Chapter Eleven

I had never seen Jillian that angry before.

His jaw was locked so tightly I could hear the faint grind of his teeth. One hand gripped the steering wheel as the other rested on the console, fingers drumming with an intensity that made me nervous.

The silence in the car was almost unbearable.

“Say something,” I whispered.

His eyes didn’t leave the road. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

He scoffed. “Someone planted a bug under your bed. That’s not ‘anything.’ That’s a declaration of war.”

“Do you think…?” I paused, unsure if I should even say her name.

“Alyssa?” His voice was sharp, bitter. “It has her style. But it’s too clean. Too quiet.”

I swallowed hard. “So, it could be someone else?”

“It could be anyone.”

That didn’t make me feel better.

“Is it because of me?” I asked, my voice small.

He glanced at me, briefly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Ouch.

But then he added, quieter, “It’s because of us.”

Us.

That word hit me like a slow explosion. We hadn’t used it before. Not officially. Not like that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes flicked toward me again. “You think people want me. But they really want what they think belongs to me.”

“So, I’m an object now?”

“No.” He sighed. “But you’re mine. And that makes you a target.”

I didn’t know how to feel about that. Part of me wanted to protest the possessiveness, but another part—the stupid, traitorous part—liked the way he said mine.

The rest of the drive was silent.

When we pulled up to the abandoned high-rise, three men in suits were already waiting. They nodded when they saw Jillian and immediately opened the door for us.

He turned to me before stepping out.

“You stay close to me. Do not speak unless I say so. Do not touch anything. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I understand.”

He gave me a look—half warning, half something else entirely—then stepped out, and I followed.

The building smelled like mold and dust. The elevator didn’t work, so we took the stairs.

Seven flights.

By the time we got to the top, my legs were shaking.

Jillian noticed.

He didn’t say a word, but when I faltered on the last step, his hand reached out and gently gripped my elbow. He steadied me. And for the briefest moment, our eyes met—something soft in his, something unsure in mine.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just not used to being chased by ghosts.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but didn’t.

At the end of the hallway was a metal door.

“Here,” one of the men said.

Jillian didn’t hesitate. He kicked it open.

The room was small. Bare. Except for a single metal table.

And a laptop.

Still open.

Jillian walked over, scanned the screen. His expression turned unreadable.

“What is it?” I asked, taking a step forward.

He held out an arm. “Stay back.”

I froze, but leaned just enough to see what was on the screen.

Video files.

Hundreds of them.

Labeled by time and date.

One of them was just from this morning.

He clicked it.

And there I was.

On the screen.

Sleeping.

My blood turned cold.

“That was—”

“Today,” Jillian confirmed.

He clicked another.

I was brushing my hair.

Another.

Changing clothes.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth.

Jillian turned and looked at me. Really looked.

And I saw something flash in his eyes.

Rage.

Possessiveness.

And guilt.

He walked over to me, cupped my face in his hands. His grip was gentle but firm.

“I’m going to find whoever did this,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “And I’m going to end them.”

I nodded, swallowing hard.

“But first,” he said, “we’re going home.”

Back at the mansion, things moved quickly.

The security team doubled. Every room was swept. Every window checked.

And I was given a bodyguard named Marcus who stood outside my door like a statue.

“You don’t have to do all this,” I told Jillian when we were alone in his study.

He didn’t look up from the files he was flipping through. “Yes, I do.”

“You’re acting like I’m fragile.”

“You are fragile. That’s why they’re targeting you.”

He stood suddenly, tossing the file onto the desk. “You think I don’t see it? The way you flinch at every sound now? The way you avoid your own damn room?”

“I’m just tired—”

“No, Christy. You’re scared. And I don’t blame you.”

I didn’t answer.

He walked up to me, then stopped just inches away. “You were supposed to be safe here.”

I forced a small smile. “You say that like this place isn’t run by the mafia.”

He didn’t laugh.

Instead, he reached out and touched my chin. “I’m trying, Christy.”

His voice was softer now.

“I know,” I said.

I reached for him, curling my fingers into his shirt.

His eyes dropped to my lips.

He leaned in.

And kissed me.

This time, it was slow. Warm. Full of emotions he never said aloud.

I clung to him like he was the only thing tethering me to the ground.

His hands slid under my thighs and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he lifted me onto his desk.

But just as the kiss deepened, I felt him pause.

“I don’t want this to be because you’re scared,” he whispered against my lips.

“I’m not scared of you,” I whispered back.

Still, he didn’t move.

So I pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Jillian, I’m not here because I have to be. Not right now. I want to be here.”

That must’ve done it.

Because the next moment, he kissed me again—harder this time.

His hands framed my waist, his body pressing me into the cool wood of the desk.

But just when things could’ve gone further, he stopped. Rested his forehead against mine.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmured.

I nodded.

“Not because I don’t want you. But because I need to know you trust me.”

“I do.”

He kissed my forehead, then stepped back.

“Good,” he said. “Because if anyone ever touches you again—”

“They won’t,” I said firmly. “I trust you to make sure of that.”

He nodded once. Then his phone buzzed.

He looked at the screen and stiffened.

“What is it?”

He handed me the phone.

A new video file.

But this one wasn’t of me.

It was of my father.

Bound to a chair.

A voice in the background said: “She won’t be yours for long, Colbert.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“We have to help him,” I said.

Jillian’s face turned to stone. “We will.”

“And Christy?”

“Yes?”

He looked at me with fire in his eyes.

“I’m not letting anyone take you away from me. Not now. Not ever.”