Chapter 46
Flashpoint
Lena’s pulse roared in her ears like surf pounding the shore, fast and crashing, fizzing along her skin in tandem with the bubbles rising in her untouched champagne.
The pavilion lights glittered overhead, strung like constellations across the open beams, but even their golden shimmer couldn’t banish the shadows creeping in.
The party swayed around her—bare feet on smooth wood, the clink of glasses, laughter, and someone’s off-pitch harmony folding into the music—but all of it seemed distant now.
Muffled. Like she stood behind thick glass, staring in.
The fragrance of saltwater and night-blooming jasmine clung to the air, but beneath it lay the metallic tang of her own fear, her own fury.
David was right. The staff party was the perfect place for their showdown. Chester would love the spotlight until he realized he was the entertainment—his ridicule the purpose.
She sensed him before she sighted him, the hairs on her nape rising in reaction to the feeling of being watched. She followed the feeling and spotted him between the trees, lurking in the shadows. Hunter still. Watching.
He had changed little. Not in the ways that mattered. The same stiff posture. The same entitled hunger etched into every line of his face. Even now he was playing the part—lurking instead of leaving, circling her like he was the predator.
Fool.
He was the prey.
Lena’s stomach coiled tight, but she breathed through it, concentrating on the silk of her dress shifting against her legs with each inhale.
She wasn’t alone.
David stood twenty feet to her left, casual as ever—but coiled.
Zach leaned against a beam near the bar, looking bored while missing nothing.
Beside him stood Sheriff Logan in plain clothes—solid, implacable—introduced to her before the party began.
His badge was tucked out of sight. The authority wasn’t.
She was covered.
Her gaze lifted to David, just briefly. He was watching her. No question. No hesitation. Just the smallest incline of his head. I’ve got you. The air settled in her lungs.
She didn’t shift, didn’t wince or falter under the stare boring into her. A different Lena—an older version of herself—might have backed away. Disappeared into polite silence, into fear. Not this one. Not Lena 2.0.
She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t vulnerable. She wasn’t a victim.
The stem of the flute felt delicate in her hand as she repeated the mantra in her head, but her grip held. Steady. Unwavering.
David’s text had been bold. Reckless, maybe. Definitely brilliant. It had been designed to poke Chester’s ego in one clean line while daring him to show his face. And here he was. Predictable as the tide, spiraling toward the spotlight.
Lena pushed away from her post, weaving through the crowd with dangerous calm, partygoers parting before her like the sea. People hushed. They felt it, too: the tension buzzing around her like electricity, hot and humming. Something was coming, and it would center on Lena.
For once, she wasn’t the one in danger.
She took a moment to ground herself in the cool wood beneath her feet, the press of bodies moving aside, the pressure of their gazes on her skin.
She stopped by the side of the pavilion where Chester lurked, letting her voice carry into the glittering air like a shot. “Well, look who dragged himself out from under his rock,” she called, her tone biting, every edge honed. “Didn’t expect a party, did you?”
Chester moved forward, flashing an oily smirk. “Lena. Still a drama queen, I see.”
Her smile was ice. “Still a creep with delusions of relevance.”
He glanced around, shoulders stiffening as he noted the eyes on them—staffers, dancers, servers pausing mid-pour, mid-step. A ripple of attention tautened the air. The music seemed to slow, each note lingering a beat too long.
“Didn’t get enough last time, Chester?” Disdain dripped from her tone. “Or did you think sneaking around corners, sending your pathetic little messages, and playing your sick games would make me crumble?”
She took a sip of her champagne; the bubbles fizzed on her tongue. “You lost before. Did you think you could win this time? Did you really think you’re stronger than me?” She laughed in his face. “You, momma’s boy? The loser who can’t even get a job without your parents buying it for you?”
The music had stopped completely now.
“You stalked me,” she pitched her voice to ensure everyone heard. “You broke into my cottage. You crushed my shells. You left a dead doll on my porch like some kind of perverse gift. You broke into my office. You left notes in my desk. You followed me.”
A ripple passed through the crowd.
“Admit it,” she demanded. “Say what you did.”
Chester laughed—high and brittle. “You think you’re special?
” His eyes glittered, fever-bright. “I smashed your stupid shells because they mattered to you. I left the doll because I wanted you to know I could reach you anytime. I left the vase in your cottage to show your precious security couldn’t stop me. ”
Gasps sounded around them.
“And the notes?” Lena pressed. “The ones in my office?”
“I wanted you to doubt yourself.” His smile twisted. “I wanted you scared. Jumping at shadows. Wondering if you were losing your mind.”
“You tampered with my golf cart.”
“I loosened the brake line,” he smiled. “I didn’t think you’d flip the damn thing. You always were dramatic.”
Murmurs turned sharp now. Angry.
“You hate me that much?” Lena asked.
“Hate you?” His voice rose. “You humiliated me. You were nothing. I gave you a job. I gave you attention. You should have been grateful.”
Grateful. Her stomach twisted—but not from shame. From fury. She didn’t interrupt. Let him keep talking.
“You are mine,” he ranted, stepping closer. “My parents bought you for me. You worked for me. You owed me. And when you rejected me—” His lip curled. “You thought you could walk away? No one walks away from me.”
Silence fell, heavy and stunned.
“You spurned me!” he spat. “Me! You’re nothing but trash. So yes. I made you afraid. I made you look over your shoulder. I made you remember who has the power. Who owns you.”
Lena didn’t flinch at his words. Let them all hear it.
“You did this,” she said quietly. “All of it.”
“Yes,” he snapped. “I did it. And I’d do it again.”
His hands twitched at his sides, one of them sliding behind his back.
Lena’s instincts screamed a warning, but she didn’t move.
Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Zach’s teachings echoed in her mind—never turn your back, never show your fear.
She kept her gaze leveled on his, watching his eyes, storm meeting rot gone feral.
“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, forcing him to lean in to hear it. “And this? This ends now. You end now.”
Chester’s face contorted, a mask of rage and humiliation. “You bitch! You think you can end me? I’ll kill you!” he roared, wild and unhinged, and lunged. A silver flash arced upward—a knife catching the light, hungry.
Lena was ready. She pivoted on her heel, the movement fluid and practiced, her body remembering Zach’s lessons. The blade missed her by inches, and she snapped her elbow up, striking Chester’s arm and sending the blade off course.
His free hand flailed and caught the neckline of her dress. The chain at her throat snapped. The shell pendant—small, worn smooth from years of worrying at its edges—tore loose and shattered on the deck.
Time fractured.
And then David was there. Not charging blindly. Not flailing. Precise.
He didn’t crash into Chester—he stepped to his side, just enough, catching the knife wrist mid-swing. His fingers clamped down with terrifying certainty. A sharp twist—Chester’s arm jerked backward with a strangled cry. The knife wavered.
Lena stumbled back, champagne sloshing over her knuckles.
David pivoted, sweeping Chester’s leg from under him and driving him face-first into the deck. The crack of impact split the air as he hit the floor hard—but David didn’t look wild. He looked focused. Cold.
He followed Chester down in one fluid motion, knee planting between his shoulder blades, weight settling like stone. Chester tried to roll, to buck him off—but David shifted with him, adjusting, trapping his other wrist and stretching it up his back.
No wasted movement. No rage-punching. Just control. The crowd gasped as Chester writhed under him, red-faced and spitting fury. “She provoked me! You saw that—”
David bent down, saying something Lena couldn’t hear—but whatever it was made Chester’s face drain of color. Then David twisted. Not enough to break. Enough to promise.
“Drop it!” Logan’s commanding voice cut through the noise, badge now out and glittering in the twinkle lights. The knife finally slipped from Chester’s fingers and clattered onto the deck.
Chester thrashed once more, but it was weaker now. Contained. David didn’t let up until Logan had both wrists cuffed.
Only then did he rise. Breathing controlled. Hands steady. Not shaking.
Lena stared at him. This wasn’t the man who fidgeted with tablets and hid behind dry humor. This was the part Zach had carved into him. It was terrifying. And seriously hot.
The crowd exhaled as one when Logan dragged Chester away. Music faltered, unsure, until Walter stepped forward, whispered to the DJ, and it burst back into life. People turned back to each other, gossiping about what had happened, but still giving Lena the illusion of privacy.
She knelt down by the shell fragments. The chain had broken into two strands. The pendant, cheap plastic with a thin silver coating, had shattered, the fragments scattered across the deck.
Chester had called it trashy. He’d laughed when she wore it to work. Said it didn’t belong in “his” establishment. Now it lay broken because of him. Again.
Her lungs compressed—and then filled with something new. Not grief. Not panic. Release.
She picked up the chain, closing her fingers around it. “It was never trash,” she said softly. She wasn’t speaking to Chester, but to herself. She stood and gulped a mouthful of the champagne—sharp, sweet, alive.
David’s touch was light on her elbow. “You okay?”
She didn’t tremble.
She didn’t flinch.
She felt free.
Not the hollow freedom of before, when she’d escaped the Cape. Not the anxious relief of escaping the storm still raging behind her. This was different—earned, final.
Watching Chester dragged away in cuffs, yelling nonsense no one believed, his voice fading into the background like an old radio cut off mid-song—a tether snapped. And she wasn’t the one left flailing.
Her laugh broke, quiet but sure. “Yeah. I think I am.” She looked over her shoulder at the staff, the faces smiling again. Her voice softened. “You really think I would’ve let him win?”
“Not for a second, Sparky.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t push it.”
He grinned. “Spark.”
She handed him the empty flute. He took it without comment and set it on the tray behind him. She looked at him fully now. Looked past the worry in his eyes to the core of steadiness underneath. Solid ground.
She took a breath and let it sink in. Chester was finished.
David laughed and reached for her hand. His fingers were warm—warmer than her own—and his grip was grounding. “You were incredible.”
“Took me long enough.” She curled her hand into his. Not trembling now. Not resisting. Just there. Present. “You think it’s over?” The question was pitched to ride under the party’s new tide of laughter and resumed chatter.
His smile faltered a little, and his gaze moved past her to the horizon where moonlight stroked the surface of the ocean. “With Chester, yeah. With our saboteur?” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “That storm’s still coming.”
The band struck a sweeter chord, something smokier, more forgiving.
She let herself lean into him now, heart still galloping in her but running toward now, not from.
Around them, glasses lifted again. Logan returned, weapon holstered, and stood near the perimeter next to Zach, arms folded like a sentry, eyes watchful.
Lena tightened her fingers on David’s and nodded once. “Then let’s make sure we’re ready.”
Before she thought too much, before analysis overrode instinct, she stepped into him.
Her free hand landed on his chest, and his rested on her back, low and possessive.
The sound of the music swelled around them, and the subtle rhythm gave her something else to concentrate on.
Sandalwood cologne. The slow inhale and exhale of someone she trusted.
They moved, swaying more than dancing, while the lights above flickered like stars drawn closer, condensed and golden. Lena let her eyes slip closed for a breath, just one, and allowed herself this peace. However temporary.
She was ready.