Chapter 7
JADE
I should still be in the gym, feeling Declan's body pinning me under him, his voice rough in my ear, his body pressed to mine like a silent confession.
Instead, I'm on my way to face a ghost I never invited.
My mother.
Two simple words that transform the heat pooling in my belly to ice in an instant. All the pleasant haze from moments before, Declan's body pressed against mine, the weight of him, the unmistakable evidence of his desire, evaporates like morning dew under a harsh sun.
I stride through the house, aware of Declan following a few paces behind. I don't turn to acknowledge him, can't look at him right now. Not when my mind is racing, not when every carefully constructed wall I've built threatens to crumble.
What is she doing here? How did she even find me? Who let her in? I've given clear instructions to my lawyers to make the allowance payments but never to let her know where I live.
By the time I reach the living room, I'm already shaking with rage.
There she is, perched on the edge of my sofa like she belongs there. Catherine Sinclair, still beautiful at forty-two, still dressed like she's expecting paparazzi, still wearing that expression of calculated concern that never quite reaches her eyes.
"Jade, darling!" She rises, arms outstretched, in some sick parody of maternal affection, moving toward me with practiced grace.
I step back, putting distance between us. "What are you doing here?"
Her smile falters slightly, then reappears with renewed brilliance. "Is that any way to greet your mother? It's been so long, sweetheart."
"Seven years," I correct automatically. "Not long enough."
Her eyes shift to Declan, who's taken a position just behind my right shoulder. Her gaze sweeps over him, assessing, calculating. I know that look. I've seen it a thousand times. She's determining his value, his utility. It makes me sick.
"And who is this handsome gentleman?" she asks, pivoting effortlessly from rejected mother to flirtatious socialite.
"None of your concern," I reply flatly. "How did you get past the gate?"
"Oh, that sweet little assistant of yours let me in. Sophie, is it? Such a helpful girl. I told her I was your mother, and she didn't even question it. You should really train your staff better, darling. When I was responsible for you this would not have happened."
From the corner of my eye, I see Sophie hovering in the hallway, looking miserable. She's new, inexperienced. How would she know? I've never mentioned my mother to her. Never shown her photos. Never warned her about the woman who gave birth to me and then treated me like a meal ticket.
"You need to leave," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the anger building inside me. "Now."
"Jade," she sighs dramatically, "I've come all this way. Can't we at least talk? I heard about what happened in New York. I was worried sick..."
"Worried my income stream might be cut off, and with it your meal ticket?" I interrupt. "Don't pretend you care about my well-being. We both know better."
Her expression hardens for a fraction of a second before the mask of maternal concern returns. "How can you say such things? I'm your mother. Of course I care."
I hear movement behind me and turn to see Ethan and Mateo entering the living room, no doubt drawn by the commotion. Great. An audience for this particular family drama is exactly what I need.
"Mr. Reid," I say without looking at Declan, my voice ice-cold and formal, "please escort this woman from the premises."
Declan shifts his weight but doesn't immediately move.
"Miss Sinclair..."
"You have a list of authorized visitors, correct?" I interrupt.
"Yes," he confirms, his deep voice carefully neutral.
"Is Catherine Sinclair on that list?"
"No, she is not."
I square my shoulders. "Then do your job, Mr. Reid, and remove the unauthorized intruder from my home." The words come out harsher than I intended, but I can't soften them now. Can't show any weakness with her watching.
"Jade," my mother protests, her voice rising. "This is ridiculous! I'm your mother!"
"That's only biology," I mutter.
"I know I've made mistakes," she continues, ignoring my comment. "But please, just give me five minutes. I need to talk to you. It's important."
"The only thing you've ever needed from me is my money," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. "And the answer is still no. I'm not increasing your allowance. Any other matter you can speak to my lawyers."
Her eyes flash with genuine anger now. "That's not why I'm here."
"Then why?" I challenge. "What could possibly be so important?"
She glances meaningfully at the men in the room. "It's private. Family business."
"These men are my security team. They stay." I feel a perverse satisfaction in knowing this makes her uncomfortable. "Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of them."
"Fine." She straightens her already-perfect posture. "I received a note. For you."
Something in her tone makes me pause. "What kind of note?"
She hesitates, seemingly genuinely disturbed. "A note saying 'Tell Little Doll I'm coming home.'"
The room tilts slightly. I hear a ringing in my ears. Little Doll. Again. Charles is dead. I know he's dead. But someone knows. Someone is using his words, his threats. And now they've found my mother.
"When did this arrive?" Ethan steps forward, all business.
My mother blinks, as if noticing him for the first time. "Two days ago."
She turns back to me, concern etched on her features. For once, it seems genuine. "Jade, what's going on? Are you in danger?"
The irony of her asking this question nearly makes me laugh. She, who left me in danger for years. Instead, I feel a familiar numbness spreading through my limbs, the emotional shutdown that's protected me since childhood.
"Mr. Cross, please get the details from her regarding the note," I say mechanically. "Mr. Reid, please escort her out once she's provided the necessary information."
"Jade, please," my mother appeals, stepping toward me. "I was worried. That's why I came. I know things between us are... complicated. But I do care what happens to you."
"Complicated?" I repeat, the word bitter on my tongue. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
"That's not fair," my mother says, her voice tight. "I didn't know..."
"You knew," I cut her off. "I told you, and you chose not to believe me. Or worse, you did believe me and decided it was an acceptable price to pay for the lifestyle you wanted."
From the corner of my eye, I see Mateo's stunned expression, Ethan's carefully controlled one. Declan's face betrays nothing, but his eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that would unnerve me under different circumstances.
Sophie stands frozen in the doorway, looking like she wants the floor to swallow her whole. I turn my anger on her next, unable to stop myself.
"And you," I snap. "How could you let a stranger into my home without authorization? After everything that's happened?"
Her face crumples. "I'm so sorry, Miss Sinclair. She said she was your mother, and I thought..."
"You didn't think," I interrupt. "That's the problem."
"Jade," Ethan says quietly. "Sophie couldn't have known."
His reasonable tone only fuels my anger. "Then she should have checked the visitor list. That's what it's for. That's what all of you are for. To keep unwanted people out of my home. It would be great if you all could do your job!"
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I've gone too far. Sophie looks devastated, and even Mateo, usually quick with a comeback, seems at a loss. The silence stretches uncomfortably.
"I think," Declan finally says, his deep voice breaking the tension, "that we should continue this discussion after Ms. Sinclair has provided the information about the note." He turns to my mother. "If you'll come with me, please."
To my surprise, she doesn't protest, and follows Declan.
I say nothing, can't say anything past the lump in my throat.
"I'll leave my new number with your security team," she adds. "In case you..." She doesn't finish the thought, just nods at Declan to indicate she's ready to go.
As Declan leads her away, with Ethan following to presumably get the details about the package, I'm left standing in my living room with Mateo and a still-distraught Sophie.
"Miss Sinclair, I'm so, so sorry," Sophie begins, her voice trembling. "I had no idea..."
"Just go," I say wearily, the anger draining out of me, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. "We'll discuss this later."
She nods quickly and retreats, leaving me alone with Mateo, who shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
"You too," I tell him. "I need to be alone."
He hesitates, looking like he wants to say something, but ultimately nods and follows Sophie out.
The moment they're gone, I head straight for my bedroom, the one place in this house that still feels like a sanctuary. I lock the door behind me, slide down to the floor, and finally let the trembling take over.
Seeing my mother unleashed a tidal wave of memories I've spent years trying to suppress. Her constant criticism of my changing body during puberty. Her enforced diet regimens that left me dizzy and weak. "Beauty requires sacrifice, darling."
And worse, so much worse, her dismissal when I finally found the courage to tell her what Charles was doing to me. I was fourteen when the abuse started. Sixteen when I finally had the courage to tell her. Terrified and desperate for someone, anyone, to protect me.
It was Gloria who finally did. Gloria who helped me document the abuse, who connected me with lawyers, who stood by me when I filed for emancipation at sixteen. Gloria who stepped up to manage my career, free from Charles's controlling influence.
By seventeen, I was living on my own, setting boundaries with my mother that included a monthly allowance in exchange for her staying away from me and my career.
Until today.
And now this… Another threat involving that name: Little Doll. The same name from the note that arrived at the agency. The same name Charles used to whisper as he...
I press my hands to my eyes, willing the memories away. Charles is dead. He died three months after my emancipation, from an overdose. I saw the obituary. Felt the relief wash over me, knowing he would never hurt me again.
But someone knows. Someone is using his words, his methods, to terrorize me again. And now they've involved my mother.
I pull myself up from the floor and move to the window, looking out at the canyon beyond. The setting sun casts long shadows across the landscape, darkening the spaces between trees where someone could hide, watching.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warm evening air.
The sense of violation is overwhelming, not just from the threat itself, but from having my carefully constructed sanctuary invaded twice today.
First by Declan, whose body against mine awoke something I have difficulty describing.
And then by my mother, whose presence ripped open old wounds I thought had long since scarred over.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
"Jade?" Ethan's voice, calm and measured. "May I speak with you? It's about the note your mother received."
I hesitate, not wanting to face anyone right now, but knowing I can't hide forever. The threat is real, and ignoring it won't make it go away.
"Just a minute," I call back, moving to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, erasing the evidence of tears I didn't realize I'd shed.
I take a deep breath, straightening my shoulders and composing my features into the mask I've perfected over years in front of cameras. The Ice Queen, returning to her throne.
But as I reach for the door handle, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Eyes still vulnerable, posture still defensive. For a moment, I see not the composed professional, not the cold, untouchable model, but the frightened girl I once was.
Little Doll.
I close my eyes, banishing the image, and open the door to face whatever comes next.