Page 91 of Redeeming Melodies

"Private life?" Her laugh dripped poison. "Oh honey, there's nothing private about running away to play house with some small-town cop. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

"How did you even know about Jake?" The question burst from me, hands shaking with rage. "Been having me followed?"

"Please." Her laugh went colder, sharper. "You think I'd trust something this important to chance? Of course I hired someone. He's been watching you for weeks. Such cute photos of you and your sheriff making breakfast, by the way. Very domestic."

The violation hit like a physical blow. Every quiet moment, every shared laugh - all of it watched, documented, reported back to her like we were characters in her private show.

"You're fucking sick." My voice shook with fury. "Hiring investigators to spy on me? What happened to co-parenting with respect?"

"Respect?" Something shifted in her tone - colder, calculating. "You want to talk about respect when you're the one who ran away to play gay with some backwoods cop? You know what reporters would pay for the photos I have? Quite the scandal for a racing champion, don't you think?"

"Leave Jake out of this." The words came through clenched teeth. "This is between us."

"Not anymore. I've got proof of every little domestic moment you've shared. Every kiss, every touch. Drop the custody case, Elliot. Let Tommy stay where he belongs. Or I'll make sure every tabloid in the country knows exactly what kind of 'simple life' you're living in Oakwood Grove."

"You'd use this?" The words tasted like ash. "Use me being happy against me? Against our son?"

"I'm protecting our son." The familiar righteous tone I'd grown to hate. "From your midlife crisis, your sexual confusion, your desperate need to throw away everything we built."

"Everything we built?" Fury made my vision blur. "You mean everything you orchestrated? The perfect image, the trophy wife, the son you parade around like a prop at your charity events?"

"At least I give him stability." Her voice turned smug. "What do you offer? A boyfriend who carries a gun for a living? A town full of nobodies? Please."

"Fuck you." The words exploded out. "Those 'nobodies' have shown me more real support than your fake society friends ever did. You don't get to judge my life or the people in it. And you sure as hell don't get to use my relationship with Jake as leverage."

"Then let Tommy go." Simple, cruel. "Walk away now, before your little romance becomes tomorrow's headline."

"Never." The ocean roared behind me, matching my anger. "I'll fight you on this. Every step of the way. Release whateverphotos you want - I'm done hiding. Done letting you control the narrative."

"Your choice." Ice dripped from every word. "But remember - you brought this on yourself. And your precious sheriff? His quiet life is about to get very, very public."

The line went dead, leaving me shaking in my backyard. The same backyard where I'd planned to build Tommy's treehouse. Where Jake and I had shared wine under the stars. Where I'd finally started feeling like I belonged somewhere.

Now every inch of it felt violated. How many photos had her investigator taken? How many private moments had been twisted into weapons?

But fuck her.

Fuck her games and her threats and her perfect victim act.

Because this? This place, these people, this life I was building? Worth fighting for.

Worth whatever shitstorm she was about to unleash.

Tommy deserved better than her manipulations. Jake deserved better than being used as ammunition. And I deserved better than living in fear of her next move.

SACRIFICES

Camera crews were parked at the edge of town. Seven days since Vanessa's press conference bomb, and every morning I'd wake up hoping they'd gotten bored and left. No such luck. Just more vans, more cameras, more strangers trying to turn my quiet town into their next big story.

Grabbed donuts from Sarah's on my way to check the outpost. Hank and Rio had been pulling double shifts keeping the vultures away from Elliot's place, least I could do was bring them breakfast. Sarah threw in extra maple bars - her way of saying thanks for protecting our own.

Found Hank exactly where I expected, looking like he'd rather wrestle a bull than deal with another reporter. Man was built like a brick wall and had about as much patience for bullshit. Rio sat in his cruiser, probably finishing paperwork from the night shift.

"Morning, boss." Rio climbed out, eyeing the donut box like a lifeline. "You're a fucking saint."

"Don't let the press hear you say that." Passed him the box, watched him dig for the jelly-filled ones he pretended not to love. "How bad was it overnight?"

Hank spat in the dirt, his version of editorial commentary. "Had three try to sneak through the back field. City folks don't realize electric fences hurt like a bitch."

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