CHAPTER 8

The first thing I noticed on Tuesday morning was that everyone was suddenly being careful around me. Not afraid. Careful.

The moment I stepped into Vanguard Atelier, two conversations ended. A junior architect who had been arguing with another designer about the coastal project immediately straightened. Marcus looked up from his phone and gave me a look I couldn't quite read. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Then stop looking at me like that."

He sighed. "Three of our biggest clients received calls yesterday."

My hand paused over my coffee. "What kind of calls?"

"Offers from a rival firm."

I waited. "They're no longer interested."

I frowned. "Why?"

Marcus shrugged. "Apparently, their interest disappeared overnight."

I didn't ask who had made it disappear. I already knew. Sheriff. The realization irritated me more than the original problem. I picked up my coffee. "Make sure our clients know Vanguard handles its own affairs."

Marcus gave me a knowing look. "I'll tell them."

"And Marcus?"

"Yes?"

"If someone protects my business without asking me again, I'll consider it interference."

His mouth twitched. "I'll make a note."

I returned to my office. I hated how quickly Sheriff was finding ways to enter my life without physically being there.

By Wednesday, the media stories about my divorce had disappeared. The articles were gone. The gossip accounts had moved on. Even the people who had spent days discussing the St. Jude incident suddenly had something else to talk about. I stared at my screen. Then I closed it. Whatever Sheriff was doing, I didn't want it. I could protect myself. I had to.

The rest of the day passed without incident. For the first time since returning, I actually enjoyed my work. The coastal model was finally taking shape. I stood beside the table, studying the structure, when Elias walked over with a revised set of drawings. "You fixed the west section."

"I did."

"You moved the support columns."

"They were in the way."

He looked at the plans again. "They were carrying half the load."

"They were carrying the wrong load."

He looked at me. Then he smiled. It was brief. "Still impossible."

I almost smiled back. Almost. "Go finish your work."

"Yes, boss."

He walked away. I looked down at the drawings. For the first time in days, my chest felt slightly lighter. Then my phone buzzed. A message from Marcus. You need to see this.

I opened the attachment. My stomach dropped. A photograph of me and Elias stood beside the coastal model. It looked intimate. Too intimate. The caption underneath was already spreading. Barely divorced and already replacing her husband?

I stared at it. Then I laughed. Not because it was funny. Because after everything I'd survived, someone thought a badly edited photograph could break me. I walked out of my office. "Everyone."

The room quieted. I held up my phone. "This photograph is manipulated."

Nobody spoke. "The original was taken during a project meeting. Elias wasn't touching me. The image was altered."

I looked around the room. "Don't forward it. Don't comment on it. Don't defend me online. Send anything you receive directly to Marcus."

Marcus nodded. "And if anyone asks?"

I placed my phone on the table. "Tell them I don't discuss my private life at work."

Elias stepped forward. "I can release the original photograph."

"No."

He stopped. "You don't have to defend me."

"I wasn't—"

"I know."

Our eyes met. There was something uncomfortable in the silence that followed. Not attraction. Not yet. Something else. Understanding. He nodded and stepped back. I returned to my office.

Three hours later, the photograph had disappeared from most of the places it had appeared. I didn't need to ask why. Sheriff had handled it. Again.

By eight, I was exhausted. I left the office and walked home instead of calling a car. Halfway there, my phone rang. I almost ignored it. Then I saw the name. Sheriff Vance. I stared at it until the call ended. A second call came. I rejected it. A third. I switched the phone off. I had made myself clear. He needed to learn how to listen.

When I reached my apartment, I found a small black box sitting outside my door. My name was written across the top. I knew the handwriting. I stood there for several seconds. Then I picked it up.

Inside was the silver lotus pendant. My breath caught. I hadn't seen it since the day I left the east suite. Underneath it was a folded piece of paper. Three words. I know now.

I read them twice. Then I laughed quietly. Not because they were funny. Because they were three years too late. I carried the box inside. For a moment, I held the pendant in my palm. The metal was cold. I remembered being seventeen. A frightened boy. A promise. A silver lotus. Then another memory crashed over it. A hospital floor. Blood. His face. His hand carrying another woman away while mine reached after him.

I closed my fingers around the pendant. "No."

I put it back in the box. I didn't need to destroy it. I didn't need to return it. I simply didn't need it anymore. I placed the box inside the bottom drawer of my dresser and closed it. Then I sat on the edge of my bed. My phone remained switched off. The apartment was silent.

For the first time, I understood something I hadn't wanted to admit. Sheriff was trying to protect me now. He was trying to repair things. Maybe he even regretted what he'd done. But protection wasn't love. Regret wasn't forgiveness. And realizing the truth didn't erase the moment he had chosen to believe someone else.

I lay down and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow, I would return to Vanguard. I would face the board. I would defend my project. And I would continue building the life I had almost lost. Without him. The thought hurt. But this time, I didn't run from the pain. I let it hurt. Then I closed my eyes. Because some walls weren't built to keep people out forever. Some were built to remind you that you had survived what was on the other side.