helped me escape from the hell I was living.
Unlike my mother, who when I finally got the courage to tell her what had been going on, just shrugged her shoulders and said, "Do you think life is easy?
That it is a joyride? Nobody is going to give anything to you.
You have to take it! Any way you can! And all you have going for you is your looks.
So, don't forget that it's the way you look that puts a roof over our heads, that keeps food on the table and allows for every whim your heart desires.
So what if Charles wants to feel loved by you. You owe him that."
My mother chose Charles. Chose the money and the lifestyle over her own daughter's safety.
But not Gloria. She was the one who helped. She helped me file for emancipation, sever ties with my mother and Charles, and build a career on my own terms. Everything I have now, the autonomy I cling to so fiercely, is because Gloria believed in me when no one else did.
"You saved me," I say quietly.
"You saved yourself, Jade. I just handed you the tools."
It's an old conversation between us, repeated over the years. Gloria refusing to take credit for being the one adult who actually protected me.
"Which is why I'm asking you to trust me now," she continues. "These men, they're here to help. To protect you."
"I don't need protection. I need..." I trail off, not entirely sure what I need anymore.
"Control," Gloria finishes for me. "You need to feel in control again."
She's right, of course. Ever since the attack, since that moment of helplessness as I felt myself sinking beneath the water, unable to fight, unable to breathe, I've felt my carefully constructed control slipping away.
I rise from the window seat, suddenly restless. "I can't even swim anymore, Gloria. Do you know how maddening that is? The pool is right there, and I can't bring myself to go in. Every time I try, I feel like I'm choking."
"It's normal to have that reaction after trauma..."
"It's weakness," I snap. "And I can't afford to be weak. Not now." I pace the length of my bedroom, energy suddenly coursing through me. "I need to do something. I need to move."
Gloria watches me, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "What about that self-defense training Mr. Reid suggested?"
I stop pacing. "You know about that?"
"Sophie mentioned it. She's quite excited actually, though a bit terrified of Mr. Reid."
"She should be. The man is built like a tank and has the personality of one too."
Gloria raises an eyebrow. "You've noticed his build, have you?"
"Don't start," I warn, though there's no real heat in my voice. "I'm professionally trained to notice physical details. Occupational hazard."
And it would be professional malpractice not to notice that all three of them are distractingly well-built, each in their own way.
Ethan with his commanding presence and perfectly proportioned frame.
Mateo with his easy grace and warm golden eyes.
And Declan, all raw power contained in rigid control.
Not that I'd admit any of this to Gloria.
"Of course," she says, not even trying to hide her amusement. "But the training isn't a bad idea, Jade. It might help you feel more in control."
I consider it. Physical exertion would help burn off this restless energy. And if I'm being honest with myself, the idea of surprising stoic Mr. Reid has a certain appeal. He thinks I'm just some helpless model who needs his protection, his instruction.
He doesn't know that after I became free from the abusive situation I was in, I spent six months training with a personal defense instructor in New York. I'm by no means an expert, but I'm not the complete novice Declan Reid assumes I am.
"You know what? You're right." I head to my closet, suddenly decisive. "I've been hiding long enough. Time to take back some control."
I pull out my workout clothes, high-waisted leggings and a fitted tank top, and change quickly, pulling my hair into a tight ponytail.
"What are you doing?" Gloria asks, though her smile suggests she already knows.
"I'm going to take Mr. Reid up on his offer." I slip on my training shoes. "Right now."
"Now? But Sophie hasn't even set up a schedule..."
"No time like the present." I check my appearance in the mirror once more. "Besides, I'm tired of tiptoeing around my own house. They want to be here? Fine. But they'll learn to adapt to me, not the other way around."
Gloria rises, collecting the barely touched breakfast tray. "You look more like yourself already," she observes.
"I feel more like myself." I head for the door, then pause. "Thank you, Gloria. For everything. Not just now, but... always."
She nods, understanding all I'm not saying. "Go show him what you're made of."
I make my way through the house with purpose, no longer concerned about avoiding anyone.
When I reach the back patio, I spot them immediately.
All three men by the pool house, engaged in what appears to be a security briefing.
Ethan with his tablet, Mateo gesturing animatedly, and Declan, arms crossed over his chest, listening intently.
I approach without hesitation, aware of the exact moment they notice me.
Mateo spots me first, his sentence trailing off mid-word, his eyes widening slightly as they take in my workout attire.
Ethan follows his gaze, straightening slightly, his expression shifting from professional to something more alert, more aware.
And Declan... Declan's expression doesn't change, but his posture shifts.
The way they all look at me, different yet similar, sends an unexpected flutter through my stomach. Irritation, I tell myself. Just irritation.
"Miss Sinclair," Ethan greets me formally. "Is everything alright?"
"Perfectly," I reply, my focus on Declan. "I believe Mr. Reid and I have a training session to attend to."
Declan's eyebrows lift slightly, the most expression I've seen from him yet. "Now?"
"Unless you're worried you can't handle me," I say, letting the words land with a smirk. "Wouldn't want to bruise that big-silent-soldier pride."
For a moment, no one speaks. I can feel Ethan and Mateo watching this exchange with confusion.
Then Declan uncrosses his arms. "The gym in ten minutes," he says simply.
I offer a sweet smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "I'll be there in five. Don't keep me waiting."
As I turn to walk away, I hear Mateo mutter something in Spanish that, from the little I know of the language, sounds suspiciously like a prayer for Declan's soul. Good. Let them be off-balance for once. Let them wonder.
For the first time since waking up in that hospital bed in New York, gasping for breath, I feel a spark of my old self returning. The Jade who refuses to be a victim, who doesn't hide, who takes what life throws at her and throws it right back.
If Declan Reid thinks he's going to have an easy time molding me into his idea of a properly behaved client, he's in for a surprise. Little Doll might be haunting my nightmares again, but in the daylight, I'm still Jade Sinclair.
And it's time to remind everyone, including myself, exactly what that means.