Chapter 22 – Damage Control

The drive back from the greenhouse was so quiet that the sound of the tires rolling over the pavement seemed unnaturally loud.

Jace didn't attempt to start a conversation, and I wasn't sure I could have answered him if he had. My mind was still trapped inside that abandoned greenhouse, replaying the note over and over.

YOU'RE LATE.

Whoever had written it had expected us.

Not hoped. Expected. I wrapped my arms around myself and stared out the passenger window as the familiar gates of the Calloway estate came into view. For the first time since moving into the house, the iron fences and security cameras didn't make me feel protected. They only reminded me that someone had managed to get close despite all of them.

Jace parked in front of the house and switched off the engine, but neither of us moved. "You shouldn't have gone," he said quietly. I kept my eyes on the windshield. "You followed me." "Because you left without telling anyone." "I knew you would've tried to stop me." "I would've."

His answer came without hesitation.

I finally looked at him. There was no anger on his face now, only exhaustion. Dark circles lingered beneath his eyes, and his grip on the steering wheel hadn't loosened since we'd left campus.

"I needed to know," I admitted. "And now?" I let out a slow breath. "Now I know someone enjoys playing games." He gave a humorless laugh before pushing open his door. "Come on. My father's going to lose his mind."

Richard was already waiting in the foyer.

Judging by the expression on his face, someone from the security team had informed him exactly where we'd been.

His gaze settled first on me before shifting to Jace. "I specifically instructed both of you to stay away from that meeting." "It wasn't a meeting," Jace replied evenly. "It was an empty greenhouse." Richard's expression didn't change. "And yet you still came back with evidence."

Jace handed him the evidence bag containing the camera and the folded note. Richard studied both without saying a word while the head of security stood nearby, waiting for instructions. After several long moments, Richard looked up.

"The camera will be examined immediately." "What about the police?" I asked. His eyes met mine. "They're not necessary." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Someone has been following us for weeks. They left photographs at your front door, lured us to an abandoned greenhouse, and somehow managed to disappear before we arrived. How are the police not necessary?" At this point, we are unsure whether a stalker, an obsessive fan, or someone seeking attention has targeted us.

"And if they're dangerous?" "We have security." His answer only deepened my frustration. "Security didn't stop them from getting onto your property."

For the first time, Richard hesitated. It lasted only a second, but I noticed. "So we'll tighten our protocols," he said. "Until we know more, this matter stays within the family." Jace crossed his arms. "You mean it stays out of the media." Richard's expression hardened. "I mean exactly what I said."

The silence between them stretched long enough that I thought another argument was about to erupt.

Instead, Jace simply shook his head. "One day you're going to realize that protecting the family and protecting the brand aren't the same thing." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked upstairs.

I hardly slept that night. Every creak of the old house made me reach for my phone. Every pair of headlights passing beyond the gates made me wonder whether someone had returned.

By morning, I felt as though I'd barely closed my eyes. Campus offered little relief. The moment Jace and I stepped out of his SUV, students began looking our way. Some smiled. Others whispered behind raised phones, and although I knew most of them were only curious about the engagement, I couldn't shake the feeling that one of those cameras belonged to the person who had been stalking us. Instinctively, I glanced over my shoulder.

"Don't."

Jace's voice was quiet beside me. I frowned. "Don't what?" "Keep checking behind you." "I can't help it." "I know." His expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"But if someone is watching, they'll know they're getting exactly the reaction they wanted." I hated that he was right.

By lunchtime, I was exhausted. "You look terrible." I looked up from my tray. Jace slid into the seat across from me. "Good afternoon to you too." "You didn't sleep." "I could say the same thing." He shrugged. "I've had practice." "I haven't." For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he pushed something across the table.

A paper cup. Tea. I frowned. "I didn't order this." "I did." "You drink coffee." "I know."

"Then why—"

"You always drink tea when you're stressed." I blinked. "I do?" "You've had it three times this week." He looked almost embarrassed that he'd noticed. "I figured it might help."

The warmth from the cup spread into my hands. It was such a small gesture. So ordinary. This small gesture was somehow impossible to ignore. "Thank you," I said quietly. He nodded once, as though the words made him uncomfortable.

Later that afternoon, the basketball team held an open practice for sponsors and media. Because I was Jace's fiancée, Melissa from athletics insisted I attend.

"It looks better if you're courtside," she explained. Of course it did. The cameras loved us.

The moment I entered the arena, I felt dozens of eyes turn toward me.

Jace noticed immediately. Without a word, he walked over after warm-ups and rested a hand lightly against my waist. The gesture looked effortless. Natural. Like he'd done it a hundred times before.

"You okay?" he murmured. "Too many people." "Don't look at them." "Kind of hard." "Look at me." I did.

"Better?"

...A little.

The realization annoyed me. It shouldn't have. The whistle blew before either of us could say anything else. Jace jogged back onto the court. I watched him laugh with his teammates, barking instructions as though nothing could shake him. Then I saw it. One missed shot. Another. A teammate muttered something under his breath. Jace's shoulders stiffened. His jaw locked. His entire body went unnaturally still. I remembered every argument we'd ever had. Every time he'd been seconds away from exploding. That was the look.

The one that came right before he lost control.

Before I could think better of it, I stepped closer to the sideline. 

"Jace." His head turned. For just a second.

Long enough to break whatever storm had been building inside him. He exhaled slowly. Rolled his shoulders. Then returned to practice without saying a word.

The tension dissolved almost instantly. The coach blew the whistle again. Practice resumed.

When it ended, Jace walked over, sweat clinging to his forehead. "You did that on purpose." "I have no idea what you're talking about." "You distracted me." "You looked like you were about to punch someone." "I was." "I noticed." He stared at me. "You can tell?" "I think I'm starting to."

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. It was a strange feeling. Realizing we were beginning to understand each other…

Without trying. Without wanting to. Without even noticing it happened. Neither of us saw the figure standing high in the empty bleachers.

A phone camera zoomed in on us. One photograph. Then another.

This time…

The lens lingered on Jace's hand resting protectively against my back.