Chapter 5: THE MORNING AFTER THE KIDNAPPING

I didn't sleep.

Not really.

I spent the entire night lying beside Ethan Bramhall with my eyes squeezed shut, pretending to be unconscious while every word I'd overheard through the bedroom door crawled around inside my skull.

Not just a warning.

Escalate if necessary.

She stays with me.

Those words had been haunting me for hours.

Especially the last one.

She stays with me.

Not keep her safe.

Not make sure she's protected.

Not even don't let them get her.

She stays with me.

Like I was a package someone had delivered to the wrong address and Ethan had decided to keep.

I stared into the darkness beneath my lashes and listened to the quiet rhythm of his breathing beside me.

How was he sleeping?

How was anyone sleeping after what happened?

A few hours ago, armed men had dragged me out of a Bentley while I threw Chanel at them like a deranged socialite with nothing left to lose. Ethan had appeared out of nowhere, transformed a pen into a knife, and dismantled several grown men like they were badly assembled furniture.

Then he'd brought me home, watched me have a complete nervous breakdown, and casually told me it was too late for me to leave.

And now he was sleeping.

Probably peacefully.

Probably dreaming about spreadsheets.

Maybe billionaires had a special sleep setting. Something between deep REM and I own three private islands.

I opened my eyes slightly.

Ethan was lying on his back, one arm resting beside him, his face calm in the faint darkness. Even asleep, he looked irritatingly composed.

I hated him.

I hated his face.

I hated his stupid jaw.

I hated the way his hair somehow looked perfect after a night involving kidnappers.

I hated that my heart had done something incredibly stupid when he'd stepped out of that black car.

And I especially hated the fact that when he'd said, Stay with me, some tiny, traitorous part of me had actually wanted to.

I shut my eyes again.

No.

Absolutely not.

That was trauma.

Trauma made people confused.

Trauma made people temporarily attracted to men who could turn a silver pen into a weapon.

That was science.

Probably.

I rolled onto my side, putting as much distance between us as the mattress allowed.

Then Ethan spoke.

"You're awake."

My eyes flew open.

I froze.

He hadn't moved.

"You've been holding your breath for nearly ten seconds."

I slowly released it.

"I was asleep."

"No."

"Deeply asleep."

"Grace."

"Very convincing sleep."

He finally turned his head toward me.

Even in the darkness, I could feel his eyes on me.

"Go to sleep."

I stared at the ceiling.

"You're very bossy for someone who kidnapped me."

"I didn't kidnap you."

"You moved me into your mansion."

"For your protection."

"You assigned me a human tracking device."

"Laura isn't a tracking device."

"She knows what I ate for breakfast yesterday."

"Because she arranged it."

"Exactly. Creepy."

Silence.

I waited.

Nothing.

Of course.

The man could fight kidnappers, threaten enemies, and apparently conduct corporate warfare in his sleep, but asking him a normal question was like trying to get classified information from the Pentagon.

I turned my back to him.

"Who were they?"

No answer.

"Ethan."

"Go to sleep."

I clenched my teeth.

Fine.

I'd get answers in the morning.

Or I'd die trying.

Preferably after coffee.

I woke to sunlight stabbing me directly in the face.

For several seconds, I didn't remember where I was.

Then I saw the ceiling.

The expensive chandelier.

The ridiculous curtains.

The enormous bed.

And Ethan.

My memory returned with the subtlety of a brick through a window.

Kidnappers.

Guns.

Chanel.

Knife-pen.

Ethan.

Threats.

I sat up.

He was already gone.

Of course he was.

I looked at the clock.

Seven twenty-three.

Who voluntarily woke up at seven twenty-three?

People with no joy.

I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled toward the bathroom.

My reflection looked like I'd been personally betrayed by sleep.

Dark circles.

Messy hair.

Eyes swollen from exhaustion.

I stared at myself.

"Good morning, Mrs. Billionaire Trauma."

My reflection offered no sympathy.

I showered, dressed in the first clothes I could find, and marched downstairs with one goal.

Answers.

I found Ethan in the dining room.

Of course he was having breakfast.

Of course.

He sat at the long table in a dark suit, reading something on a tablet while a cup of coffee sat beside his hand.

There were plates of food arranged around him as though breakfast were a board meeting.

I stopped at the entrance.

He looked up.

His eyes traveled over me briefly.

"Good morning."

I stared at him.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"We were attacked last night."

"I remember."

"Armed men tried to kidnap me."

"I remember that too."

"You fought them with a knife disguised as a pen."

His expression remained perfectly calm.

"It was a tactical pen."

I blinked.

"That is somehow worse."

He returned his attention to the tablet.

I walked toward the table.

"You slept."

"So did you."

"No, I didn't."

"I know."

I stopped.

"You knew?"

"You've been turning over every few minutes since two."

My mouth fell open.

"You were awake?"

"Occasionally."

"So you were lying there listening to me have a mental breakdown?"

"I was making sure you were safe."

I stared at him.

There it was again.

That word.

Safe.

I pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.

"Who were they?"

Ethan didn't answer immediately.

"Good morning, Grace."

"Don't good morning me."

His mouth twitched.

Barely.

"I thought you might want coffee."

"I want answers."

"You should eat."

"I want answers more."

"You're shaking."

I looked down.

My hands were trembling slightly.

I curled them into fists.

"I'm angry."

"I know."

"I'm terrified."

His eyes lifted.

Something changed in his expression.

Only for a second.

Then it disappeared.

"I know."

I swallowed.

"Who sent them?"

"I don't know."

"That's a lie."

"It's not."

"You said last night it was a message."

"It was."

"Then someone sent it."

"Yes."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

I stared at him.

"That is possibly the most infuriating answer anyone has ever given me."

"I've been told worse."

"By me?"

"Frequently."

I leaned forward.

"What did you mean when you said, 'escalate if necessary'?"

His jaw tightened.

"I was talking to security."

"About me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because last night changed the situation."

My stomach tightened.

"Changed it how?"

Ethan set the tablet down.

"They're no longer testing our security."

I waited.

"They're testing how far they can get."

The room suddenly felt colder.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they got close enough to take you."

My fingers tightened around the edge of the table.

"But they didn't."

"Because I was there."

I looked at him.

"You were expecting it."

"No."

"Then why did you arrive so quickly?"

Silence.

I knew that silence.

It was the silence of a man deciding how much truth he could afford to give me.

"Ethan."

"I was monitoring the situation."

"Since when?"

He didn't answer.

My anger rose again.

"How long have you known there was a threat?"

"Long enough."

"How long is long enough?"

"Grace."

"No. You don't get to do that."

I pushed my chair back.

"You don't get to stare at me like I'm a child and tell me everything is fine when someone is literally trying to abduct me."

"I never said everything was fine."

"You acted like it!"

"I remained calm."

"You call that calm? You brought me home, told me it was a message, refused to explain anything, and then went to bed!"

His expression hardened.

"You were exhausted."

"I was terrified."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because knowing would not have changed what happened."

"It would have changed what I did!"

"Exactly."

I stared at him.

He stood slowly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you would have tried to investigate."

"Maybe."

"You would have confronted people you shouldn't."

"Possibly."

"You would have gone somewhere without security."

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

Ethan stepped closer.

"And you would have put yourself in greater danger."

I crossed my arms.

"So what's the solution? Lock me in this mansion forever?"

"Until the threat is contained, you don't leave without protection."

My jaw dropped.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me."

"No, I heard you. I just assumed you had temporarily lost your mind."

"Your security arrangements are changing."

"Absolutely not."

"Laura will accompany you whenever you leave."

"I already have Laura."

"There will also be a security team."

"No."

"Two vehicles."

"No."

"At least one armed escort."

"Absolutely not."

Ethan's expression didn't change.

"Grace."

"No!"

I stood.

"You don't get to turn my life into a prison because your enemies have terrible manners."

"I'm trying to keep you alive."

"I'm trying to live!"

"You call what happened last night living?"

The question hit me harder than I expected.

I stared at him.

He continued quietly.

"Those men had guns."

"I know."

"They knew where you were."

"I know."

"They knew when you would leave."

"I know."

"They were prepared."

"I know!"

My voice cracked.

The room went silent.

I looked away.

My chest felt tight.

"I know," I whispered.

Ethan didn't move.

For the first time that morning, he looked less like the ruthless billionaire everyone feared and more like a man who was carrying something heavy enough to crush him.

"I can't underestimate them," he said.

I looked back at him.

"And I can't underestimate what happens if I let you walk into danger again."

I swallowed.

"You can't control me."

"No."

He paused.

"But I can control the security around you."

"That's practically the same thing."

"It isn't."

"It feels the same."

He looked at me for several seconds.

Then he said quietly, "You're alive because I refused to underestimate them."

I had no answer.

Because that was the terrifying part.

He was right.

The men last night hadn't been amateurs.

They had guns.

They had vehicles.

They knew exactly where I would be.

And if Ethan hadn't shown up...

I couldn't finish the thought.

My stomach twisted.

I sat back down.

Ethan remained standing.

"Last night wasn't random."

I looked up.

"What?"

"It wasn't an isolated attempt."

My blood chilled.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you should assume there will be another."

The room seemed to shrink around me.

Another.

I suddenly remembered the phone call.

Not just a warning.

Escalate if necessary.

She stays with me.

I looked toward the enormous windows.

The mansion suddenly didn't feel luxurious.

It felt fortified.

A beautiful cage.

A very expensive cage.

And Ethan was standing at the center of it.

"How long?" I asked.

His brows drew together.

"How long what?"

"How long has this been happening?"

He didn't answer.

That was answer enough.

My heart began pounding.

"You've been dealing with this for a while."

"Yes."

"And you never told me."

"I didn't want to involve you."

"You married me."

"I know."

"You made me part of your life."

"I know."

"You made me part of your enemies."

His eyes hardened.

"No."

I laughed bitterly.

"Really? Because someone just tried to kidnap me because I'm your wife."

He looked at me.

"They targeted you because you're connected to me."

"That's what I said."

"No."

His voice was quiet.

"You are not a weapon against me, Grace."

I frowned.

"Then what am I?"

His eyes stayed on mine.

For once, he didn't have an immediate answer.

And somehow that frightened me more than anything else.

I pushed my chair back.

"I need air."

"You can go outside."

I stopped.

He continued.

"Laura will accompany you."

I turned slowly.

"No."

"Grace."

"No."

I smiled.

It wasn't a happy smile.

It was the smile of a woman whose brain had just made a terrible decision.

"If you're going to lock me inside this mansion..."

I grabbed my coffee.

"...then I'm going to find another way out."

Ethan watched me carefully.

Something almost amused flickered in his eyes.

"Don't."

I smiled wider.

"Why?"

"Because you'll get yourself into trouble."

"That's usually where I do my best work."

I turned and walked away before he could answer.

I had escaped the mansion once.

I'd do it again.

Except this time, I wouldn't be crawling through a tunnel blindly.

This time, I'd prepare.

I'd learn the mansion.

I'd learn the security system.

I'd learn where Laura kept her tablet.

I'd learn Ethan's routines.

And if necessary, I'd learn exactly how many billionaire employees it took to stop one very determined woman from leaving a building.

Because Ethan Bramhall might think he could keep me safe by keeping me trapped.

He might even think he could control where I went, who I saw, and how I moved.

But he had made one critical mistake.

He had forgotten something.

I was Grace Ellinton.

And apparently, being kidnapped hadn't cured me of bad decisions.

It had only made me better at planning them.