Chapter 34 JADE
JADE
Morning light filters through the pool house windows, casting golden rectangles across the floor.
I curl deeper into the nest of blankets on our makeshift bed, savoring the lingering warmth where three bodies had been pressed against mine through the night.
The scent of them still clings to the sheets: Ethan's crisp cologne, Declan's clean soap, Mateo's spicy warmth.
From the kitchen, I hear the sizzle of bacon, the quiet clink of a spatula against a pan. The familiar scents of coffee and breakfast foods fill the air, creating an illusion of normalcy that's both comforting and surreal.
Last night feels like a dream, the kind you don't want to wake from. The memory of their hands, their mouths, their bodies moving with mine sends a flush of heat through me despite my exhaustion.
I pull myself up, wrapping one of the sheets around me like a makeshift dress, and pad across the cool tile to the kitchen.
"Morning, sleeping beauty." Declan's deep voice draws my attention to the kitchen area.
He stands at the stove, shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants.
The expanse of his tattooed back flexes as he flips pancakes with surprising dexterity for a man with such large hands.
Those same hands that last night had gripped my hips with bruising force now delicately maneuver a spatula.
"Something smells amazing," I say, my voice still husky from sleep and overuse.
"Figured we could all use the calories after last night." A rare, small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
The pool house has transformed overnight. What was once a stark, utilitarian space now feels intimate, lived-in. Our clothes are strewn over chairs, Mateo's tech gear occupies one corner, and someone, probably Ethan, has arranged our shoes neatly by the door.
"Where are the others?" I ask, leaning against the counter and stealing a piece of crispy bacon from a plate.
"Ethan's checking the perimeter. Mateo's in the office trying to trace the camera feed." Declan jerks his chin toward the small room off the main living area, where I can see Mateo hunched over his laptop, his face illuminated by the blue glow of multiple screens. "No staff today."
I already knew that. We'd agreed. No Gloria. No Sophie. No one except us.
Still, something twists in my chest.
"I sent them a message this morning," I say quietly. "Told them I was taking a mental health day."
Declan nods, flipping a pancake with precise, practiced movements. "Good call."
"But it's not a mental health day. It's a lockdown." I stare at the counter like it might explain how to undo what's already done. "And I hate lying to them."
Declan doesn't look at me, but his voice is steady. "I know."
"Gloria in particular. She always had my back," I murmur. "They're not just staff. I trust them."
Declan's expression softens slightly. "I know. But right now, we can't trust anyone outside this room. Not until we know who planted that camera, who's been watching us."
I bite the inside of my cheek, frustrated with the logic even as I understand it. Safety first has become our mantra. But it doesn't make this part feel any less like betrayal.
"What about your work?" Declan asks.
"I cancelled everything for the near future. No explanation given." I shrug. "They already think I'm a diva either way."
"Hey." Declan's hand, warm and solid, cups my cheek. "We're going to figure this out."
I lean into his touch, surprised at how natural it feels now. How quickly we've adapted to this new reality where touch is freely given and received.
Mateo appears in the doorway, his hair tousled from running his hands through it in frustration. He makes coffee for all of us, extending a cup to me while kissing me, his golden eyes warm despite the dark circles beneath them.
"You're a lifesaver," I murmur, accepting the mug and letting the rich aroma wash over me.
"Keeping you caffeinated is the least I can do, until I find whoever put that damn camera in your house." He winks, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze constantly flicks to the windows, the doors.
"Any luck with the camera?" Declan asks, transferring pancakes to a plate.
Mateo shakes his head. "Whoever set it up knew what they were doing." He takes a long swig of his own coffee. "But I'll crack it. Nobody's better than me."
The confidence in his voice is reassuring, even if it's partly bravado.
This should feel oppressive, being confined to the pool house, cut off from my life, my work.
It's the same scenario that initially filled me with dread when Ethan first insisted on round-the-clock security.
But somehow, it doesn't. Instead, there's a strange domesticity to it all that I find myself craving.
Declan cooking breakfast. Mateo bringing coffee. The easy way they move around each other, around me. Last night changed something fundamental between us, cementing a connection that had been building since the beginning.
"Lost in your thoughts?" Mateo asks, leaning against the counter beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
"Just thinking how different this is," I admit. "Being here with all of you. It's not what I expected."
"Better or worse?" There's a vulnerability in his question that tugs at my heart.
"Better," I say softly. "Definitely better."
His smile is like the sun breaking through clouds.
The door opens, and we all tense until Ethan steps through, his expression grim but controlled. The shift in energy is immediate. Declan straightens, Mateo pushes off from the counter, both of them instinctively responding to Ethan's presence. The leader has returned.
"Perimeter's clear," Ethan reports, his eyes softening fractionally when they land on me. "No signs of disturbance overnight."
"Good," Declan says, returning to his cooking.
Ethan shrugs off his jacket, revealing the gun holstered beneath. It's a stark reminder of the danger lurking beyond our little bubble.
"Mail came," he says, placing a small stack of envelopes on the counter. "I checked it. Nothing suspicious."
"You checked my mail?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Yes." He doesn't apologize, doesn't explain. Just that single, unapologetic affirmative.
I should be annoyed at the invasion of privacy, but the concern behind it is too evident to ignore. These men are putting themselves between me and danger without hesitation.
"There's something from your lawyers," Ethan adds, pulling out a thick cream-colored envelope and handing it to me. "Looked important."
Quarterly statements, probably. Or updates on pending contracts. Nothing urgent, but a reminder of the real world continuing to turn outside our sanctuary.
I set my coffee down and break the seal, pulling out the contents. Official letterhead, dense text, and...
One sentence in, and my pulse stops. Two more, and my world ends. Quietly. Without fanfare. Just ink on paper slicing through everything I've built.
The room continues around me. Declan flipping pancakes, Mateo and Ethan discussing security protocols, but I'm frozen, the words on the page blurring as my eyes fill with unwanted tears.
"Jade?" Ethan's voice seems to come from far away. "What is it?"
I force my expression to remain neutral, years of modeling training helping me mask the turmoil raging inside. My hands want to tremble, but I will them steady as I fold the letter carefully and slide it back into its envelope.
"Nothing important," I lie, my voice surprisingly even. "Just contract updates."
Ethan's eyes narrow slightly. He's too perceptive, too attuned to shifts in my mood already. But he doesn't press, just watches me with that penetrating blue gaze that seems to see straight through my defenses.
Mateo pauses mid-sip, eyes flicking to Ethan. A silent question passes between them. Declan doesn't stop cooking, but the tight set of his shoulders says he noticed too.
I turn away, unable to bear their scrutiny. "I'm going to shower," I announce, needing escape, needing space to think.
The envelope burns in my hand like a live coal. Its contents have just shattered the fragile happiness I'd begun to build. Because what's inside means the end of everything. It means I need to push these men away. For their own good, for their safety.
As I walk to the bathroom on legs that somehow still support me, I'm already calculating, planning. How to extract myself from them. How to make them leave without revealing what I've learned. How to face what's coming alone, as I've always been meant to.
The water runs hot over my skin, washing away the evidence of last night's passion but not the memory of it. Not the feeling of belonging that had begun to take root in my heart.
I rest my forehead against the cool tile and allow myself one moment, just one, of weakness. One silent sob that's swallowed by the rush of water.
Then I straighten, shut off the tap, and reach for a towel. By the time I emerge, my face is composed, my strategy set.
They can never know what was in that envelope. Never know the sacrifice I'm about to make.
For their sake. For their lives.