Page 48 of Inked Adonis

But watching her like this—it triggers something darker. A little boy sitting in his father’s study, forced to watch grainy footage of his mother taking money, signing away her rights, walking away without a backward glance.

“Look,”my father would say as he jabbed the screen and made me watch, his breath hot with vodka when it fanned against my neck. “Look at what women do when you trust them.”

The memory hits like acid in my throat when Myles appears in my doorway, tablet in hand.

He closes the door behind him, his expression carefully neutral. He’s been with me long enough to read my moods, to know when to tread carefully.

“Got those background reports you wanted,” he says, sliding the tablet onto my desk. “Nothing unusual in the financials. But there’s something about the timing of when Hope’s Helpers started servicing Kat’s accounts that feels off.”

I look up from Nova’s lounging form on the screen. “Explain.”

“They took her on as a client right after your divorce was finalized. Could be coincidence, but...” He lets the word hang.

“But you don’t believe in coincidences.”

“I believe in being thorough,” he corrects. “My vote is that we should expand surveillance on Hope’s Helpers. Dig deeper into their connection with Katerina.”

On screen, Nova’s curled up with Rufus, both of them dozing. Her face is peaceful, unguarded. Beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.

Myles’s offer makes me physically ill. Because I suddenly see myself becoming exactly what I swore I’d never be—a man who cages what he claims to protect. Who turns trust into a weapon, love into evidence.

Nova doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve to be watched, recorded, reduced to pixels on a screen that can be rewound and analyzed for betrayal.

And yet what kind of fool would I be to put my faith in her?

I go back and forth, back and forth, wrestling with thoughts I can’t tame. To trust or not to trust? That’s always had a very fucking obvious answer in my life: never, ever do it.

But now… With her…

Fuck. I don’t know.

“Do what you like,” I tell Myles. “Let me know what you find.”

He gives me a curious look, but then he shrugs and ambles out without another word.

I close the surveillance window with a sharp click. The ghost of Nova’s peaceful expression lingers, an accusation more damning than any evidence my father ever collected.

Trust is a fucking blade, alright. The question is: who’s it going to cut worse?

16

NOVA

As I press the call button, I know this is the act of a desperate woman. A desperate, stir-crazy woman who has been imprisoned by a one-night stand in a penthouse that stretches across nine thousand square feet of Chicago sky. My only companion is an untrained Great Dane who seems to share his temporary owner’s penchant for dominance games.

I’m crazy. I have to be. There is no other reason I would put myself through the gauntlet of explaining to Hope where I’ve been and why I haven’t answered any of her increasingly concerned texts or dozens of phone calls for the last two days.

Once, I went to a movie by myself and didn’t answer her for ninety minutes ofLove, Actually. By the time I called back, she’d contacted my boss, my landlord, my bagel shop guy, Grams, and even my dad, as if he’d ever known a damn thing about where I was.

I wince as the line rings.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

“Where the hell have you been?! I thought you were dead!”

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