Chapter 26
Laurette Devereux
Last night, My Wolf breathed stillness into my chaos. He held it for me, and I let him.
Evening settles in, welcome after a long day I was glad to see end. But peace doesn’t come easy—not with case files spread across my coffee table, pages flagged, and notes half-scribbled.
The wine I poured sits untouched. A highlighter rests in my hand, paused mid-stroke, the sentence beneath it already lost to distraction.
Bastien slips into my thoughts. Will he text? Will he come to me tonight?
It’s greedy to hope for two nights in a row. He probably has other things to do. I still glance at my phone, just in case.
Then—one sharp ring of the doorbell, and I go still.
Bastien comes to mind first, but I dismiss the thought. Showing up and ringing the bell without a word—making himself visible—is not his m.o.
I tap into the camera feed, and it’s my father at the door. No call, text, or heads-up. Just him, showing up as though a visit is usual.
It isn’t.
He never comes unannounced.
Hell, he never comes to my house at all.
I open the door, caught between confusion and caution. “Dad? This is unexpected.”
“Hello, Laurette.” There’s something off in the way he looks at me and says my name. This isn’t a simple social call.
“Is everything okay?”
“No, not by a long shot.”
He steps inside, and unease tightens in my chest.
We move to the living room in silence, and he walks with rigid posture. I follow, my stomach tightening with every step.
He doesn’t sit. “We need to talk, and it’s not going to be an easy conversation.”
Nothing good ever follows words like those.
My body goes still, and my breath halts. Whatever this is, it’s bigger than his showing up unannounced.
I sink into a chair, heart ticking faster.
“You can’t prosecute Evan Lemaire.”
For a second, I don’t believe my ears. “We’ve been through this already, Dad.” And I was clear about my stance regarding it
“This time, you need to listen to me.”
“I have listened to you. You’re the one who isn’t hearing me.”
His jaw locks, eyes unflinching. “This isn’t a suggestion. You may be a prosecutor, but I’m a judge. I understand how these things work, and how dangerous they can become.”
“You don’t get to walk into my home and tell me how to do my job. You may be a judge, but you’re not my judge. And you sure as hell don’t get to use your bench to silence me.”
“This isn’t about your damn principles. It’s about cleaning up a mess before it burns everything down.”
That’s when it hits. This isn’t a request. It’s a warning wrapped in a thin veneer of fatherly care. And he’s not the one issuing the ultimatum. He’s the messenger.
It’s a demand from Julian Lemaire, which means I’m not the only one he threatened. He’s been in my father’s ear. And now my father is delivering the message—the same polished menace dressed as concern.
He slides into the chair across from me, the wood creaking under his weight. He pauses, fingers tapping the armrest, as he chooses his next words.
“I mean it. You can’t move forward with prosecuting Julian’s son.”
My blood turns to ice.
I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees, voice sharp. “Yes, I can. And I will.”
His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. That look in his eyes—disappointment edged with disapproval—feels familiar. It’s the same one he wore when I was a child sitting at the dinner table, waiting for punishment for breaking a rule I didn’t understand. The judge even at home.
“You act as though this is some kind of negotiation, but I’m not a client. I don’t answer to you.”
“This isn’t about doing right by the law.”
“No,” I snap, voice firm, spine straightening, “it’s exactly about doing right by the law. And your friend’s son is about to be held accountable for his crime.”
He closes his eyes, the muscles in his jaw working under his skin. “Laurette—”
“Don’t say my name that way, like I’m being unreasonable. You raised me to have trust in the law and in doing the right thing. What happened to that?”
“Julian—”
“Julian,” I interrupt, “is not above the law, and neither is his son. I don’t care how many rounds of golf you’ve played together or how many decades of bourbon-soaked history you’re clinging to.”
His eyes narrow, a flicker of something colder beneath his disappointment.
“Julian is powerful, and he’s made it clear this doesn’t go to trial.”
“I don’t care if you and Julian Lemaire carved your names into the same oak tree in college. This case is happening, and I’ll win it.”
There it is—that crack in his composed facade, the heat of frustration he tries to hide.
“You don’t know what you’re walking into.”
“And you don’t know who you’re sitting across from. I’m not some naive intern in awe of her own credentials. I’ve worked this case backwards and forwards. The evidence is solid, the victim is credible, and Evan is guilty.”
He says nothing, but his silence is deafening.
Something behind his eyes fractures. Calm civility slips away, replaced by something darker.
“This is about survival.”
His meaning finally registers.
“It’s not about the law, or honor, or what you think you ought to do. It’s about staying alive. Because he will kill you. I don’t know how to make it any plainer.”
I go still.
“You’re underestimating what Julian Lemaire is capable of.”
“I’m not underestimating anything. He came to see me, and he was clear.”
My father’s jaw ticks, eyes sharpening beneath a calm mask. “When?”
“Yesterday”
He swears under his breath. “He promised he’d let me speak to you first.”
“Well, he didn’t wait.”
His gaze darkens. “What did he say?”
“Nothing direct, but I understood the threat underneath.”
My father nods once. “His warning was a courtesy to me, Laurette. You won’t get another.”
The words hit me like ice water. I blink, stomach folding inward. “You knew.”
He doesn’t answer at first. Just leans back, jaw clenched.
“You’re still alive because you’re my daughter. But don’t mistake that for safety. My connection to Julian isn’t a shield. It’s a buffer. A short one.”
My throat seizes, and my voice comes out small. “Do you believe he’ll actually kill me?”
He meets my eyes, unblinking and cold. “Yes, if it protects his son. Julian Lemaire will bury you. No witnesses, no trace.”
The room shrinks, and my heart slams against my ribs. But I don’t flinch. Not yet.
“And you can still sit here and call that man your friend? You can raise a glass and play golf with someone who’d have me killed?”
“With Julian, you never see the blade until it’s already twisted. He’s not a man you make enemies with.”
My arms fold across my chest, pulse hammering at the side of my throat. “How can you sit across from him, knowing what he is? Look him in the eye and pretend it’s normal?”
No flinch. No guilt. Only steely calm.
“It’s better to be his friend than his enemy.”
No hesitation, no shame.
He’s chosen a side.
“Julian doesn’t make idle threats, Laurette. He never has. You’ve seen how he moves, what he’s capable of, and what he’ll do without blinking to protect his blood. This isn’t a bluff. If you keep pushing this case, he won’t send another warning.”
My blood ices. A dull roar rises in my ears, but I lock it down.
“Let him come.”
My father sighs, looking at me as though I’ve failed some unspoken test. Like I’m too stubborn, too naive to see the storm barreling toward me.
Maybe I am.
“You think you understand what you’re facing, but you don’t. You’re not ready.”
I meet his gaze without blinking. “I’m not afraid of Julian Lemaire.”
His eyes go dark, flat, and final. “You damn well should be.”
He stands, adjusting his jacket.
“This case isn’t worth dying for.”
He looks at me as if memorizing my face before I become a headline.
“I hope you’ll make the right decision. Before it’s too late.”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. Doesn’t reach for a hug or kiss my cheek. He just turns and walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sink into the couch, pulse thrumming. My hands tremble as they curl around my own elbows, holding tight. Containing the aftershock.
He didn’t come here as a father.
He came as a courier.
A threat wrapped in family. A warning delivered with the soft cadence of concern. That’s what makes it worse. If my father is this shaken, then Julian meant every veiled word he said. My being alive is no longer a given. It’s a favor. A courtesy.
One that’s running out.
I close my eyes and replay my meeting with Julian. His smooth voice. Charm slick as oil. The way he never had to raise his voice to make the message land.
Now my father’s voice joins the threat, layering dread over dread.
You’re still alive because you’re my daughter.
And even that won’t protect me for long.
I accepted the risk a long time ago. Prosecuting monsters. Challenging men with influence. But this isn’t risk.
It’s a quiet execution order, and I was just warned that I’m next.
One question echoes louder than anything else: Is justice worth dying for?
I’ve always believed it was and said it with conviction. But belief doesn’t feel so noble when death steps closer.
Tonight, the answer costs more.
I could go to the police. Report Lemaire. Give statements. Try to make the system work. But this isn’t about justice anymore. It’s about power, and he has it in spades. Men like Julian leave nothing traceable behind. They leave whispers, gaps, and questions no one dares ask.
My worry isn’t paranoia. It’s a fact. And that’s what unsettles me most—how close the threat has crept. Not just to my office or doorstep, but into my living room, carried in my father’s voice.
I think about Bastien and his words.
Just so you know… I can handle anyone who threatens you. And I do mean anyone.
I take down predators.
Could I go to him? Would he know what to do?
Turning to him means escalation. I can’t. So, I do what I’ve always done.
I hold the line and sit with the fear. Alone.
No cavalry or reinforcements. Just a high-profile case, a predator in a suit, and a father too close to the edge.
And I’ll have to decide if I’m willing to set myself on fire just to keep them from winning.