Chapter 3
A couple of bookings stared back at her.
Out-of-towners.
Her lips parted slightly in surprise—and then, relief.
People who didn’t know the rumors.
Didn’t care about small-town poison.
People who came for her work.
A spark of excitement stirred in her chest. It had been a full week since she’d last opened shop. A whole week of silence and fallout.
She checked the time.
Her first appointment wasn’t until eleven.
With everything set, Becca pulled out her sketchbook. Drawing had always been her escape—the place she could disappear when the world got too loud.
Her pencil moved easily at first.
A silhouette.
Strong lines. Broad shoulders.
Then a lion.
Its mane bold, powerful—protective.
Her mind wandered, and an idea formed without effort.
A Viking man.
A lion’s head rising above him like a crown. Strength stacked on strength. Warrior and guardian merged into one.
She shaded slowly, carefully.
Then—
She froze.
A voice surfaced in her mind.
Low. Steady.
The same one from last night.
“You’re safe now.”
Her breath caught.
The pencil slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor.
Becca stared at the sketch, heart pounding, the words echoing in her head as if someone had just spoken behind her.
But the shop was empty.
And the silence had teeth.
The soft jingle of the bell above the door snapped her out of it.
Becca’s head lifted just as the front door opened, cold air rushing in with two figures framed by falling snow.
Her first appointment.
A couple stepped inside, brushing snow from their coats. They looked around the shop with quiet appreciation, not judgment—eyes lingering on the artwork, the flash sheets, the framed magazine features lining the walls.
Relief settled into Becca’s chest.
“Hi,” the woman said gently. “I’m sorry—are you okay? You seemed really deep in thought. We didn’t mean to distract you.”
Her voice was kind. Careful.
Becca studied her for a second.
Christina was beautiful in a soft, unassuming way. Blonde hair pulled back loosely, standing around five-seven, with a faint country accent that warmed every word she spoke. The kind of woman who made you feel at ease without trying.
Beside her stood David.
Taller. Solid. The way he carried himself gave him away immediately—shoulders squared, movements precise. Military. The buzz cut only confirmed it.
Becca straightened, offering a small, genuine smile.
“Oh—no, you’re fine,” she said. “Please, come on in. I was just working on some new designs when you arrived.”
She gestured toward the chairs. “Have a seat.”
As they settled in, Christina glanced at the artwork again, eyes bright.
“We’re from Nevada,” she said. “We’ve been following your work for a while. We saw you featured in a couple magazines—and then again in the news. We knew if we were going to do this, it had to be you.”
Becca’s hands paused for just a second.
Then she nodded, grounding herself.
David smiled, calm and respectful. “We want couples tattoos. Not matching—but connected. Something that only we’d understand as a set.”
That spark—that familiar pull—flickered back to life inside her.
This was why she did this.
“Okay,” Becca said, voice steady now. “I love that. Tell me your story.”
Becca didn’t overthink it.
She freehanded the designs.
Christina received the first—a male Viking, strong and grounded, a lion’s head rising above him like a crown. Power layered with protection.
David’s followed—a female Viking, equally fierce, bearing the same lion’s head. Different forms. Same meaning.
A set only they would ever understand.
They watched the lines come to life with awe, and by the time the final shading was done, both of them were smiling—quiet, satisfied, emotional in that way people get when something important is etched into their skin.
They loved it.
But throughout the day, they noticed things Becca pretended not to.
People slowed as they passed the shop.
Stares lingered too long.
Fingers pointed.
Heads leaned together in whispers.
David noticed first.
The way his eyes tracked movement outside wasn’t casual—it was trained.
“You okay?” he asked gently while Becca cleaned her station. “Feels like there’s a lot of attention on this place.”
Christina shot him a look. “Don’t pry,” she murmured.
Becca smiled, shrugging it off. “It’s nothing. Just small-town drama.”
That would’ve been the end of it—if David hadn’t seen the paper.
The crumpled note sat half-open on the edge of Becca’s table, just enough for a few words to show.
His jaw tightened—not angry. Protective.
He asked again. Quieter this time.
Becca hesitated.
Then sighed.
She didn’t give them everything. Just pieces. Enough to explain the tension. Enough to make sense of the stares.
To her surprise, neither of them reacted the way people in town had.
No judgment.
No awkward silence.
Christina nodded slowly. “We get it.”
David gave a small, knowing smile. “Same kind of town where we’re from. Different faces—same nonsense.”
They didn’t pity her. Didn’t tell her to leave.
“Keep your head up,” Christina said as they gathered their things. “And your eye on the prize.”
David handed her a card. “If you ever need anything—anything at all—you call us.”
Becca took it, something warm settling in her chest.
After the door closed behind them, the shop felt quieter—but not empty.
For the first time that day, she didn’t feel alone.
The bell above the door jingled.
Becca’s shoulders tensed before she turned.
Izzy stood there like he still belonged—leather jacket, chains, that familiar arrogance clinging to him. And beside him…
The girl didn’t hide.
She stood tall, chin lifted, dressed in money and confidence. Dark hair perfectly styled. Nails manicured. Eyes sharp, amused.
This one wasn’t intimidated by small towns.
“Becca,” Izzy said, like her name still tasted good.
Becca’s gaze moved past him—settled on the girl.
“What do you want?” Becca asked evenly.
The girl smiled first.
“So this is the shop,” she said, looking around like she was assessing property. “Cute.”
Izzy smirked. “Told you she was dramatic.”
The girl stepped forward, heels clicking softly against the floor. “You’re quieter than I imagined.”
Becca didn’t move. “You’re trespassing.”
The girl laughed. Light. Unbothered. “Relax. We’re just curious.”
“About what?” Becca asked.
“About the woman who couldn’t keep her man,” the girl replied sweetly.
Izzy chuckled under his breath.
Becca felt the insult hit—but she didn’t react.
Instead, she said calmly, “You’re standing in my place of business. You have five seconds to decide if you want to leave politely.”
The girl tilted her head, studying her. “You always talk like that?”
Izzy leaned closer to the girl. “See? I told you.”
Becca’s eyes locked on him. “You brought her here to provoke me.”
The girl waved a dismissive hand. “Please. If I wanted to provoke you, you’d already know.”
That was when Becca felt it.
The shift.
Not jealousy.
Threat.
“You should be careful,” Becca said quietly. “This town isn’t kind to mess.”
The girl smiled wider. “Oh sweetheart. My family owns mess.”
Izzy stiffened.
That told Becca everything.
The girl stepped closer, voice low now. “You were never the problem. You were just… in the way.”
Becca straightened, calm but unyielding. “Then you picked the wrong place to remind me.”
For a moment, the shop held its breath.
Then the girl laughed softly and turned away. “Come on, Izzy. She’s not worth the effort.”
At the door, she paused—looked back.
“But you should know,” she added lightly, “people don’t just start rumors. They’re fed.”
The bell jingled as they left.
Becca stood frozen.
Not because she was afraid.
But because she finally understood—
Izzy hadn’t destroyed her alone.
Izzy didn’t speak until they were back in the car.
Snow hissed under the tires as he pulled away from the shop, jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary.
“What was that?” he snapped.
Jenna rolled her eyes, pulling her coat tighter around herself. “What?”
“You didn’t have to say all that.”
She laughed softly. “Relax. I was curious.”
“You don’t get curious like that,” Izzy said. “You don’t go into places just to poke.”
Jenna glanced at him then—really looked at him. “Why? Are you scared of her?”
Izzy scoffed, but it came out wrong. Forced.
“She’s nothing,” he said too quickly. “Just… someone I used to know.”
Jenna smiled faintly, turning to look out the window. “Funny. She didn’t feel like nothing.”
That silence again.
Izzy’s stomach twisted.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen.
He hadn’t meant to bring Jenna anywhere near Becca. He’d thought it was harmless showing off, flexing, proving he’d moved on.
But the moment Jenna spoke in that shop…
The moment he saw the way her eyes assessed Becca—
Something cold had settled in his gut.
“She’s not part of this,” Izzy said. “You should leave her alone.”
Jenna’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t get to tell me who’s part of anything.”
Izzy swallowed.
He knew her father was powerful.
Everyone did.
But he didn’t know the scope of it.
Didn’t know the reach.
Didn’t know that king was the word whispered behind closed doors.
He only knew one thing—
By bringing Jenna into Becca’s world, he’d done something irreversible.
And Becca?
Becca locked up the shop that evening thinking she’d just dealt with another entitled girl. Another affair. Another mess that wasn’t hers to clean up.
She didn’t know she’d been noticed.
She didn’t know her name had already stuck.
And she didn’t know—
Some mistakes couldn’t be taken back.
The rest of the day unraveled after that.
Becca moved through it on autopilot—smiling when required, steady hands when they needed to be—but inside, irritation simmered. Her day had been fine. Normal. Predictable. And then Izzy showed up with her. Uninvited. Unnecessary.
It ruined everything.
By the time she closed the shop, the quiet felt too loud.