Chapter 9
DAISY
"These are perfect," I murmured, reviewing the morning's reshoot on my laptop screen.
The literacy center looked warm, inviting. Thunder—the massive, tattooed enforcer—sat in a surprisingly gentle pose, a children's book open in his hands as he explained something to Steel's very pregnant wife, Lily, who managed the program.
The contrast was exactly what the sponsors wanted. Tough exterior, unexpected depth.
Ghost watched over my shoulder, closer than his usual carefully maintained distance.
"Acceptable," he agreed, which from him was practically a standing ovation.
We were in the clubhouse kitchen, post-shoot review becoming our unofficial routine. Me, my laptop, and a cup of coffee. Ghost, his eternal vigilance, and black coffee in a mug that never seemed to empty.
"I'll format these for approval this afternoon," I said, closing my laptop. "Should make the Monday posting schedule if you can review by tomorrow."
Ghost nodded once, but his focus seemed elsewhere. Had been all morning, his usual laser attention fragmented in a way I'd never witnessed before.
"Everything okay?" I asked before I could stop myself.
His dark eyes snapped to mine, surprised by the personal question.
"Security concerns are handled appropriately," he stated, falling back on his technical tone.
"That's not what I asked," I countered.
For a moment, I thought he might actually answer. Then his walls slammed back into place.
"Project parameters proceeding as established."
Right. Standard Ghost-speak for "mind your business."
I gathered my things, deciding to finish work at home rather than push against his impenetrable defenses. As I slid my phone into my bag, it lit up with another notification.
Ghost's eyes tracked the movement—nothing unusual there, he noticed everything—but this time his expression changed subtly.
"Problem?" he asked.
"Just a notification," I replied, too quickly.
Ghost set his mug down with deliberate precision. "You've been receiving messages. Increasingly frequent. Causing distraction during shoots."
Not a question. An observation.
I froze. "How did you—"
"Behavior analysis. Digital pattern recognition. Basic security monitoring."
"You're monitoring my messages?" Heat flared in my cheeks—anger, embarrassment, something else.
"Not content. Frequency patterns. Security anomalies." His expression remained neutral, but something shifted in his tone. "Your accounts experienced multiple unauthorized access attempts over the past week. Chicago IP cluster."
The specific location hit me like ice water. "Chicago."
Ghost's eyes narrowed at my reaction. "Significance?"
I set my bag down, suddenly unsteady. "My ex. He lives in Chicago. Works for a digital marketing firm there."
Ghost waited, clearly expecting more information.
"Brandon helped build my initial platform when we were dating," I explained reluctantly. "After we broke up, he got...possessive about the brand. Thought he should maintain control of my content direction."
"Define possessive," Ghost said, voice deceptively calm.
I shrugged, trying for casual despite the knot forming in my stomach. "Critical messages. Unwanted suggestions. Nothing serious."
Ghost's expression called bullshit without words.
"Fine," I sighed. "It got intense. He didn't like that I moved back to Riverdale instead of staying in Chicago where he could 'guide my career.
' Started monitoring my accounts, criticizing content that didn't meet his standards.
I changed my passwords, but he knows all my security question answers. "
Ghost's jaw tightened. "Current threat assessment?"
"It's just trolling," I insisted. "Nasty messages from fake accounts. He's done it before when he doesn't like my content direction."
"Show me."
His tone left no room for argument. I pulled up the messages—the ones I hadn't deleted—and handed him my phone.
Ghost read through them, his expression darkening with each swipe.
"These are escalating," he stated. "Progressive pattern toward direct threat."
"He's all talk," I said, wishing I felt as confident as I sounded. "Always has been."
Ghost looked up, his gaze intense. "You've implemented additional security measures?"
"Changed passwords again. Enabled two-factor authentication."
"Insufficient." He handed my phone back. "I'll implement proper protocols."
"Ghost, really, it's not—"
"You're connected to the club now," he interrupted. "Your security vulnerability creates club vulnerability."
Right. Club security. Not personal concern.
"Fine," I conceded. "Do whatever technical magic makes you feel better."
For the briefest moment, something like hurt flashed across his face. So fast I might have imagined it.
"It's not about feeling better," he said quietly. "It's about actual protection."
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard. For a moment, Ghost the human emerged from behind Ghost the security system.
"Why didn't you report the threats?" he asked.
I looked away, uncomfortable with his direct gaze. "They're just messages. I've dealt with worse. Part of being female online."
"Not acceptable," he stated flatly.
"Maybe not," I acknowledged. "But it's reality."
Ghost was silent for a long moment, something working behind his eyes I couldn't decipher.
"My parents were manipulators," he said suddenly, the personal disclosure so unexpected I nearly dropped my phone. "Controlled information. Monitored communication. Used knowledge as leverage."
I stayed perfectly still, afraid any movement might break this unprecedented moment of sharing.
"I learned young how to secure data. Create back doors. Build firewalls." His voice remained even, but intensity burned beneath the surface. "Also learned to recognize when someone's trying to establish control through information."
Understanding dawned. "You think that's what Brandon is doing."
Ghost nodded once. "Classic pattern. Escalating pressure. Emotional manipulation. Attempting to regain access to accounts he considers his domain."
The assessment was uncomfortably accurate.
"How did you get away?" I asked softly. "From your parents?"
Something dark flickered across his face. "Created new identity. Digital first, then physical. Cut all connections. Became someone they couldn't trace."
Became Ghost. The name suddenly made sense in ways it hadn't before.
"I'm not changing my identity over some nasty messages," I said, attempting to lighten the moment.
"Not suggesting that," Ghost replied. "But proper security measures are essential. Before patterns escalate further."
His concern seemed genuine. Professional still, but with an undercurrent of something more personal than I'd ever witnessed from him.
"Okay," I agreed. "Whatever you think is necessary."
Ghost nodded, the moment of openness already receding behind his usual controlled expression.
"I'll implement enhanced protocols today," he stated, back to business. "Multi-layer authentication. IP restrictions. Monitoring alerts."
As I gathered my things to leave, Ghost added, "If the messages continue or escalate, inform me immediately."
Not a request. Not quite an order. Something in between.
"I will," I promised.
As I walked to my car, I found myself replaying that brief moment when Ghost had shared something real. Something personal. A glimpse behind the firewall he maintained between himself and the world.
It felt significant in ways I wasn't ready to examine too closely.