Chapter 5 #2
The law firm of Hayward & Associates occupied three floors of one of the city’s most prestigious corporate high-rise buildings, and when we arrived George escorted me into the lobby, where to my surprise I saw my mother, her Chanel suit immaculate, her expression pinched with worry.
Beside her was my brother Charlie—technically Charles Hayward IV, though no one bothered with the numeral—looking confused and slightly annoyed at having his morning interrupted.
“What’s going on?” I asked, looking between them.
“I don’t know. Dad just said you and Mom would be coming in,” Charlie said, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Told me to wait here and bring you to his office when you arrived.”
I tried not to let my own irritation show on my face.
Charlie wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t even a bad brother, really.
He just existed in a perfectly curated world that our father had created for him and he’d never thought to reach for anything beyond it.
He wanted to work in Dad’s firm, wanted to be groomed as the eventual successor, wanted exactly what our parents had planned for him.
Which was probably why they liked him so much better than me.
I shifted my gaze to my mother. “Is everything okay?”
She pressed her lips together. “I hope so.”
Clearly, she knew as much as I did about this impromptu gathering.
We took the elevator up to the top floor in tense silence.
We bypassed the receptionist and walked past offices, conference rooms, and the employees who pretended not to stare.
When we reached my father’s door, Charlie opened it for us, and we filed inside.
Dad stood behind his massive mahogany desk, looking every inch the powerful lawyer he was in one of his immaculate, custom-cut designer suits. But there were deep frown lines furrowing his forehead, and his jaw was clenched tight.
There was someone else in the room, too, I noticed.
An older man stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze shifting from the view of the city below to us as we walked inside.
He was handsome in a distinguished way—dark hair with strands of gray, strong jaw, and the kind of bearing that spoke of military service or law enforcement.
His suit was simple, dark gray, well-fitted but not flashy.
“Charlie, close the door,” Dad said.
My brother complied. The soft click of the latch felt strangely ominous.
Dad sighed heavily and braced his hands on his desk, his gaze encompassing the three of us at first. “This morning, I received an envelope. It was on my desk when I arrived.” Then, he looked directly at me. “Inside were photographs. Of you.”
I frowned at him in confusion.
“Photographs of you going in and out of your apartment,” he continued. “Having lunch with a friend, you at yoga class, and picking up groceries. Taken over the past several weeks, as far as I can tell.”
My stomach curdled. Someone had been watching me. Following me. Documenting my movements like I was a target. I waited for my father to add and photos of you visiting The Players Club but thank God that addition never came.
“The apartment photos concern me the most, since it’s a clear threat letting me know that whoever is taking the pictures knows where you live,” Dad said in a grim tone.
“Was there a note?” My mother’s voice was sharp, demanding, while I tried to process what my father just said. “And how did something like that end up on your desk without your assistant noticing?”
Dad shook his head. “Sonya never saw the envelope. She swears it wasn’t there when she left my office last night, and she’s been with me long enough that I trust her.” His gaze shifted to me. “And yes—there was a note. It said, I can get to her. Anytime. Anyplace.”
I swallowed hard at the implication. My father, who’d been a prosecutor before transitioning to defense law, had put away some of the most dangerous criminals in the state, mafia type level thugs. Someone he’d wronged, on one side of the law or other, was now sending a message.
And I was the target.
“What else did the note say?” I asked, my voice raspy.
“That was it. For now. I’m sure that whatever this person wants will be made clear soon,” Dad continued. “But in the meantime, Stella, you’re going to be under twenty-four-hour protection.”
“What?” The word escaped before I could stop it.
I knew immediately it was a mistake. It wasn’t disagreement—it was shock, pure and simple. But my mother pounced on it anyway.
“Are you not taking this seriously?” she snapped. “Someone has been photographing you where you live, and you’re questioning the need for security?”
I squared my shoulders and met her gaze. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I was startled. This is a lot to process in thirty seconds.”
“She’s right,” Dad said, softening a fraction as he looked at me. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. This must be very frightening.”
I couldn’t deny that I was more than a little alarmed. “Have you already arranged someone?” I asked, glancing at the man by the window who’d been watching our exchange, but had remained silent.
“Yes. I called one of the best security firms in the city the moment I saw those photos and read the note.” Dad gestured toward the older man, who stepped forward.
“This is Sutton. He runs Noble and Associates. His people are the best in the business, and I have it on good authority that you’ll be well looked after. ”
“Whose authority?”
Dad actually smiled. “Mine. Do you remember the charity gala a few months ago? The security guard who helped you when your date became... inappropriate?”
I remembered and cringed at the memory. Mom had set me up with a prominent surgeon—her latest attempt to match me with someone she deemed worthy of her standards.
I’d said yes just to appease my mother, and the guy had turned out to be a handsy creep who couldn’t take no for an answer.
A security guard had intervened before things escalated, and Dad had been grateful enough to make a point of finding out who employed him.
That was when I’d started “dating” my friend, Oliver, to keep my mother from any more match-making attempts.
“That was one of Sutton’s men,” Dad continued. “I was impressed by how he handled the situation. Discreet, professional, effective.”
“I appreciate the endorsement,” Sutton said, his voice a calm baritone. “We take the safety of our clients very seriously.”
“How will this work exactly?” I kept my voice steady, businesslike. If I was going to have my life turned upside down, I at least wanted to understand the parameters. “Will my friends need to know? In case they’re being followed too?”
Sutton shook his head. “Not at this time. Based on the evidence, and the fact that the photos and note were sent to your father, we believe this threat is targeted at him, using you as leverage. You’re a means to an end, not the end itself.
If it becomes more difficult to access you for whatever they are trying to achieve, they may shift focus to your mother or brother, but they’re unlikely to go after your friends unless they feel they have no other option. ”
Cold comfort, but it was a relief to hear nonetheless. The last thing I wanted was to drag Melissa, Oliver, or anyone else into this mess.
“So what does twenty-four-hour protection actually look like?” I asked.
“It means you can still live your life for the most part.” Sutton offered what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile.
“This isn’t witness protection, but you’ll have one of my men with you at all times as a personal guard, and we’ll have rotating staff monitoring your residence.
You’ll be able to come and go as you please for the most part.
Your security detail might occasionally suggest alternative routes or discourage you from attending certain venues, but you won’t be under house arrest, if that’s what you’re worried about. ”
Some of the tension in my shoulders eased. Okay, I could work with that. I could—
“And you’ll be moving back home with us,” Dad added.
The tension came roaring back. “Absolutely not.”
The words came out hard and flat, and I didn’t try to soften them. Moving back into my parents’ house would mean the end of everything I’d built for myself. Every scrap of independence I’d fought for, gone in an instant. Even temporarily.
“Don’t be childish,” my mother said. “This is for your safety.”
“I can be perfectly safe in my own apartment with security present.” I looked at Sutton, searching for an ally. “Isn’t that right?”
He maintained careful neutrality. “We can protect you wherever you choose to live. Our job is to keep you safe, regardless of location.”
“But surely some locations are easier to protect than others,” Dad pressed.
“Our house is set back from the road, it’s a single-family home that’s fenced in with acreage, and we already have a state-of-the-art security system.
Whoever took these photos knows where Stella’s apartment is.
It makes sense for her to relocate somewhere they haven’t already scouted, or that they can easily access. ”
He wasn’t wrong. That was the infuriating thing. Everything he said made logical sense.
But logic had never been the issue between me and my parents. The issue was that my father saw this as protection and I felt suffocation. He saw himself keeping me safe, while I saw him keeping me trapped and managed and in my personal business.
“I do understand your concern, but I’m twenty-six years old,” I said, fighting to keep my voice level. “I have my own place, my own life, my own work. I can’t responsibly put all of that on hold because I have clients depending on me.”
“Your work?” Charlie let out a small laugh. “Come on, Stell. It’s not like you have a job to worry about.”
I turned to look at my brother, letting him see exactly how much his casual dismissal stung. “My designs. My commissions. My social media presence that I’ve spent years building. The boutique I’m planning to open. That’s my work, Charlie, even if you’ve never bothered to notice or care.”
He had the grace to look slightly abashed, but the damage was done.
“The point,” Dad interjected, ignoring my obvious frustration, “is that your safety is more important than your independence. And this matter is settled, or else I will cancel the lease on your apartment.”
My fingernails dug into my palms, my throat growing tight with frustration. I would not cry. I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
“You can’t do that,” I said quietly. “My name is on that lease.”
“And I co-signed, which means I can, and I will, if you’re going to be difficult about this.
” Dad’s voice softened slightly, the way it always did when he thought he was being reasonable.
“I know this is hard, Stella, but someone is clearly making a point and I will not let my daughter become their next victim.”
“Sutton.” I turned to the security expert, grasping at any possible lifeline. “Is it truly necessary for me to relocate? Or is this a preference?”
He paused, clearly weighing his words. “From a purely tactical standpoint, relocating to a location the potential threat hasn’t scouted or can’t easily access does offer advantages.
However, we are fully capable of securing your current residence if that’s your preference.
The most important factor is having consistent protection, which we can provide regardless of where you live. ”
“But you’d recommend the relocation,” Dad said. It wasn’t a question.
“I would recommend whatever makes the client feel most secure while allowing us to do our job effectively.”
So fucking diplomatic, I thought bitterly, and of course my father was going to hear what he wanted to hear.
“Then it’s decided.” Dad nodded like the matter was closed. Because in his mind, it was. “You’ll move back home, where we can keep you safe. Sutton will assign one of his best men as your personal guard.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw something. I wanted to demand to be treated like the adult I was instead of the child they still saw.
But I also wasn’t stupid. Someone had been following me and I hadn’t known. Someone did know where I lived. And as much as I hated admitting it, my parents’ house was objectively more secure than my apartment.
Pick your battles, I told myself. You can fight for your independence later. Right now, just survive this.
“Fine,” I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “But I have conditions.”
Dad’s eyebrows rose, as if I had the audacity to ask for any kind of concession. “Conditions?”
“I’m not a prisoner. I go where I need to go, when I need to go there.
I have clients depending on me and orders to fill and I won’t let them down because someone decided to play stalker.
” I straightened my spine, channeling every ounce of confidence I didn’t feel.
“And the workspace I’m claiming in the spare bedroom next to my old room is mine,” I said, needing a place to keep creating my designs.
“No one enters without my permission. Not you, not Mom, not whatever guard you assign to me. I need somewhere that’s mine where I can work without someone breathing down my neck, or I’ll lose my mind within a week. ”
My parents exchanged a look. It was my mother who spoke first.
“That seems reasonable.”
I tried not to let my shock show. Mom agreeing to something I wanted? That was... unexpected.
“We just want you safe, Stella,” Dad said with a sigh. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted.”
No, I thought. You’ve wanted me compliant and managed. Safe is just the excuse you use to ease your conscience.
But I didn’t say it. There was no point. They would never understand the difference.
“I know,” I said instead.
Sutton stepped forward, and something in his expression—a flicker of understanding, maybe even sympathy—made me think he saw more than he let on.
“We’ll take good care of her, Mr. Hayward,” Sutton said, shifting his attention back to my father.
“Thank you.” Dad shook his hand, then turned to pull me into a hug that I tolerated more than returned. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”
I nodded against his shoulder, not trusting my voice.
As Sutton left to make arrangements and my parents began discussing logistics and the situation like I wasn’t even in the room, I stared out the window at the city spread below.
Somewhere out there, someone was watching. Waiting. Planning something that involved me, whether I liked it or not. And now I’d be trapped in my childhood home, under my parents’ roof and their rules, with a stranger shadowing my every move.
I could handle anything for a few weeks, I told myself. Even this.