Chapter 32
The guys left hours ago, slipping out into the night, like shadows departing before dusk.
The sun has barely crested over the horizon, painting the sky in watercolor washes of pink and gold that stream through the kitchen windows.
I’ve been pacing since they left—through the living room, up the stairs, and down again—walking until my legs ached and my mind spun with worst-case scenarios I couldn’t control.
Finally, I surrender to routine. Hoping normalcy will calm my nerves, fooling myself with the pretense that this is just another morning.
Standing in the kitchen, I prepare coffee.
The beans grind with a satisfying crunch, the water heats and trickles over them, causing the nutty aroma to fill the space.
My phone rings, the sound sharp and unexpected in the quiet house, and I nearly spill the still-open container of coffee grounds across the counter.
I grab for it, my heart pounding with the irrational fear that it’s the hospital, the police, or someone calling to tell me that Gunnar isn’t coming back.
But instead, the screen shows a comforting name.
“Hey, Dev,” Jake greets when I answer, his voice carrying the familiar warmth and professional cheerfulness that has helped guide my career through its highest highs and lowest lows. “I’m in the neighborhood. Just swung by that little coffee shop you like.”
“The one with the almond croissants?” I ask, unable to stop the smile that tugs at my lips despite everything.
“That’s the one,” he confirms, and I can hear the smile in his voice, too. “And I may have picked up a couple for my favorite client. It okay if I swing by?”
Gunnar said to stay inside and stay safe. But this is Jake, my agent, who’s been to this house a hundred times. Jake, who has a key for emergencies. The friend who watered my plants when I was on location for weeks on end.
“Of course,” I answer, the words out before I can second-guess them. “I’d love to see you.”
“Be there in ten,” he promises before hanging up.
I glance toward the window, spotting Damon in the driveway, returning from a patrol of the perimeter. Pulling open the door, I call to him. “Hey! My agent, Jake, is stopping by in a few minutes. He’s bringing coffee and pastries. Can you buzz him through?”
Damon looks at me hesitantly. “I don’t know whether that’s a good idea this morning.”
“It’s Jake.” I sigh. “He’s only dropping off coffee and pastries.”
“Fine,” Damon relents. “But he doesn’t go past the kitchen. And I’m staying with you the whole time.”
“Thank you,” I chirp.
Ten minutes later, the gate intercom buzzes, and I watch through the window as Damon approaches the car, a sensible sedan that Jake has driven for years. They exchange words I can’t hear, Damon’s hand resting conspicuously on the weapon at his hip, before he opens the gate and Jake pulls through.
Jake walks up to the front porch, a travel tray balanced in one hand and a paper bag in the other.
He looks exactly as he always does, khakis and a button-down, wire-rimmed glasses, and the slight paunch that comes from too many lavish business dinners and not enough time at the gym.
“Figured it would be rude not to bring enough for everyone,” he shares as I open the door, his smile warm and genuine.
I take the tray from him, my fingers brushing his. “Well, everyone is just me and Damon,” I say, stepping back to let him inside.
“Oh,” Jake exhales, his expression flickering and something I can’t quite read passing behind his eyes. “Well, more for us, then. Where are the others?”
“Running an errand,” Damon answers, his gaze intently focused on Jake. I can feel the tension radiating from him, the protective instinct that Gunnar entrusted him with. To counter it, I try to project calmness as I lead us into the kitchen.
“Sit,” I tell Jake, gesturing to the barstools at the island. “I’ll get the plates.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” he says, already settling onto the stool. The paper bag rustles as he unpacks croissants that smell like heaven—butter, almonds, and sugar—the kind of indulgence I’ve been denying myself for weeks.
Damon takes a coffee from the tray and takes a cautious sip. “You have to try one of these,” I insist, pushing a croissant over to him before sliding one toward Jake and taking one for myself. “They’re to die for. Seriously, I dream about these sometimes.”
“Definitely life-changing,” Jake agrees, adjusting the plate in front of him. “Worth the drive alone.”
Damon hesitates for a moment before he takes a bite, his eyebrows rising in genuine surprise.
“Fuck,” he groans, the word muffled by the pastry.
“These are good.” He polishes off the rest of the croissant in a few efficient bites, washing it down with a long swallow of coffee, and I feel some of the tension bleed from the room.
The conversation carries between the three of us, light and professional.
Jake updates me on a script that came through yesterday—a romantic comedy that would be a departure from my usual dramatic roles—that he thinks I would be remarkable for.
I tell him about the premiere last night, carefully editing out the parts involving Gunnar’s hand between my thighs under the table.
“What has you in Malibu this early in the morning anyway?” I ask, breaking off another piece of croissant. “Don’t you usually work from your office over on Sunset?”
“Late-night meeting with a director in Camarillo. A few too many drinks, so I thought it was a good idea to spend the night in a hotel,” Jake shares, checking his watch before looking up and meeting my eyes.
“Thought I’d surprise my favorite client on the way.
Check in, see how you’re holding up with all this security nonsense.
I worry about you, Dev. You’ve been so distant lately. So guarded.”
I feel the familiar guilt, the weight of secrets I’m keeping from someone who used to know everything about me. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Just… dealing with some things. Personal things.”
“Personal things,” Jake repeats, his tone unreadable. “Like the new boyfriend?”
Damon helps himself to another cup of coffee as I take the final sip of mine.
“Gunnar is… He’s good for me.” I smile. “He makes me feel safe.”
“Safe,” Jake muses, glancing at his watch again. “That’s important. Feeling safe.”
Jake rambles on about industry gossip, his eyes flicking between his watch, me, and Damon.
He asks a question that I don’t quite comprehend.
I blink, trying to clear my head, and realize that Damon is swaying slightly where he leans against the counter.
His pupils are dilated, and his gaze looks unfocused.
Stumbling slightly, his hand grips the granite edge so hard his knuckles blanch white.
“You all right?” I ask, pushing to my feet, my own movement sluggish.
Damon looks at me, and his mouth opens, but no words come out. “Yeah,” he finally manages, his voice slurred. “Just feeling a little…”
His legs give out, and he falls, crashing to the floor. I lunge toward him to make sure he’s okay, but my own legs betray me. The ground is unsteady beneath my feet, the room spinning around me in lazy, nauseating circles.
“Damon,” I gasp, my voice sounding like it’s coming from underwater, realizing—far too late—that something is terribly wrong.
I take a step, or I attempt to, but my coordination is gone. My limbs are heavy and unresponsive. The kitchen tilts, the floor rising to meet me, and I understand with crystalline, horrifying clarity that I’ve been drugged. We’ve been drugged.
“Jake?” I fight against my body to turn my head, the movement requiring Herculean effort. As my vision focuses, I find him sitting on his stool perfectly steady.
He pushes from his stool and removes his wire-framed glasses as he turns to face me. His mask has slipped. Or perhaps, he’s simply chosen to remove it. His usual warm, professional expression has transformed, and the one I’m left staring at makes my blood turn to ice.
“Careful, my love,” he whispers, his voice soft, tender, and terrifying in its intimacy. He moves toward me, his steps unhurried. He catches me when I sway again, his hands gripping my arms with a gentleness that feels obscene given the circumstances. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
He lowers me onto the barstool, his touch lingering as his eyes roam over my face with a familiarity that makes my skin crawl. I try to speak. To scream. To demand answers. But my thoughts are scattered, and my tongue is thick and uncooperative. “Ja… Jaaa…”
“Shh,” Jake whispers, his finger pressing against my lips. “Don’t fight it. It’ll be easier if you don’t fight it. I just need you to be… compliant. For a little while. Just until we can be alone, without the guard dog or any of the other obstacles you’ve surrounded yourself with.”
My mind reels, trying to process and understand. Jake. My agent. My friend. A man who has been in my life for eight years. The man who negotiated my first contract and held my hand at my mother’s funeral.
“You…” I manage, the word slurred beyond recognition.
“Me,” he confirms, his smile widening into something that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Surprised? You shouldn’t be. I’ve been telling you for years, my love.
In a thousand little ways. The gifts, the late-night phone calls, the way I always know where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with. You just never listened”
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He swipes through photos that make my stomach lurch—me sleeping, showering, with Gunnar in moments that were supposed to be private; moments that were supposed to be sacred.
“I’ve been watching you for so long,” he continues, his voice taking on a dreamy quality.
“Longer than you know. Longer than anyone knows. Colton was a convenient distraction. Fucking stupid and easy to frame. I knew Gunnar would fixate on him. Men like that always do. They see the obvious threat and miss the one right in front of them.”
He traces a finger down my cheek, and I flinch, or I try to, my body not responding to my commands.
“Did he show you? My website? It was beautiful, wasn’t it?
My tribute to you. My collection. Every moment of your life that mattered, preserved forever.
And you tried to make me jealous with that…
that animal. Flaunting him in front of me.
Making me watch as you let him touch what’s mine. ”
My vision is tunnels, and darkness creeps in at the edges as I fight to stay conscious. “Why?” I whisper, the word barely audible.
“Because I love you,” he says simply, like that explains everything.
Like that justifies the years of violation, the terror, the crossing of every boundary that ever existed between us.
“Because you were meant to be mine. Because I’ve invested eight years in you, in your career, in your life, and I deserve to reap the rewards. I deserve you.”
He leans close, his breath hot against my ear, and I smell the sickening sweetness of his cologne.
“Gunnar and the others went after Colton tonight. I know they did. By now, they’ve probably killed him, or close to it.
And when they come back, covered in his blood, they’ll think the threat is eliminated.
They’ll relax. They’ll let their guard down. ”
He pulls back, his eyes bright with a madness I’ve never seen before, never imagined existed beneath his professional veneer. “And by then, my love, you and I will be long gone. Somewhere no one can find us. Somewhere we can finally be together, the way we were always meant to be.”
I try to scream, to run, but my body won’t obey me. The drug is pulling me under, dragging me into darkness, and the last thing I see before consciousness fades is Jake’s smile. It’s the wicked grin of a man who believes he’s won.
“Gunnar…” I whisper as my heavy lids fall shut.