26. Knox
Knox
By the time we return to the building, Chey looks different.
Not in any obvious way. She’s still in the same leggings and sweatshirt, her hair twisted into that messy bun that kept coming loose every time the wind kicked up at the zoo.
But her shoulders aren’t drawn tight anymore.
Her mouth is softer, and her laugh comes a little easier.
She’s still chuckling at something I said about one of the goats trying to eat my sleeve, her eyes bright in a way they weren’t this morning.
Happy.
That’s what she is.
And, Christ, I like it.
More than that, I like knowing I’m the reason that tight, watchful look has eased from her expression. I like that somewhere between the petting zoo, her naming a goat Kevin, and the two of us arguing over whether alpacas are creepy, she started to relax.
Spending the day with her felt uncomplicated in a way I can’t explain.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to the penthouse.
Chey steps out first, still smiling, before swinging toward me. “Just so you know, you’ll forever be that guy who took me on a zoo date.”
With a smirk, I follow her out. “You loved it. Don’t even try to tell me differently.”
“I did not love it.”
“Please. You fed a goat and named him Kevin.”
“Tell me he didn’t look like a Kevin.”
I laugh and shake my head. “He did.”
I don’t get more than a step when I spot a box sitting on the floor a few feet from the elevator. It’s black, glossy, and wrapped with a big silver bow. Every ounce of amusement drains out of me as the fine hairs at the nape of my neck prickle.
Chey follows my line of sight. “Did you get a delivery?”
I move without thinking, stepping in front of her just enough to block the view.
“Looks like it,” I say, keeping my tone light even though I’m already on alert. “The front desk drops packages off all the time.”
I crouch and turn the box just enough to check for a label, but there’s nothing.
No name, delivery slip, or card attached to the ribbon.
My muscles tense. “Do me a favor and stay over there.”
“Knox.” Concern floods her voice.
“It’s probably nothing to worry about, but just let me check it out, okay?”
There’s a beat of silence. “Yeah.”
I undo the ribbon carefully and then lift the lid, pushing past tissue paper. I keep telling myself that I’m overreacting. Gifts are sent to me all the time from sponsors or companies hoping I’ll be photographed with their products. It’s part of the job.
At first, my brain doesn’t fully process what I’m seeing.
Then it clicks.
A shattered picture frame with glass cracked in all directions, splintered like someone drove a fist straight through the center of it. Beneath the broken glass is a photo of Chey standing beside Dakota on a red carpet, both smiling for the cameras.
My stomach drops. It’s not just creepy, it’s violent.
A message wrapped up like a gift and left in a place where she’s supposed to be safe.
A piece of paper rests on top of the broken glass. I pick it up, knowing I’m not going to like whatever’s written on it.
The words are in thick, jagged handwriting.
You broke my heart.
Now I’m going to break yours.
Ice floods my veins. This isn’t heartbreak or a dramatic plea for attention.
It’s a threat. A very real one.
Chey takes a step forward. “What is it?”
Even though I try to cover the note, I’m too late. Her gaze slides past my hand to the frame in the box, and the color drains from her face so quickly it’s like someone flipped a switch.
“Oh my God…” Her hand flies to her mouth. “No… No, that’s—”
I set the note back in the box. My heart thunders as every instinct snaps to attention with the emerging pattern.
Flowers at the hotel.
The punch outside my building.
Possibly slipping into the Railers event.
And now a shattered picture frame and note.
This guy isn’t spiraling, he’s escalating. And I’m done pretending otherwise.
I straighten and turn toward Chey, only to find her rooted in place. She’s staring at the box with wide eyes, as if it might detonate at any moment.
“Chey,” I say, wanting to capture her attention.
Her gaze lifts to mine, and there’s fear in it now. Not discomfort or unease. But actual fear.
“He… He never…” She swallows hard. “He never acted like this before.”
I close the distance between us and pull her into my arms before she can say anything else. She fists the front of my sweatshirt, clinging as if she needs something solid to keep her upright.
I tighten my hold. “It’s okay,” I murmur, even though I know it’s not true. “I’ve got you.”
“I can’t believe he’d do something like this. I can’t believe he sent that here.”
And there it is. The part that makes this so much worse. It’s not just a threat. It’s a violation. He managed to get something inside my home, in a place where she should feel safe.
“He’s not…” She shakes her head against me. “He’s not like this.”
My jaw locks because, yeah, he is. Maybe she hadn’t seen it before or he’d just been better at hiding it when he still thought he was in control.
But this is exactly who that guy is when he starts losing his grip.
Unstable.
Obsessive.
Volatile.
“He is now,” I say quietly.
She stills. “I thought he was just upset.” Her fingers tighten in my shirt. “To send a shattered photo of us here with that note? That’s not normal.”
“You’re right.” It takes effort to keep my tone calm as rage burns at the bottom of my gut. “It’s not.”
She pulls back enough to stare at me with glassy eyes. “I didn’t think he’d ever try to scare me like this.”
I slide one hand up to cradle the back of her head and the other to her cheek, cupping her face and forcing her to refocus on me.
“Hey.”
Her lashes flutter.
I carefully sweep my thumb beneath her eye. “Look at me.”
It takes a moment for her gaze to settle on mine.
“You’re safe here,” I say. “He’s not getting anywhere near you. Not ever again.”
Her breathing is too fast, too shallow.
My hand remains on her face as I rest my forehead against hers. “I mean it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
For a second, she just stares before squeezing her eyes shut and nodding.
I pull her against me, holding her tighter than before, one hand spread over the back of her head, the other rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades while my gaze catches on the box over her shoulder.
This guy is more obsessed with Cheyenne than I realized. What he’s not going to do is reach into my space and scare the hell out of her.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, then lean away just enough to meet her eyes. “Come on.”
She swipes at the wetness on her cheeks. “Where are we going?”
“To the bathroom.”
Her brows knit. “Why?”
“I’m going to run you a bath.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, I think you need to relax.” I take her hand again, threading my fingers through hers. “Warm water. Quiet. No phones. No thinking about him or the show or anything else for a while.”
Her lips part, surprise breaking through the fear. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “But I want to.”
Her gaze drops to our joined hands before lifting to mine again, and some of the strain in her expression drains away.
“Okay. That sounds nice.”
I squeeze her hand and lead her down the hall. Behind us, the box sits where it was left, black and glossy and taunting. I’ll deal with it later.
Just like I’ll deal with him.
But first, I’m going to take care of Cheyenne the way she needs me to. After this stunt, I’m done underestimating how far Dakota is willing to go to get to her.
No matter what it takes, I’ll keep Chey safe.