Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Grace
I had already knocked twice. No answer.
Checking the time on my phone, I cursed under my breath.
Dominic was supposed to be at an interview in twenty minutes, and judging by the dead silence behind his door, he hadn’t even rolled out of bed yet.
The band’s manager was already on edge, pacing in the living room, his voice sharp as he rattled off schedules to an assistant who looked ready to pass out.
If Dominic didn’t get up now, I’d have to deal with a full-scale PR disaster before I’d even had my morning coffee.
I knocked again, this time harder. “Beethoven, wake up.”
Nothing.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
I could hear the distant sounds of the other guys moving around—Theo on a business call, Riley laughing at something on his phone, Ezra arguing with their stylist about why he refused to wear something that “looked like it belonged on a Victorian ghost.” Jaden was in his usual silent mode, probably still half-asleep.
But Dominic? Dead to the world.
Fine. If he wasn’t going to answer, I’d make him.
Twisting the handle, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Alright, rockstar, time to?—”
I stopped.
And immediately wished I had knocked one more time.
Dominic was standing in the middle of the room, fresh from a shower, a towel slung way too low around his hips.
Steam still clung to his skin.
My brain completely short-circuited.
His back was to me at first, water droplets trailing down his broad shoulders, his muscles shifting as he ran a hand through his damp hair. Then he turned, catching sight of me just as I froze like an idiot in the doorway.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then—of course—he smirked.
“Didn’t know you were so eager to see me naked, Dauntless.”
Heat shot up my spine, but I masked it immediately, glaring instead. “I wouldn’t have to see anything if you got your ass up when you were supposed to.”
He took his time looking me over, not bothering to grab a shirt. “Should I be concerned that you’re personally waking me up now?”
I scowled, grabbing a nearby t-shirt from the chair and throwing it at his face. “Put on some damn clothes, Beethoven.”
He caught it easily, laughing as he deliberately dragged the fabric over his head, slow enough to let my eyes flicker over the sharp lines of his stomach before I could stop myself.
I looked away, pretending to check my phone.
I was not blushing.
I was not affected.
This was just my job.
I heard him chuckle under his breath, clearly enjoying this too much. “You’re getting flustered.”
I shot him a sharp look. “You wish.”
He buttoned up his shirt, still grinning as he rolled up the sleeves, revealing the toned muscles of his forearms. “I do, actually.”
I ignored the way my stomach twisted at his voice. Instead, I walked over, grabbing his tie from the chair and shoving it against his chest. “You’re late. Move faster.”
He took the tie but didn’t put it on. Instead, he watched me with that lazy, knowing look, like he had all the time in the world.
“You do it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Do I look like your assistant?”
“No,” he murmured, voice dropping slightly. “But I like watching you get close.”
I should have walked away.
Should have thrown the damn tie at him and left him to figure it out himself.
Instead, I grabbed the fabric with a little too much force and stepped forward, pulling it around his neck.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t step back.
Just stood there, watching me, a little too entertained, a little too amused. I worked quickly, fingers pulling the knot into place, but the closer I got, the more I regretted agreeing to this.
His scent clung to him—something clean, rich, laced with the warmth of the shower still lingering on his skin. His jaw was sharp enough to cut, his lips slightly parted as his breath ghosted over my cheek. My hands slowed just for a second, the knot of the tie still unfinished.
He noticed.
His fingers brushed against my wrist, deliberate and slow.
“You’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be.”
The words were low, just for me, sending a sharp shiver down my spine.
I yanked the tie tighter than necessary, smirking when he let out a small grunt. “Keep dreaming.”
Before he could say something else that would ruin me, my phone buzzed.
Ezra.
I stepped back, clearing my throat before answering. “What?”
“You need to see this.”
The band’s group chat had been hacked.
Private messages, voice memos, conversations no one else should have access to—they were all over the internet. Some were harmless, just inside jokes and casual banter. But others? Others were personal. Things they had said in moments of frustration, texts that were never meant for the public eye.
“This isn’t just a leak,” Theo muttered, his expression tight. “It’s targeted.”
Jaden nodded, his usual quiet demeanor even more tense than usual. “This isn’t just about digging for gossip. Someone wanted us to see this. Someone wanted us to know they were watching.”
Dominic hadn’t said anything yet, his jaw tight as he stared at the screen.
I tapped my fingers against the counter, thinking fast. “I’m ordering full device scans. Phones, laptops, tablets—everything. If someone got into your chat, there’s a chance they installed spyware somewhere.”
Riley let out a breath. “That’s great and all, but who the hell is doing this?”
No one had an answer.
But when I glanced at Dominic, his gaze was too unreadable, his posture too controlled.
Like he wasn’t surprised.
Like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.
I filed that away for later.
“Lock down your accounts,” I instructed, switching into security mode. “Change your passwords, set up two-factor authentication, and don’t open anything suspicious.”
Theo nodded. “I’ll have our IT team run checks, too.”
Ezra leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “Well, at least it’s not more stalker photos this time.”
I didn’t respond, but my stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Because that’s what scared me the most.
This wasn’t the same. The pictures, the threats—those had been bad. But this? This was calculated. This was deeper. Whoever was behind this wanted them vulnerable.
And that was a whole new level of dangerous.
A few hours later, Dominic left for his interview.
I watched him go, still feeling the phantom warmth of his fingers on my wrist, hearing the low rasp of his voice in my head.
I didn’t like this.
Not just the stalker. Not just the hacked messages.
This.
Whatever was happening between us, whatever lines we kept toeing, pushing, daring each other to cross—it was dangerous.
And I wasn’t just talking about the stalker anymore.