35. Chapter 35
Chapter thirty-five
Alex
Icarefully lead Lina back to the bedroom—like I’m walking a line that could collapse under the wrong word.
She doesn’t sit. She paces.
Anger radiates off her in cutting waves as she pulls clothes from the dresser and slips them on beneath the robe she threw over herself. Every movement is clipped. Like she’s holding herself together through sheer force of will.
I stay where I am. Hands loose at my sides. Giving her space that I’m reluctant to give.
Then she stops. Turns on me. “Am I your job?” she asks.
The question strikes with surgical precision. Like a blade slipped between my ribs and twisted exactly where it would do the most damage.
For a fleeting moment, I consider lying. Softening it. Wrapping the truth in something easier to swallow. I don’t.
And the silence—that single, unguarded beat where I don’t answer fast enough—tells her everything.
Her mouth tightens, and her eyes flash with rage.
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, dragging a hand through her hair. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
She turns away from me, pacing again, like if she stands still the anger might shatter into something worse.
“I knew there was something,” she says. “The timing. The way you watch everything. The way you never panic,” I laugh. “God, I felt like I was being paranoid.”
“You weren’t,” I reply.
She freezes. That was the wrong thing to say. I know it the moment it leaves my mouth.
She faces me again, breathing rapidly, fury edged with something raw. Hurt. Betrayal. Maybe embarrassment—for trusting me.
“So what,” she asks. “This was all just…surveillance?”
“No,” I say. Too fast. Too honest. “It was never only that.”
Her gaze flickers. Searching.
I take a step toward her, then stop myself. This isn’t the moment for touch. This is the time for truth.
“I didn’t expect you,” I say. “I didn’t plan for you. You weren’t supposed to… be more.”
That gets to her. Her jaw tightens like she’s bracing for impact.
“And yet,” I continue, voice low, steady, “You are. You mean more to me than you ever should have.”
The room falls silent. She says nothing. She only looks at me, as though everything she believed has shifted beneath her feet.
And I realize, standing here watching her put herself back together piece by piece, that the worst part isn’t that she knows why I’m here. It’s that she’s deciding whether I was real at all.
“How long?” she snaps, pointing at me. “How long have you been around? Watching? Inserting yourself into my life without me knowing?”
Each word is a dagger.
She starts pacing again. “The shop. You being there every day. You just happened to be nearby when Cole showed up. You being where you needed to be, every single time.”
Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t stop. “I slept with you. I let you into my home. My bed.” She laughs bitterly. “And all this time, what? I was a case file?”
I step forward instinctively, then stop myself when she throws a look my way that says, Don’t you dare.
“In the beginning,” I say, choosing truth over comfort, “yes.”
She flinches, as if I struck her.
“You were my job,” I continue, “protective surveillance…risk assessment. That’s what brought me here.”
She crosses her arms, hugging herself now. “So how much have you seen, Alex?”
I swallow, not knowing how to answer her.
“How much of my life do you know without me ever consenting to it?” she presses. “My routines? My house? My good days? My bad days? My sex life?”
Her eyes are glassy, furious, and wounded all at once.
“Enough to keep you alive,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
I meet her stare, refusing to dodge it. “I didn’t watch you to judge you. I watched because someone put a clock on your life. And every day…I stayed longer than I was supposed to and saw the real you.”
She rubs her palms against her face, anger turning inward now. “I should’ve asked more. Something was off. And I ignored it.”
“This isn’t on you.”
“Isn’t it?” she fires back. “Because it feels like I gave you access to everything without realizing it.”
I inhale deeply, grounding myself before saying the part that matters most.
“You stopped being my job,” I tell her. “Long before tonight. Long before I touched you. You became someone I cared about. Someone I chose to stay for when I should’ve walked away.”
She scoffs. “That’s supposed to make this better?”
“No,” I admit. “It’s the truth.”
The room is thick with it now. Everything unsaid pressing in.
“I never meant to lie to you,” I continue. “But telling you too early would’ve put you in danger. And telling you after tonight…” my head droops. “I didn’t want this moment to be poisoned by fear.”
She gazes at me. The anger doesn’t disappear, but something else slips in beside it.
Hurt. Confusion. Betrayal tangled with everything we shared.
“So what now?” she asks.
I don’t pretend to have an easy answer.
“Now,” I say, steady and unflinching, “You get the whole truth. Every piece. And you decide if I’m still allowed in your life, or if you want me to walk away.”
I pause, letting the weight of it sit where it belongs.
“But understand this,” I add. “Everything I did was to keep you alive. And everything I feel for you now…was never part of the job.”
She doesn’t respond right away.
And I realize no matter what occurs hereafter. Here is the instant that will decide everything.
I see it happen, the shift.
The anger doesn’t vanish, but it loosens its grip. Her shoulders drop a fraction. Her eyes dull into something heavier.
“I think what hurts the most,” she says, quieter now, “is that I feel like I was used. Like bait.”
The word lands harder than any accusation she’s thrown so far.
“I’m not some fragile thing,” she continues. “You should’ve told me from the beginning.”
Her eyes lock onto mine, unwavering.
“I can handle the truth, Alex. I’ve handled worse.”
She purses her lips. “I’m a grown woman. You don’t have to protect me from a fucking conversation.”
The impact of her tone catches me off guard.
“I’m not some na?ve eighteen-year-old anymore who thinks the world is sunshine and happily ever-after’s.” Her voice softens, but the conviction behind it doesn’t. “I’ve lived through hell and still found a way to put myself back together.”
She takes another step toward me. “So don’t decide what I can and can’t handle.”
Her eyes search mine.
“If you tell me the truth and it scares me, let that be my decision. Don’t make that decision for me.”
She’s right. And that truth burns.
I nod once. “I know you’re strong. I never doubted that.”
She scoffs. “Then why?”
I step closer, not crowding her, wanting to be present. “Because telling you too early would’ve made this messier.”
Her brow furrows. “Explain.”
“Cole’s family has connections,” I say. “They’re part of it. They funded this particular contract.” I don’t sugarcoat that. “But they’re not the whole problem.”
She studies me, waiting.
“There’s a system behind them,” I continue. “People who specialize in setting this up. Middlemen. Brokers. They make it clean for wealthy families who want problems erased without getting their hands dirty.”
Her breath catches.
“They’re the real threat,” I say. “They don’t care who you are. They care that you’re profitable to remove. If I’d told you, you would’ve changed your routines. Pulled back. Gone to ground.”
“And that would’ve…”
“Spooked them,” I finish. “They’d disappear. And they’d do it again to someone else.”
She considers my words for a moment.
“I didn’t want you to be bait,” I state, my voice firm now. “I wanted you alive while I traced the thread far enough to cut the whole thing.”
Her arms fold tighter around herself, not defensive now, but grounding.
“So there’s…a wizard behind the curtain.”
“Yes,” I reply.
“And you’re trying to pull him out from behind it?”
“I am,” I confirm.
A pause hangs in the air between us. Less volatile. More reckoning.
“You should’ve trusted me,” she says at last.
“I should have,” I admit. “And if I could go back, I’d do parts of this differently. But I never used you. I protected you while I hunted the people who think lives are line items.”
She turns her eyes toward me. Searching and measuring my truth.
“And now?” she asks.
“Now you’re informed,” I say. “And that means you get a choice. You’re not a passenger in this anymore.”
She exhales, anger giving way to exhaustion.
“I hate that this makes sense,” she mutters, simmering with anger, but resolve is kicking in.
“I’m sorry, Lina. I truly am.”
The room eases into a fragile calm, not peace, not forgiveness, but understanding beginning to take root.
And I know this isn’t over.
It feels like we’re standing together now, on the same side of the truth.
She shakes her head, pacing again, but the edge is gone now—replaced by confusion.
“I don’t understand,” Lina says. “Why would Cole’s family want me dead?” She gestures helplessly. “Do they want the money Cole’s grandmother left me? I’ve had the money for years now. Half of it went straight into the business. What could they possibly get from my death?
She turns to me, eyes searching. “What do they want from me?”
This is the moment.
The weight of the thing I’ve been holding back because once it’s said, it can’t be taken back.
“They don’t want something from you,“ I say, careful with my words.
She frowns. “Then why—“
“They want it to stop.” I say.
Her breath catches. “What to stop?”
I take a slow breath, making sure my voice stays even. Calm. Steady. She deserves that much.
“The five million you received wasn’t a one-time payout,” I tell her.
She blinks. Once. Twice. “What do you mean?”
I hold her gaze. “There’s more. A lot more.”
Her expression tightens, instinctively bracing.
“The trust your ex-husband’s grandmother set up,” I continue, “has a secondary provision. One that wasn’t widely disclosed. Not to Cole. And, apparently, not to you.”
I watch the realization begin to creep in, even before I say the words.
“You receive five million dollars,” I say carefully, “every five years.”
The room goes very still.
“For the rest of your life.”
She stares at me like I’ve spoken another language. “That’s…that’s not possible.”
“It is,” I say. “And it’s legally airtight.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. She sinks down onto the edge of the bed.
“I didn’t know,” she whispers. “I swear to you, Alex, I didn’t know.”
“I know,” I say hurried. “Nothing suggests you were aware.”
“It’s almost time for the next payout,” I continue. “Soon. Close enough that it’s already in motion.”
The color drains from her face as the final piece locks into place.
I say quietly. “They want it ended before the money transfers again.”
She presses her hands to her stomach, breathing hard. “So if I die…”
“The payments stop,” I finish. “And the money reverts back into the family trust. Controlled by David Allister.”
The truth lands like a physical blow.
“Oh my God,” she murmurs.
“You’re a liability,” I say softly. “A long-term one.”
She laughs once. Sharp, disbelieving. “All this time, I thought they hated me because I left him.”
“They hated you because you survived him,” I correct. “And because staying alive costs them millions.”
Her hands tremble slightly. She curls them into fists, grounding herself.
“So they put a price on me,” she says flatly.
“Yes.”
“And Cole?” she asks. “Where does he fit into this?”
“He doesn’t,” I answer. “Not like this. He wants you like a possession, but he doesn’t want you dead.”
She nods, pieces sliding into place. The stalking. The rage. The obsession.
“But his father does?” she asks. “He wants me gone.” The words leave her in a whisper.
I nod.
The silence stretches. Thick, suffocating.
I step closer, careful, respectful. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were never supposed to be collateral damage.”
She glances up at me, eyes bright with something sharper than fear.
“He tried to erase me,” she says.
“Yes.”
Her jaw sets. “WELL FUCK THAT!”
Something fierce ignites in her voice, anger with a spine.
And despite everything—the danger, the fallout, the mess still coming—a surge of grim relief washes over me. Because now she knows
And Lina, fully informed, is far more threatening than she has ever been before.