Page 35 of My Secret Santa Mason

I hummed to myself as I headed down the hallway, my thoughts full of holiday cheer and the warmth of the people in this town. But just as I reached the bathroom, something caught my eye—a flicker of movement in the living room.

I stopped cold.

My heart skipped a beat as I turned slowly, my breath catching in my throat.

Three men stood there, watching me with cold, calculating eyes.

My heart pounded, and my legs felt like they’d turned to stone. I didn’t recognize two of them, but the third… the older man with the hard, weathered face was the same guy who’d been following me near the bakery that day.

The one I’d confronted.

I’d felt like such a fool, thinking he’d been following me, but now, seeing him here in my home, the fear hit me like a freight train.

I’d been right.

“Sit down,” one of the men barked, his voice sharp and dangerous.

I didn’t move. My mouth went dry, and my mind turned to scrambled egg. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on.

“I said, sit down,” the older man repeated, his tone low and menacing.

He took a step toward me, and that snapped me into action. I backed up slowly, my body trembling as I made my way to the chair by the fireplace. I didn’t sit, though—my legs wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t cooperate.

Eventually, they gave way, and I collapsed on the chair.

“What do you want?” My voice was barely a whisper, shaky and terrified.

The older man—his eyes narrowing—took another step closer, his hand resting on the back of the couch as he surveyed the room. “You’re Camilla Whitman, aren’t you? You’ve been making yourself pretty comfortable here in Silver Ridge.”

I swallowed hard, my blood rushing in my ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t play dumb. We know about your Dylan Campbell. We know about his dealings with Viktor Kovalenko’s organization.”

I frowned. I had no idea what they were talking about.

“He was in deep, and you were right there by his side.”

I shook my head. Somewhere, the name rang a bell, but so vaguely I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“I don’t have anything to do with that,” I stammered. “I don’t even know who that is. Dylan and I aren’t together. I left him a couple of months ago. I didn’t know—”

“Save it,” the man interrupted, his voice cold. “You might have left him, but you’re still connected. And now, with allthose pictures you’ve been posting on social media, you’ve made yourself pretty easy to find.”

My blood ran cold, fear twisting my insides. My social media posts. All the pictures I’d taken, the events I’d helped plan, the photos I’d shared of my life in Silver Ridge… I’d thought I was creating a new presence, a new life for myself so I could have a new audience who could maybe turn into new customers. Instead,they’dseen them. They’d been using it to track me.

“Tell us where Mason Thompson is,” the man demanded, his voice sending a fresh wave of panic through me. Confusion followed right on its heels.

Mason? What did they want with Mason?

“Mason?”

“The locals know him as Bear,” one of the other guys said.

Shit. So theyreallyknew who he was.

“I don’t know where he is,” I lied. “I’ve seen him once or twice around town, but I don’t know a whole lot of people. I’ve only been here a short while and—”

“Don’t lie to me,” the man snapped, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been seen with him. You’re close to him.”

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