Chapter 17
Tate
I woke up alone and I hated it. The sheets beside me were cold, the pillow still holding the faint impression of where Stella’s head had rested just hours before.
Her scent lingered—something soft, floral, and uniquely her—and I found myself reaching for the empty space like an idiot before I caught myself.
I’d made her go back to her own room in the early morning hours.
Woken her gently, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and watched her slip out my door with sleepy eyes and a reluctant smile.
It had been the right call. The responsible call.
The last thing either of us needed was to get caught in a compromising position by her parents. But God, it felt wrong to let her go.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and swung my legs out of bed, forcing myself to focus. The morning light was already streaming through the curtains and I had a job to do. I couldn’t afford to lie here mooning over a woman like some lovesick teenager.
Except that’s exactly what I was becoming.
The realization had been creeping up on me for days, but last night had crystallized it into something undeniable.
I was in deep. Deeper than I’d ever intended to go and I had no idea what to do about it.
Resisting her was becoming impossible. Every time I told myself to maintain professional distance, she found a way past my defenses.
Every time I reminded myself of all the reasons why this was a terrible idea, she looked at me and I forgot every single rule.
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water pound against my shoulders, trying to clear my head. There had to be a way forward. Some path through this mess that didn’t end with me losing my job, my reputation, or—worse—her.
But I couldn’t see it. Not yet. Not while she was still my client, still under my protection and still in danger from whoever was sending those threatening messages.
First things first. Find the bastard who was targeting her family. Keep her safe. And then... then maybe we could figure out what this thing between us actually was.
* * *
I was just stepping out of the shower on Monday morning, towel wrapped around my waist, when my phone buzzed with an incoming call. I glanced at the screen and saw the name Sutton.
I answered immediately. “What’s up, boss?”
“Tate.” Sutton’s voice was clipped, all business. “I need you to meet me at Charles Hayward’s office. Now.”
My stomach dropped. “What happened?”
“Something Charles said we both need to see in person. I’m sending Xavier to cover for you. He’ll be there in twenty minutes. Get to Hayward’s office as soon as he arrives.”
The line went dead before I could ask any more questions. I stared at the phone for a moment, my mind racing through possibilities. Another threatening letter? Something worse? Had they finally made a move against the family?
Or—and this thought made my blood run cold—had Charles somehow found out about me and Stella? Fuck.
I dressed quickly despite the anxiety churning in my gut. Dark slacks and a crisp white shirt. I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, making sure nothing in my expression betrayed the turmoil underneath. Whatever was waiting for me at Charles’s office, I’d face it head-on.
Xavier arrived exactly on time—a solid operative, quiet and competent. I briefed him quickly on the house layout and Stella’s likely movements for the morning, got him settled in the study where the security feed was, then headed out.
The drive to Charles’s office felt longer than usual, traffic crawling because of the early hour.
I pulled into the parking garage beneath the high-rise building that housed Hayward’s law firm and found Sutton waiting by the elevators.
He was dressed impeccably as always, his expression giving nothing away.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I approached.
Sutton fell into step beside me as we entered the elevator. “Charles received another delivery this morning.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence and the elevator doors opened onto the executive floor, all polished marble and expensive art. Charles’s assistant waved us through immediately, her face tight with barely concealed anxiety.
Charles was standing behind his desk when we entered, his expression irritable. He looked like a man barely holding onto his composure—jaw clenched, hands braced against the mahogany surface, eyes blazing with a fury that seemed directed at the world in general.
“About damn time,” he snapped.
“We came as quickly as we could,” Sutton said smoothly, unbothered by the man’s ire. “Show us what arrived.”
Charles pushed something across the desk toward us. An envelope, already opened, with a stack of photographs spilling out.
My blood went cold. Not more cut-and-paste letters. Not vague threats scrawled in magazine clippings. These were more photographs. Of Stella. At the gala.
I picked them up with hands that remained steady through sheer force of will, flipping through them one by one.
Stella mingling with guests, champagne glass in hand.
Stella standing with Oliver, his arm around her waist. Stella with her mother, smiling that practiced smile I’d come to recognize as her public mask.
The quality was excellent. Professional, almost. And the angles—some of these had been taken from impossibly close range. Or zoomed in to make it look that way. Either way, the perpetrator had been at the gala.
I’d been watching her all night. I’d had eyes on her constantly, tracking every person who came within arm’s reach and I hadn’t seen a damn thing. Whoever had taken these had done it without me noticing any phone or camera being used suspiciously.
I turned over one of the photographs and felt my jaw clench.
Princess let out of her tower at last?
The words were written in mocking red crayon, the letters childish and uneven.
“This person’s insane,” Charles raged, pacing behind his desk. “A complete and utter lunatic.”
“No.” I shook my head slowly, still staring at the writing. “This person is actually very smart. They’re trying to sound like a lunatic.”
Both men looked at me.
“The cut-and-paste letters were cliché,” I explained, setting the photos down carefully.
“I thought it was just someone unoriginal, but these photographs—this took care. Planning. Skill.” I tapped the crayon writing.
“You don’t get this close to a protected target, take shots this good, slip past multiple security teams, and then write in crayon like a child.
Unless you’re deliberately trying to obscure yourself. ”
Sutton nodded slowly. “Making us underestimate them.”
“Exactly. An unhinged person makes mistakes. They’re out of control, impulsive, easy to catch because they can’t help themselves.
But this person...” I picked up one of the close-range shots, studying it.
“This person is careful. Calculated. They’re playing a game, and we haven’t figured out the rules yet. ”
“Well?” Charles demanded, his voice sharp. “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”
I took a breath, forcing myself to remain calm. What I wanted to do was snap at this man and tell him he had no idea how much I cared about Stella’s safety, but losing my own temper wouldn’t help anyone.
“We need to find out why your daughter in particular is being targeted,” I said instead. “You’re the one being threatened, but they’re going after Stella specifically. They want to hurt you through her. There’s a reason for that.”
Charles’s brow furrowed. “What kind of reason could there be?”
“That’s what we need to determine.” I pulled out my phone, bringing up the list I’d been working through.
“We don’t think this is coming from someone you’ve defended, but rather an enemy you made as a prosecutor.
I want to go back through everyone who might bear a grudge against you and look for connections to daughters specifically.
Did you ever prosecute someone whose daughter ended up in foster care as a result?
Did you ever have any... interactions with a woman whose father you later put away? ”
Charles’s expression darkened. “I’ve never cheated on my wife.”
“This could have been before you were married. Or even something innocent that was perceived differently.” I held his gaze steadily.
“Whoever this is, they’re very good at not being caught.
We can’t trace where these letters are coming from.
They didn’t catch my eye at the party despite me watching Stella all night.
They slipped past casino security and our own team.
This animosity is something that’s been building for a long time, sir.
This is someone who’s had years to plan exactly how they want to hurt you. ”
Charles sighed heavily, sinking into his chair. “There has to be some other way to narrow this down.”
“We’re working every angle,” I assured him.
And I meant it—I wanted to find this person and burn them to the ground.
“But do you understand now why I’ve been hesitant about large public events?
Everyone at that gala was vetted. We had multiple security teams coordinating coverage. This person still got through.”
I was going to need a list of every person who’d worked the event, every guest who’d attended, and cross-reference all of it against Charles’s case history.
It was going to be a massive undertaking.
* * *
Stella was quiet when I got back to the house and broke the news about the photographs. She sat on the edge of her bed, listening as I explained what we’d found. Her face was pale but composed, her hands folded carefully in her lap.
“So they were there,” she said when I finished. “At the gala. Right next to me, and you didn’t see them.”
The words weren’t accusatory, just stating a fact, but they cut deep anyway. “No,” I admitted, hating that I’d missed something so critical. “I didn’t.”