Chapter 24
Grace
I’ve been pacing the length of our suite for twenty minutes, wearing a path back and forth.
Nine steps in one direction, nine steps back.
The walls seem closer with each pass. If there’s anything I dislike about the club, it’s the lack of windows to let in sunlight or fresh air.
The only sounds in the room are the gentle hum of the club’s ventilation system, and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.
Lili’s words from last night are on a loop in my head.
Victor knows who’s stalking me. He knows, and he’s decided it’s information I don’t need.
The digital clock on the nightstand says it’s just past eight in the morning.
Victor didn’t return to the suite last night after bringing me home from our date.
Lili got up to visit with Trinity Novak early this morning, so I’ve been here in this windowless box with nothing but my thoughts and the growing sense of frustration with people trying to protect me by hiding things.
I stop at the dresser, catching my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes, curls a mess from sleep. The training collar Victor gave me gleams against my skin, a constant reminder of our connection. Of the trust we’re supposed to have.
Trust. The word tastes bitter now.
“He thinks he knows who it is,” Lili said last night.
I run my fingers through my curls, trying to tame them.
This isn’t the first time Victor has decided what information I should and shouldn’t have.
When Matteo’s cousin threatened our club two months ago, Victor didn’t tell me anything until after the threat was neutralized.
When Trinity was shot just a few days ago, he filtered the information, giving me sanitized updates instead of the unvarnished truth.
Each time, his excuse is the same. He’s protecting me. Shielding me from worry. Handling the situation so I don’t have to.
My back straightens, and I smooth my hands down the front of my dress.
I’m not some fragile doll to be placed on a high shelf.
I’m a woman who’s survived my own struggles.
Someone who has worked hard and built a life despite everything.
And I’ve chosen to be with a man like Victor, a man who is complicated, controlling, battling his own demons, but who clearly cares, with my eyes wide open.
I deserve the truth. All of it. The doorknob turns. I turn away from the mirror as Victor opens the door. His hair is disheveled, shirt wrinkled, and the dark circles under his eyes match mine. He’s had a rough night, but his face softens with visible relief when he sees me.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice rough from lack of sleep. “I was hoping to catch you before you started your day.”
He crosses to me in three quick strides, and I’m pulled against his chest before I can respond.
His arms wrap around me, and I lean into his embrace.
He smells like coffee and the hand soap from the public bathroom in the club.
I also catch a hint of cigar smoke from the cigar bar a few doors down.
The sound of his heart under my ear is soothing, and for a moment I let myself melt into him.
Letting the warmth of his body ease some of the tension in mine.
His hand strokes down my back and I sigh.
Then I blink and pull away slightly. I can’t let this distract me. Can’t let his touch derail the conversation we need to have.
My hands stay on his chest, but I put enough space between us to see his face clearly. His eyes narrow slightly at my movement, sensing the shift in my mood.
“What is it?” he asks, hands settling at my waist.
I stare directly into his eyes. No hesitation. No backing down. Lili would be proud.
“It’s clear you’re keeping things from me,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “I need you to stop deciding for me what I can handle.”
His body goes still. Not tense, exactly, but alert. Watchful. The way he gets when assessing a threat.
“Lili talked to you,” he says. It’s not a question.
“Yes.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. He doesn’t look away, but I see the calculations happening in his head. Weighing options, considering angles. He’s deciding in real time how much to reveal.
“Stop it,” I say, pressing my palm more firmly against his chest. “Stop trying to figure out what version of the truth to give me. I want all of it, Victor. Whatever information you have about who’s stalking me, whatever you’re hiding to ‘protect’ me, I need to hear it.”
“Grace…”
“No.” I step back, breaking contact entirely. “Don’t ‘Grace’ me in that tone. Don’t try to manage this conversation.”
His hands fall to his sides and silence stretches between us. I can see the struggle he is having with himself. The part that wants to shield me is fighting against the part that respects me too much to keep lying.
“I was going to tell you today,” he says finally. “That’s why I came looking for you.”
“Because Lili forced your hand.” I sound defensive, and I hate it.
He runs a hand through his already messy hair. “Partly. But also because I have more information now. More certainty.”
“So, you were waiting until you had all the answers tied up in a neat bow?” I fold my arms across my chest. “That’s not how this works, Victor. Not with me. Not anymore.”
He steps past me and sinks onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion suddenly more visible in the slump of his shoulders. His eyes meet mine, dark with emotion I can’t quite name.
“You’re right,” he says simply.
The admission catches me off guard. I expected more resistance, more justification. Not this quiet concession.
“I’ve been handling this wrong,” he continues. “With you. With Lili. Trying to control the flow of information. Trying to manage how and when you learned things.” He rubs his palms against his thighs. “Old habits.”
“Bad habits,” I correct, but my voice softens.
“Yes.”
I move closer, standing between his knees. His hands come to rest on my hips again, the motion automatic and familiar.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” I tell him. “I don’t even need you to stop being overprotective. It’s part of who you are, and sometimes I even like it. But you do need to trust that I can handle the truth, whatever it is.”
His thumbs trace small circles against my hipbones. “I do trust you,” he says. “This isn’t about not trusting you. It’s about…” He pauses, struggling for words. “It’s about not wanting to see fear in your eyes. Not wanting to be the one who puts it there.”
“That’s not your choice to make,” I say gently. “My reactions are my own. My fears are mine to face. You can support me through them, but you don’t get to decide whether I experience them at all.”
Victor looks up at me, his expression stripped of the careful control he usually maintains. Raw. Open. I might even call it vulnerable. A rarity for Victor.
“Tell me everything,” I say. “No more filters. No more deciding what I can handle.”
He nods once, decision made. “It’s going to take a while. You should sit down.”
My stomach tightens, but I keep my expression calm as I sit beside him on the bed. Whatever he’s about to tell me, I asked for it. I demanded it. Now, I need to be ready to hear it, no matter how bad it is.
Victor takes my hand, laces our fingers together. Steadying us both for what comes next.
“It starts with Sampson Lindon,” Victor says, his voice gentle but direct.
For a moment, the name hangs in the air between us.
Sampson. My ex. Part of the failed triad relationship that sent me running to Las Vegas.
I haven’t allowed myself to think about him or Kara except in passing until recently.
My body tenses, preparing for his next words.
“What about him?” I ask, the words coming out sharper than intended.
Victor’s hand tightens around mine. “Sampson committed suicide six months ago.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My lungs empty, and the room seems to tilt. Sampson is dead? And he did it himself?
“What?” I whisper, not trusting my voice for anything louder.
“I’m sorry, butterfly.” Victor’s eyes hold mine, steady and caring. “Owen found out when he was investigating your stalker situation. Sampson left a suicide note. Your name was in it.”
My free hand rises to my throat, fingers finding the collar there. It’s an anchor when everything else is spinning.
“My name? What did it say? Why would he…”
Victor shifts closer, his thigh pressing against mine. “We don’t have the exact wording. Just that you were mentioned as one of the reasons. There were others. Financial problems, marriage falling apart. But your name was there.”
I stare at the carpet, trying to process this. Sampson with his booming laugh. He cooked me breakfast every Sunday for a year. Fancy ones. And he played the guitar when he couldn’t sleep, which was often.
That man is dead. Gone. And his death is connected to me? None of this makes sense.
“I had no idea,” I say, the words sounding stupid in the moment. “Why would I? We haven’t spoken since I left.”
“I know.” Victor’s voice is careful, measured. “This isn’t your fault, Grace. Whatever demons Sampson was fighting, they weren’t yours to defeat.”
But the guilt comes anyway. What did I do? Why did he name me? Could I have changed something? Stopped him?
“There’s more,” Victor continues, effectively pausing my guilt spiral, for a minute anyway. “Kara blames you. At least partially. After Sampson’s death, she hired a private investigator to find you.”
My head snaps up. “Kara blames me? But I haven’t…”
“Of course you haven’t. But we’re fairly certain she’s living in Las Vegas. Moved sometime in the last six months. We’re still pinning down the timeline.”
The room feels simultaneously so small it’s crushing me, and so large I’m drowning. Kara Lindon… Sampson’s wife, my other ex. She’s here? Looking for me?