She’s here. She’s safe.
I repeated the words in my head as I held Stella tight.
Tiny shivers rippled through her body, and even though she was almost as tall as me, she felt fragile. Breakable.
Fierce protectiveness burned in my chest.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” I murmured. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
She buried her face deeper in my neck, her soft sobs twisting my heart like a wrung-out rag.
I was holding her again for the first time in weeks, but this wasn’t how I’d wanted it to be.
Not with her bruised, hurt, and terrified.
The relief I’d felt at seeing her alive gave way to renewed rage.
My cold gaze found Julian over Stella’s shoulder.
He glared back at me, his eyes filled with hatred, but he didn’t say a word as Steele and Mason secured him with restraints.
I’d recognized Julian’s face from his Washington Weekly bio. I also recognized it from the background check I’d run on his grandmother when she first bought her apartment at the Mirage. After she died, the property passed to him.
I didn’t involve myself in the mundane details of tenant turnover, so I hadn’t connected that detail.
No wonder there’d been no evidence of him leaving the Mirage after he broke into Stella’s apartment. He’d been inside it the whole time.
“Keep him alive,” I said. “I’ll deal with him personally.”
I wanted the pleasure of tearing the bastard apart myself.
However, a glimmer of pride sparked in my chest when I saw the nasty wound on his neck. Stella must’ve taken a chunk out of him before we arrived.
That’s my girl.
Steele nodded. “You got it.”
We’d tracked Julian down via the credit card he’d used for his car rental, then tracked the car to this shittastic cabin in the Virginia woods. The car’s built-in GPS made that easy.
I hadn’t wanted to take any chances, so I’d called in a handful of men to accompany me and dispatched another to get Brock.
Julian must’ve drugged him and Stella with different substances—one to incapacitate Brock and get him out of the room, the other to disorient her.
I wanted nothing more than to flay him alive, but Stella took priority.
I rubbed a hand over her back. “We’ll check into a hotel and get you cleaned up,” I murmured. “I have a doctor who can meet us there and take a look at your wounds.”
I hated hospitals. All that fucking paperwork and lax security. It was easier to take care of her myself.
When she gave a tiny, silent nod, I left my men to deal with the mess in the cabin and gently guided her into my car.
My anger flared again at the sight of her cuts and bruises in bright daylight, but I tamped it down.
Later. Once I made sure she was okay, I could take all the time I wanted dismantling Julian.
Stella didn’t speak as I pulled away from the cabin.
I wanted to take her back to my apartment, but I didn’t want to violate the boundaries she’d established during our breakup.
However, when we arrived at the nearest decent hotel, she didn’t budge from the car.
She stared at the entrance, her knuckles white around her knees.
“Can we go to your house instead?” she asked quietly. “I want to be somewhere safe.”
My heart roared to life, but I kept my voice even. “Of course.”
Dr. Abelson was already waiting for us when we arrived at the Mirage. He was technically retired, but one of my clients had referred me to him years ago when I’d mentioned needing a private, discreet doctor.
Apparently, Abelson needed something other than golf and television to pass the time during retirement.
I didn’t need the other residents asking questions, so I took us through the back entrance up to my penthouse.
I had a special room set aside for medical treatment, and I watched impatiently as Abelson introduced himself to Stella and checked her injuries.
“Is she okay?” I demanded after an interminable length of time that was in reality less than thirty minutes.
“She has a few cuts and bruises, plus a mild concussion, but she’ll be fine,” he said. “Nothing time and rest won’t heal.”
The diagnosis should’ve placated me, but all I focused on was the word concussion.
I mentally added another fifteen minutes to my time with Julian.
“I’ll do it,” I said when he moved to bandage one of her cuts. “You can leave. Thank you.”
Other than a small lift of his eyebrows, Abelson didn’t react to my request.
“Do I want to know what happened?” he asked as he packed his bag. He kept his voice low
Stella sat on the far side of the room. She’d been silent during her examination, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hear us.
“No.” He was on call to handle medical issues, but I kept him out of the loop on how, exactly, those issues arose.
“That’s what I figured.” He shook his head. “Call me if any complications arise. I don’t anticipate they will, but you have my number.”
That was why I liked Abelson. He was discreet, competent, and didn’t ask unnecessary questions.
After he left, I finished bandaging Stella’s cuts.
The tips of my fingers skimmed her skin as I gently pressed the bandages over her wounds. The steady hum of the air conditioner mingled with our soft breaths, and an electric current wound my muscles tight until I finished my ministrations.
“If you’re hungry, I can make us food,” I said.
She shook her head. “I just want to shower and sleep.”
I didn’t argue. Instead, I guided her to the hallway and stopped between the guest room and my bedroom.
I shouldn’t ask. I knew it might cross boundaries again, and that she might not be ready. But I had to try.
“Stay with me.” I softened the words into a request, not an order. “Just for tonight. Please.”
We were in the safety of my penthouse, but it wasn’t enough.
I’d almost lost her, and I needed her close.
I needed to see her, touch her, comfort her. Reassure myself she was actually there and not a figment of my imagination.
Only then could I breathe.
An eternity of a second passed, followed by a small nod, sweet relief, and the click of my bedroom door closing behind us.
Stella and I took turns showering.
She’d moved all her belongings into Ava’s house, so I gave her one of my old shirts to wear.
The sight of her in my clothing tugged at my heart.
It didn’t mean she forgave me or that we were back together. She’d gone through a traumatizing experience, and her actions now weren’t indicative of her regular behavior.
But it was progress, and I’d take anything I could get.
“How did you find me?” she asked as I slid into bed next to her.
She’d regained some of her color after the shower, and she was making conversation again.
More progress.
Another tingle of relief eased my tension.
“Brock texted me, and I saw him on the cafe’s security footage.” I gave her a quick rundown of what happened, leaving out the part about Kage and the junkyard.
“Will he be okay?”
Stella would be worried about someone else when she was the one who’d been abducted.
The corner of my mouth kicked up. “Yes. He’ll be fine with some rest.”
“Good.” She half faced me with one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Despite what she’d said about wanting to sleep, she seemed reluctant to do so.
“Talk to me, Butterfly. What’s on your mind?”
“Well, I’ve had an exciting day.”
Another smile crossed my lips. Jokes, no matter how dry, were always a good sign.
“But I don’t want to talk about what happened right now.” She shifted so she faced me fully. “Tell me a story.”
“A fairytale?” I teased.
She shook her head. “Something real.”
I thought about it before my smile gradually faded. “How real do you want, Stella?”
“As real as it gets.” Her voice softened. “Tell me a story about you.”
I was quiet for a moment before I spoke again.
“I told you about my father and how my parents died. What I didn’t tell you was what my mom left behind.” The words came out faded, like furniture webbed with dust after being hidden for so long. “It was a goodbye note.”
The police found it on the scene. My aunt hadn’t wanted me to see it, but I’d insisted.
I still remembered how it smelled, like ink and my mom’s favorite perfume. My skin had still been warm from the afternoon sun, but I hadn’t been able to stop shivering when I read the note.
“She told me how much she loved me and didn’t want to leave me, but that she had no choice. That she couldn’t live without my father and that her sister would take care of me.”
A bitter smile touched my lips. “Imagine telling your child you loved them before you left them all alone in the world. Knowing they’d lose the only parent they had left because you couldn’t stick around long enough to even try? It’d been two days. That was it. I wasn’t sad when I read that letter, Stella. I was angry, and I was glad about that, because anger is easier than abandonment.”
“But my mom also left something else behind. Her one attempt at painting. She loved art, but she was a terrible artist, and even my father couldn’t lie and tell her it was good. We put it in the basement, but after she died, I dug it up and held onto it. I didn’t know why. Maybe because I resented what art had done to my family, and I liked seeing its ugliness and chaos immortalized on canvas. I had her note as well, and when I was older, I reworked the frame and placed it inside the painting. The most fucked up part was, I named it after her. Magda.”
“Yes,” I said when Stella’s eyes widened. “The same Magda you heard me talking about with Dante. I should’ve tossed both the painting and the note out long ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It wasn’t the items themselves. It was what they symbolized—what my parents did and how they abandoned me. I hated Magda, yet she was the most important thing in my life. Enough so that I had it under guard. I even forged documents saying it’s this priceless piece of art so no one would question why I was expending so many resources on it.”
A rough laugh left my throat. “It seems like a stupidly elaborate ruse for something so simple, but that painting has always fucked me up. I could never let it go. That hideous piece of art symbolized everything she loved more than me. Whenever I see it, I see her. I see her sitting down, writing that note, then blowing her brains out.”
Stella flinched at the visual imagery, but I was too far gone to stop.
“I see myself sitting in my classroom when the principal called me into his office. I see my aunt’s face and the funeral and the pitying looks everyone gave me after she died. The town didn’t know the truth about my father; the businessman he was stealing from didn’t want any extra publicity about the case, and he paid off the authorities to keep the whole thing quiet.”
I swallowed past a strange lump in my throat. “A mother’s love for her child is supposed to be the greatest love of all. Yet it wasn’t enough for her to stay with me.”
Stella had been quiet throughout my story, but now she looked at me with a thousand words in her eyes.
“Christian…” she breathed, her voice thick with unshed tears.
I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “This isn’t a sob story, Butterfly,” I said gruffly. “Don’t feel bad for me. I got over it a long time ago.”
It was a heavy story to tell given the day she’d had, but she wanted real. And my history with Magda was as real as it got.
“I don’t think you’ve gotten over it,” she said softly. “Not if you’re still holding onto it.”
“Technically, Dante is holding onto it.” I sidestepped her observation.
“How did he get it?”
“The painting got stolen, then sold in a bunch of estate sales.” I didn’t get into the dirty details about Kage, Sentinel, and how, in the mother of all coincidences, it landed in Josh’s hands. I’d found it before Josh bought it and retrieved the note, but I’d let the painting’s sales run their course in order to track down who stole it. I’d been right about Sentinel and wrong about Axel. “Dante acted as my proxy and bought it back since I didn’t want more people knowing about my connection to it. He’s holding it at his place while I figure out what to do with it.”
“Have you?” Stella asked. “Figured out what to do with it?”
“Not yet. But I will.”
We lay there, our breaths intertwining in the compressed space between us.
Stella was right. I hadn’t gotten over Magda. I’d pushed it to the back of my mind because of everything that had happened the past few months, but I could still feel its skeletal grasp on me.
I could destroy it, or I could live in its stranglehold forever.
But that was a decision for another day.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Stella whispered. “When I was in the cabin, and I thought I was about to die…the person I thought about most was you.”
Her words sliced me open and dug into my heart—both the part about her almost dying, and the part where she thought about me.
“I’m not saying I’m one hundred percent over what you did because I’m not,” she said. “But I also understand keeping things secret and not knowing how to tell the truth. I also realized I was wrong when I compared you to Julian. You would never hurt me the way he did. And, to be honest, I…” Stella visibly swallowed. “I missed you.”
The compression in my chest loosened, and my mouth softened in a genuine smile. “I can work with that.”
“Also…” A ruddy flush spread across her cheeks. “I might be able to up the percentage if you give me a goodnight kiss.”
Laughter rumbled in my chest. “I can definitely work with that.”
I drew her closer. “I missed you too,” I added softly before pressing a gentle kiss to her mouth. I could kiss her forever, but I forced myself to pull back after the count of three. Now wasn’t the time for a hot and heavy makeup session. “That’s all you’re getting for now. You need rest.”
Stella sighed. “Tease.”
Despite her grumbling, she was out like a light minutes later.
I tucked her closer to my chest and, after weeks of restless nights, let the soothing rhythm of her breaths finally lull me to sleep.
