Chapter 9

It started with voices, low ones, the kind that slide under doors and up walls so you can’t help but stop and listen. i was halfway down the stairs, bare feet on the wood, and i could hear them before i even saw anything. my dad’s voice first—controlled, that steady tone he uses when he’s already decided something. dom’s came after, rougher, sharper, like a blade scraping against stone.

“…not a good idea, vince.” that was dom, almost like a growl.

and dad just—he didn’t even pause—“dom, i didn’t ask if it was a good idea. i told you she’s starting monday.”

That sound, like chair legs dragging, impatient, frustrated. i froze on the step, fingers pressed so hard into the banister i thought they’d leave dents. dom again, more pissed this time: “you’re asking me to babysit your daughter in my office while i’m handling bids, deadlines, inspections—”

and then dad cut him clean off. always does. “you’ve been running that office like a machine for fifteen years. one more set of hands isn’t going to kill you.”

i almost laughed right there in the shadows. he always knows exactly how to slam the brakes on dom. like he’s got a remote control.

but then… then his voice softened, and that’s worse because i know what’s coming when he talks like that. “she’s been through hell. she needs purpose, routine. somewhere she won’t feel like a screw-up.”

and dom—he didn’t yell that time. his voice dropped, but i could still hear the fight in it. “this isn’t the place for her.”

“it’s exactly the place,” dad said, and that was final. “and you’ll keep an eye on her.”

my heart was going so fast i couldn’t stand there anymore. i didn’t wanna hear dom’s reply, didn’t wanna feel like a charity case, so i slipped back upstairs.

—

monday morning hit like ice. sky all sharp blue, air biting. i dressed like i was picking armor. careful, deliberate. nothing too obvious that dad could bark at me about. but i wanted dom to feel it. just a little. deep green blouse, pencil skirt skimming the knee, hair down. professional. sort of. enough to blur the line.

the car ride with dad—radio humming, him tapping the steering wheel like nothing in the world was out of place. dom’s truck was already there when we pulled up, dust crusted along the sides like he lived in it.

“don’t give him too much trouble,” dad muttered as we climbed the steps.

“me? trouble?” i tilted my voice all innocence, pushed open the door before he could catch the smirk.

the front office was chaos. blueprints stacked like falling towers, pens overflowing in a mug, the kind of place that looked busy even when no one was there. and dom—bent over the drafting table, his body folded in concentration. he looked up. not long, just enough for our eyes to meet before he snapped away like he’d touched fire.

“morning.” clipped, forced, like the word tasted bad.

dad echoed it, then dropped the bomb: “got your new assistant.”

dom straightened. hand shoved in his back pocket. “she’s not my assistant. she’s here to help the office. that’s it.”

dad clapped him on the shoulder—i swear i could feel the tension ripple even from across the room—“call it whatever makes you sleep better. i’ve got a site visit. she’s yours for the day.”

and then he was gone. and it was just me and dom, and silence filled every crack in that room.

—

the first hour was a slow, grinding test. dom shoved invoices at me without looking, his voice low and clipped, rattling off file locations like i was invisible. i sat at the spare desk, sorting papers like i actually cared, but my eyes—they kept betraying me. the way his shirt stretched across his back when he leaned over the plans, the flex in his forearm when he lifted his coffee. tiny things. stupid things.

every once in a while he’d glance over, but he was worse than me. he’d snatch his eyes back like he got caught. by the third time i couldn’t bite it back—“you always this talkative?”

he didn’t even look at me. “only when i like the company.”

it landed like a slap. i laughed anyway, too bright, too fake. “guess i’ll have to work harder then.”

his pen stopped. he looked. not long. just long enough. “don’t.”

two syllables but they hooked under my skin.

—

midmorning, the air was thick, like breathing through cloth. i got up to shove a file in the cabinet just to move. stretched up for the top shelf, skirt sliding just enough. i heard his chair scrape. i knew he looked. but when i turned back, he was buried in his work, like i didn’t exist.

the drawer slammed harder than i meant. “want me to get the mail?”

“if it’ll get you out of here for ten minutes.”

i grabbed my bag. grinning, but not.

outside the cold punched harder. i crossed the street and—there. that same car. the same damn sedan i’d seen before. half-hidden by the dumpster like a bad cliché. sunglasses guy sitting there, head tilted like the mirror was his telescope.

i slowed at the mailbox, shuffled through envelopes like i had forever. he didn’t move. didn’t twitch. camera on the seat beside him.

when i got back, dom’s eyes flicked up. “what?”

“there’s a guy across the street—”

“i know.” he cut me off before i could even finish.

my pulse jumped. “you know?”

“he’s with one of the contractors.”

my eyes narrowed. “funny. contractors usually bring tape measures, not telephoto lenses. what’s he doing, documenting drywall?”

dom’s jaw clenched. “drop it, izzy.”

“you keep telling me that,” i snapped, tossing the mail too hard onto his desk, “and i keep thinking you’re hiding something.”

his voice dropped low, rough. “i’m protecting you. there’s a difference.”

protecting me from what? but the words tangled in my throat.

—

lunch was no better. dad still gone, and dom sitting at his desk chewing like the sandwich was some sacred ritual. i sat at mine, barely tasting food, just staring. every time he caught me, he snapped back to his plate like it was the most fascinating thing alive.

the silence wasn’t peace. it was weight. like the room itself was waiting.

the phone rang. both of us jumped. dom grabbed it, muttered something curt, slammed it down. “need to check something in the supply room. stay put.”

“sure, boss,” i said, mocking lightly, but my head was spinning—the guy in the car, that call, the way dom’s shoulders never really relaxed.

—

by three i was suffocating. i’d reorganized drawers, typed bid summaries, watched dom like my life depended on it. i counted the times he flexed his hands, the creases in his forehead, the seconds between each glance he let slip.

when dad finally came back—whistling, like nothing in the world could touch him—I didn’t know if i felt relief or disappointment.

“how’d she do?” dad asked, eyes flicking between us.

dom hesitated. long enough for it to sting. then: “she’s… efficient.”

dad grinned, smug, like he’d won a bet. “told you.”

i smiled too sweetly at dom, and i swear i saw his jaw twitch.

—

night. bed. dark room and a brain that won’t shut off. replaying every second. the clipped words, the almost-looks, the tension stretched like wires ready to snap. i should feel like the day was a disaster. i should.

but instead all i can think—i got under his skin. i know it. he felt it.

and whatever dom thinks he’s doing—protecting, hiding, controlling—it doesn’t matter. i’m here. and i’m not going anywhere.