Chapter 8
The call comes at three in the morning.
I'm at the cabin with Ty, curled against his chest in the darkness, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. We fell asleep after another round of him taking me apart and putting me back together, slower this time, sweeter, with his hand wrapped around my throat and my name on his lips as he orgasms. Our weekends are now a mixture of little time and sexy time, and I can’t honestly decide which I like more.
When his phone buzzes on the nightstand, he's awake instantly. That's the thing about Ty, he doesn't ease into consciousness. He just switches on, fully alert, already moving. I don’t know how he does it. I am slow to revive in the mornings. I need coffee and a mental push to get going.
“Garcia,” he answers, voice low.
I feel him go tense. Feel the shift in his breathing, the way his free hand tightens on my hip. I’m awake now, with or without the coffee. If someone is calling at three am, it has to be urgent.
“When?” he asks. “How much did she capture?”
My stomach drops. She and capture are major context clues. Maybe it’s not me… but maybe? Could they be discussing me?
He listens for another minute, jaw tightening with each passing second. “I'll handle it.”
He ends the call and immediately pulls me closer, like he's anchoring himself. Or maybe anchoring me.
“What's wrong?” I whisper.
He's quiet for a beat too long. “Remember that video you took? The one I had you delete?”
My heart starts pounding. “Yeah.”
“Turns out you caught something in the background. License plate, partial. Enough to confirm a timeline we've been tracking. Someone must have known about you. I don’t know if they saw your plates, but your cloud has been hacked.”
I sit up, pulling the sheet with me. “But I deleted it.”
“From your phone. Not from the cloud backup.”
“Oh god.”
His hand finds mine in the dark, squeezing once. “It's not your fault. You didn't know. But we need that footage.”
“Okay. I can—"
“The problem,” he continues carefully, “is that the people we're tracking know you saw them, even if you don’t recognize that you did.”
The words settle like ice in my veins. “Are they looking for me?”
“Yes. They don’t know you’ve moved here, though. They think you are still four hours away. That this was just a vacation you were on.”
“What do you need me to do?”
He pulls me back down against his chest, and I can feel his heart racing. He’s not panicked, but focused.
“Right now? Nothing. You stay here where you are safe. I handle the technical side. Tomorrow, we talk about next steps.”
I should argue. Should insist I can help. But the truth is, I trust him. And the fear creeping up my spine tells me this is bigger than I understand.
“Okay, I whisper.”
“Good girl.” He kisses my forehead. “Go back to sleep. I'll be right here.”
But neither of us sleeps.
Morning comes gray and cold. Ty's already dressed when I wake up in tactical pants, dark shirt, and a look on his face that says he's in work mode. Not Daddy mode. Not boyfriend mode.
Operator mode.
“Coffee's ready,” he says.
I wrap myself in his shirt from last night and pad into the kitchen. He's leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and the set of his jaw tells me I'm not going to like what comes next.
“Talk,” I say.
“The footage you took has evidentiary value. That means it needs to be handled through proper channels. Which means people are going to ask questions about how we obtained it.”
I take a sip of coffee, buying time. “What kind of questions?”
“Why a civilian was on restricted property. Why I didn't report it immediately. Why I had you delete your videos instead of bringing you in and confiscating your phone. Why I'm involved with you personally while you're tangentially connected to an active investigation.”
My stomach twists. “Are you in trouble?”
“Not yet. But I will be if this isn't handled correctly.”
“So what do we do?”
He's quiet for a moment, and I can see him working through scenarios, calculating risks. “You go dark for a while.”
I set my mug down. “What does that mean?”
“No posting. No public appearances. You take a break, tell your followers you're recharging, and we wait for this to blow over. The tech people are in your account; they have the videos from your drive that day and will analyze them. We have to keep you safe for now until our suspect is in custody.”
Something hot and defensive flares in my chest. I know it’s stupid, but I’ve worked really hard at building my following and a hiatus can cost me everything. There are drafts I have saved, enough to post for a few days, maybe a week. After that, I’ll need new content. “For how long?”
“A few weeks. Maybe a month.”
“A month?” I manage to keep my voice level. “Ty, that's my career. My income. My entire platform is built on consistency. I don’t go a day without posting, let alone a month. I have some drafts saved, some unseen footage I can use, but I don’t think I have enough to last an entire month.”
“I know.” His voice is gentle but firm. “And I'm asking you to put it on pause for your safety.”
“Asking? Or telling?”
His eyes flash. “Don't twist this, Madison. You know the difference.”
“Do I? Because right now it feels like you're making decisions for me instead of with me.”
He straightens, and I watch him physically pull back, not emotionally, but creating space. Letting me have room to be angry without crowding me.
“You're right,” he says after a moment. “That came out wrong.”
I cross my arms, suddenly very aware that I'm wearing his shirt and nothing else while we're having our first real fight.
“I'm scared,” he admits. “And when I'm scared, I default to control. To protocols and procedures and making sure all the variables are contained.
“I'm not a variable,” I say quietly.
“No. You're the person I care about most in the world. Which makes this harder, not easier. Every instinct I have wants to protect you. I want to find a bunker somewhere and lock you in until the evil is gone. I know. It’s completely irrational. I’m sorry for making a plan without including you in it. ”
The admission cracks something open in my chest. But I push through it because this matters.
“I need you to hear me, I say. Really hear me. I will take precautions. I will be careful. But I won't disappear. That's not fair. If I am truly in danger, I will do what you say. But, right now? You said you aren’t even sure they know where to look. I have older footage I never used. Videos I made in my old apartment, they can throw off the trail. We’ve been using the VPN when I post, it won’t lead them here. ”
“You won’t stop even if it keeps you safe?” He seems frustrated and I realize I need to explain to him more clearly.
“I know to many people being an influencer is a silly job. But, I’ve literally spent years and thousands if not hundreds of thousands of dollars building my brand.
This is a business to me. You are asking me to close the doors on my small business and go bankrupt.
If I owned a doctor’s office or a hair salon, would you ask me to close the doors or would you allow me to take precautions?
I’m not stupid, if it truly becomes dangerous, I will disappear for a while.
But, if I go dark, won’t they be more suspicious?
Won’t they know I’m on to them? Ty, disappearing isn't just about the algorithm or engagement metrics. It's about who I am. What I've built. And asking me to give that up feels like asking me to give up a piece of myself. It’s not easy to start over online. It’s not about finding a new building to rent, but literally building it from the ground up.”
He's quiet for a long time, jaw working.
“What if we compromise?” he says finally.
“I'm listening.”
“You keep posting, go through the old stuff you have in reserves.
But then, when you run out, we adjust the content.
More evergreen stuff, less time sensitive.
We pre-schedule everything so you're never posting in real time. And we vary your routine so you're not predictable. Make sure there is nothing that shows your location. No identifiable landmarks. I get final say of the videos before you post. I have a trained eye that will notice the small details you might overlook, like a license plate or a street sign. I’ll clear it before you post.”
“I can work with that.”
“And,” he continues, voice dropping into that tone that makes my stomach flip, “you check in with me before you book any engagement, anywhere. You won’t be going to any influencer brand deals or events without me or a member of my team with you.”
“That's a lot of control.”
“That's me being able to sleep at night knowing you're safe.”
I study him for a second. The man who has become my boyfriend in a short period of time but who loves me like he’s known me his entire adult life.
The man who's asking for something that should feel suffocating but somehow doesn't. Because the difference is he's asking.
He's negotiating. He's giving me space to say no. He could pull the Daddy card, he could demand I obey with threats of consequences, but he’s not. He’s including my input, as an equal partner.
“Okay,” I say. “But I need something from you too.”
“Name it.”
“You don't make unilateral decisions about my safety. You consult me. You give me the information I need to make informed choices. You trust that I can handle the truth. Unless it’s an urgent situation that has to be dealt with right that second, you include me. While I identify as a little, and love being in little headspace, I need you to think of adult me and keep me in the loop.”
He nods slowly. “Agreed.”
“And,” I add, “Promise me we don't let the external pressure of this situation break what we're building.”
His expression softens. “Come here.”
I cross to him, and he pulls me into his arms, burying his face in my hair.
“I'm sorry,” he murmurs. “For trying to lock you down instead of working with you.”
“I know.” I press my face against his chest. “I'm sorry for getting defensive.”
“You weren't defensive. You were setting a boundary. That's what I need you to do. Open communication and honesty, remember? That’s one of the rules.”
We stand there for a long moment, just breathing together. Then my phone goes off. Multiple notifications in rapid succession. I pull it out and my stomach drops. The group chat is exploding.
Lily: MADI. What's happening??
Amber: Did you see the comments on your last post???
Chloe: People are asking if you're okay. Should we be worried?
Maya: Someone's saying you are suicidal and need help, they are asking for your location. They posted a screenshot of you talking to them in their DMs…
I show Ty the screen, hands shaking slightly.
His jaw tightens. “So it begins.”
“What is going on?”
“They are fishing. Trying to piece together where you've been, when, and why. They want to know exactly what you witnessed.”
“They made a fake post and tagged me in it. It’s obviously an edited screenshot. I’ve never spoken to anyone let alone said I was suicidal!”
“I know, baby. I’ve been with you all weekend.
They’ll stir up worry about you and say you need help.
They’ll reach out to anyone they think is connected with you and under the guise of being worried and likely, law enforcement, try to track your location.
Make sure you tell the girls not to give any information about you out to anyone online, even if the profile looks like someone they know. They might clone a friend’s account.”
I type quickly into the group chat: I'm okay, that’s not me. Just dealing with some stuff. I’m safe. I'll explain soon. In the meantime, do not respond to anyone online asking about me, not even if it looks like one of our friends.
The responses are immediate and overwhelming. The women offer help, demand more information and offer to come here if I need them.
Holly's message cuts through the chaos:
Does Ty know what's happening?
I glance at Ty. He's reading over my shoulder.
Yes, I type. He's handling it. He’s with me. I’ll be staying here for a bit.
Holly: Good, I trust him. Text or call when you can.
Ty takes my phone gently and sets it aside.
“Now we implement the plan. I’ll call my tech people and see if we can’t get the post you’re tagged in taken down.
In the meantime, you draft some content today with photos you've already taken, captions that aren't location-specific. I'll review them. And we start building a buffer. Don’t respond to him or his post.”
“Okay.”
“And Madison?”
“Yeah?”
His hands cup my face, tilting it up so I have to meet his eyes.
“This is going to get complicated. Probably messy. But we're in it together. You and me. Always.”
“Always,” I echo.
He kisses me deep and claiming and just a little desperate.
When he pulls back, there's heat in his eyes. “You're still wearing my shirt.”
“I am.”
“And nothing else.”
“Also true.”
His hands slide down to my hips. “Do you need a quick distraction or a reminder?”
“What did you have in mind?”
He lifts me onto the counter in one smooth motion, stepping between my thighs.
“I'm thinking,” he says, voice dropping to that tone that makes me melt, “that you need a reminder of who's taking care of you. Who's got you. Who you belong to.”
My breath catches. “I think I might need that.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. Daddy always knows exactly what you need.”
And then his mouth is on mine, and I stop thinking about followers and algorithms and external threats.
Because right here, right now, I'm safe.
I'm his.
And nothing else matters.