Page 60 of Bound to the Bodyguard

“Anything?” Jerome asked after a moment, watching me closely, ready to chase down any lead I could provide.

“Nothing concrete,” I admitted, frustration creeping into my tone. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity. It wasn’t just any voice; it was one I’d heard in a context I trusted, one that shouldn’t belong to a faceless tormentor.

“Take your time,” Jerome encouraged. “We’ll piece this together.”

I stopped pacing and closed my eyes, focusing on that single thread of memory, willing it to unravel. The voice... it was there, on the edge of my consciousness, dancing mockingly out of reach.

Think, Raven, think…

“Imagine you’re hearing it again,” he suggested softly. “Let it come to you.”

I nodded, taking another deep breath. I could almost hear the voice now, an echo in the depths of my mind. If only I could capture it, bring it to light...

My eyes snapped open.

“Jerome, the gardener,” I gasped, her voice barely a whisper as the realization struck her like a physical blow. “The one he recommended when we moved in.”

Jerome’s eyes narrowed, a storm brewing behind his calm demeanor. “Are you sure?”

“Distinctly,” I murmured, my mind replaying the countless mornings of casual greetings exchanged over the scent of freshly cut grass. The voice that had once seemed so friendly now sent shivers down my spine.

“Damn it,” I cursed under my breath, anger seeping into my veins like venom. My ex-husband’s involvement was a betrayal that cut deeper than I could have ever imagined. To think that he would stoop so low, to hire someone to terrorize me, all in some twisted attempt to win me back—it was unfathomable.

“Raven,” Jerome said, reaching out to steady me, but I shrugged off his touch.

“Can you believe this?” I spat, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “He hires a gardener to watch over me, to keep tabs, and then...” I couldn’t finish the sentence, the words too bitter to speak aloud.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Jerome cautioned, though his own jaw was clenched tight.

“Conclusions?” I rounded on him, expressive eyes blazing with fury. “I trusted that man. I let him into my home, into my life, and all the while, he was just another pawn in my ex’s sick game!”

I stormed across the room, my fists clenched at my sides. The gardener’s face, always so amiable, now morphed into something sinister in my mind’s eye.

“Raven,” Jerome tried again, his voice steadier, “we’ll handle this. We’ll get to the bottom of it, and they will pay for what they’ve done.”

“Pay?” I laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Knowing that my privacy, my safety, was violated by someone I greeted every morning with a smile?”

My heart raced with a mixture of fear and anger, each beat a stark reminder of my vulnerability. To think that I had been so close to the source of my torment without even realizing it.

“You’re not alone in this. Remember that.”

For a moment, my resolve wavered, my steely exterior cracking to reveal the hurt beneath. I nodded, taking a shaky breath as I composed myself.

I watched as Jerome turned on his heel and headed toward the door, his steps purposeful. I could almost see the tactical wheels turning in his mind, plotting the next move. It was reassuring, yet the churning in my gut wouldn’t subside.

How could I have been so blind? To think that every smile, every courteous nod, was a lie. My hands curled into fists as I replayed each interaction with the gardener, searching for missed clues, warning signs.

“Raven!” I whipped around to see my ex-husband, his face a mask of feigned concern.

“Are you okay? I came as soon as I—” His words halted abruptly as two detectives stepped forward, their badges glinting in the harsh lighting.

“Alex Mercer, you’re under arrest,” one detective announced, his voice resolute as he read the Miranda rights. “You have the right to remain silent...”

My gaze locked with his. The truth hung between us, unspoken yet undeniable. He had orchestrated this nightmare, believing fear would drive me back into his arms.

“Raven, I can explain—” he started, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Save it,” I spat, heart pounding with a cocktail of emotions. Anger, betrayal, but above all, determination. This was the end of our story, the final curtain falling on a play twisted by deceit.

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