Chapter 8

Dominic’s POV 

She climbed out of his damn bed and started running his errands again.

My jaw tightened.

My wolf went very quiet.

Not calm.

Furious.

I picked up my phone.

It rang twice before he answered.

“Boss.”

“Watch my daughter-in-law,” I said. “Every move, every conversation and every person she looks at longer than five seconds.”

I paused.

“I want to know where she goes, what she says and who she says it to. Nothing gets missed.”

A short silence answered me.

“I’m already watching her, boss,” Marco said carefully. “But there’s something you should know.”

My eyes narrowed slightly.

“She went to the pack’s records room this morning,” he continued. “Before she came to see you.”

I said nothing.

“She was in there eleven minutes. I checked the entry log. She accessed the territorial boundary files… and the biker ledgers.”

The exact same files.

In our previous life, those were the files she copied and handed to Luca.

The files he used to gut my entire operation from the inside.

Three brotherhood leaders had died because of those files.

We nearly lost the eastern territory before I even understood what was happening.

I turned away from the window slowly.

“Did she take anything out of the room?”

“No physical copies,” Marco said. “But she had her phone.”

Of course she did.

I walked back to the desk and sat down.

My wolf stopped pacing.

Still now.

The way predators go still when a blur finally becomes a target.

“She photographed them,” I said.

It wasn’t a question.

“That’s my best guess, yes.”

I looked down at the untouched whiskey glass. My reflection stared back at me through the amber surface, fractured and distorted.

Scarlett had come to the lounge tonight calling me Daddy.

Dropping glasses.

Arching her back.

Letting her dress ride just high enough to keep every man in the room looking at her legs.

Every movement calculated.

Every second designed to make me look at her body instead of thinking about what she had already done that morning.

It was almost impressive.

Almost.

“Keep watching her,” I said quietly. “And Marco… she sent a photograph tonight. To herself or to someone else.”

A pause.

“I need to know which one.”

“Understood.” Another careful silence. “Boss… do you want me to bring her in?”

I considered that.

The man I had been in our previous life would have said yes immediately.

She would already be sitting in front of me.

Bound.

Questioned.

Every piece of information removed from her with cold efficiency.

But that version of me had died once already.

And he had died with her name in his throat.

I was not finished understanding why.

“No,” I said finally. “Not yet.”

I picked up the whiskey glass and turned it slowly in my hand.

“Let her move.”

“Let her think she’s ahead of me.”

“The most dangerous thing I can do right now… is let Scarlett Vance believe she’s winning.”

The call ended.

I drank the whiskey in one slow swallow.

And then my personal laptop chimed.

Once.

A security alert.

I frowned and pulled the screen toward me.

Motion detected.

Location: Records Room.

Timestamp: 11:47 PM.

Someone was in there.

Right now.

I opened the camera feed.

The angle was high and narrow. A single shadow moved through the dark room, quick and deliberate, heading straight for the filing cabinets like someone who knew exactly where everything was.

I leaned closer to the screen.

I recognized the posture before I even saw the face.

But it wasn’t Scarlett.