Chapter 9
Unmasking the Past
Julia’s POV
But as the first light of dawn crept through the windows, casting a soft glow over our entwined bodies, I feel a shadow of doubt creep into my mind. Logan’s possessiveness, his dominance, it is exhilarating, but it also scares me.
What if I can’t handle it, again? What if I let him in, only to push him away again?
As if sensing her thoughts, Logan tightened his arms around me, his lips brushing my temple. My heart pounds against my ribs as I carefully untangle myself from Logan’s embrace, the warmth of his body lingering on my skin even as I slip from the bed.
He stirs but doesn’t wake, and for a moment, I let myself look at him—the strong lines of his face softened by sleep, the quiet vulnerability I’ve never seen before.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to move. If I stay any longer, I’ll lose myself in him again. And I can’t afford that. Not when I still don't know how to reconcile the past with the fire we’ve ignited again.
By the time I step into the dance studio, the weight in my chest hasn’t eased. I’m eager to find the relief only dancing gives me.
Music thrums through my body, each beat grounding me, pulling me back from the chaos swirling inside my head. My students mirror my movements, their faces flushed with exertion, lost in the rhythm just as I am.
This is where I find my control. This is where nothing else—no past, no mistakes, no regrets—can reach me. My body moves instinctively, gliding through each count, pushing through the tension coiled in my muscles.
This —this is the only place I feel like I can breathe, where fear doesn’t hold me hostage.
No matter how hard I push myself, I can still feel the ghost of Logan’s touch, the possessive way he held me like he never wanted to let go. And the worst part? The biggest part of me wishes he hadn’t.
Every turn, every step, every stretch of my limbs is an act of defiance against the shadows threatening to consume me. My fears, my doubts, my secrets —they can’t touch me here. Not when I’m dancing.
The mirrors reflect the movements of my students as they follow my lead. The class is small this morning, mostly adults, women looking for an escape—just like me. I smile, encouraging them, pushing them harder, faster, until the tension in the room transforms into exhilaration.
For a while, I let myself forget.
Forget the growing threats.
Forget the fact that Logan needs to know the truth now.
But I made my choice years ago. I ran. I protected my child. I did what I thought was right.
Didn’t I?
I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the music.
But my rhythm falters when I hear the sound of the front door opening.
I glance toward the entrance but I don’t really need to turn around to know who it is. A shiver races down my spine, a mix of anticipation and dread.
Logan.
He’s standing in the doorway, broad-shouldered and imposing in his sheriff’s uniform, arms crossed over his chest. His green eyes pin me in place, unreadable, but there’s a weight in his expression that makes my stomach drop.
The music fades as I lift my hand to signal the end of class. The students groan playfully, some of them laughing as they grab their water bottles, oblivious to the sudden tension that has filled the room.
I wipe my palms against my leggings and square my shoulders. “Class dismissed,” I say, my voice steady even though my pulse isn’t.
Logan doesn’t move. He just watches me, that damn sheriff’s gaze peeling back every layer I try to keep intact.
One of my students, an older woman named Marie, nudges me on the way out. “That’s one hell of a distraction, Julia.” She winks before walking out.
I force a small smile, waiting until the last student exits before I finally turn to Logan.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
His jaw tightens, his gaze flicking around the studio before settling back on me. “We need to talk.”
I exhale slowly, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from my neck. "You find something?" I ask, arms folding across my chest, a poor attempt at creating space between us.
Logan steps closer, his presence filling the space, making the studio feel smaller. More intimate.Logan exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
"Maybe. Got a lead on the guy who’s been watching you. Nothing solid yet, but it’s a start."
The tension in my body doesn’t ease. If anything, it coils tighter.
"But that’s not why you’re here, is it?" I press.
He hesitates, then pulls out his phone, swiping until he finds a photo. He hands it to me, his expression unreadable.
I glance down, my breath catching in my throat.
The image on the screen is grainy, taken from a security camera. A man in a dark jacket, cigarette in hand, lingering near the back entrance of my house.
Mac.
My grip on the phone tightens.
Lily.
My daughter is in that house.
Logan must see the panic in my expression because he steps closer, his hand brushing my arm. “She’s safe, Julia. I’ve got a unit patrolling the area. But we need to be careful.”
His jaw clenches, and for a long moment, he doesn’t speak. Then, he does something that sends a fissure through my defenses—he looks at me, really looks at me.
Not with anger or suspicion, but with something deeper. Something raw.
"I’ve spent most of my life convincing myself I could outrun my past," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "That if I stayed focused—on the Corps, on my badge—I wouldn’t have to deal with all the ways I’ve failed the people who mattered."
My breath catches.
He looks down, his fingers flexing at his sides. "I failed my mom before she died. She begged me to come home before her last surgery, but I was halfway across the world, chasing another mission. Told myself there would be time. But there wasn’t."
His confession punches through me, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.
"I failed my sister, too," he continues, shaking his head.
"She needed me, and I was too damn stubborn to see it.
I thought I was doing the right thing —protecting her by staying away, by letting her figure things out on her own.
But she got mixed up with the wrong guy, and by the time I realized it, it was too late. "
I reach for the desk, gripping the edge as his words settle in my chest like stones.
He lifts his gaze to mine, something unspoken simmering in his eyes. "I don’t want to fail again, Jules."
My stomach twists.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the biggest failure of all isn’t his—it’s mine. I kept his daughter from him. I let my fear dictate my choices, convinced myself I was doing the right thing by keeping Lily a secret.
But was I?
Looking at him now, the weight of his regrets written all over his face, I feel something shift inside me. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself all along. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve been the one running—from the truth, from him, from what we could’ve been.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of everything—our past, our present, our choices—settles between us.
Then Logan’s voice softens. “I missed you, Julia. Even after all these years, I never stopped.” I blink up at him, my heart twisting. “Logan…”
He shakes his head. “I’m not saying it to make this harder. I’m saying it because it’s the truth. And I need you to start giving me the truth, too.”
I nod, unable to speak.
A long moment passes before Logan steps back, his expression unreadable again. “I’ll keep you updated on Mac. In the meantime, stay close to home. Keep Lily close. I’ll have someone outside your place at all times.”
I nod again, my throat too tight to speak.
Logan turns to leave, but before he reaches the door, he pauses. “I meant what I said. You’re not alone in this anymore.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the studio, my body still humming with adrenaline and something dangerously close to hope.
I sit down heavily on the edge of the stage, rubbing my temples
Before I can figure out what the hell to do with the emotions clawing at my chest, a sharp knock sounds against the studio door.
"Miss Thompson?" My assistant, Kelly, peeks inside, her face pale. "This just arrived for you."
She hands me an envelope. No return address. Just my name, scrawled in tight, jagged handwriting. My fingers tremble slightly as I turn it over. There’s no name, no address—just a single, small emblem in the corner.
A symbol I recognize all too well.
I rip the envelope open, my heart pounding as I pull out the contents.
Unease slithers down my spine.
I tear it open with trembling fingers, and the moment my eyes land on the contents, my breath catches in my throat.
A photograph.
Of me. And Lily.
Taken outside our house.
Chillingly recent.
A breath shudders out of me as ice crawls through my veins.
My fingers tremble as I stare at the photograph, the edges slightly curled from the way I’m gripping it too hard. The ink-black shadow of a figure lingers in the background, blurred but unmistakable.
I know that silhouette.
My stomach twists.
Mac.
The realization sends a violent shiver down my spine.
This isn’t just some idle threat. He’s here, close enough to take this photo. Close enough to watch us.
My heart pounds so loudly it drowns out everything else. I stare at the picture, willing it to be something else, something innocent. But the sickening sense of dread curling in my gut tells me this is real. This is happening.
A cold sweat breaks out over my skin. I’ve been careful. Always looking over my shoulder, never letting Lily out of my sight for too long, keeping our routine unpredictable. But somehow, Mac has managed to slip through my defenses.
How long has he been watching?
How close has he gotten to my daughter?
The thought is unbearable.
I force myself to take deep breaths, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling into full-fledged panic. The air feels too thick, the studio walls pressing in around me. My vision tunnels, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.
No. No, I can’t fall apart now.
I have to think. I can’t move. Can’t think.
Mac knows and he’s watching.