Page 68 of Beneath the Surface

Isobel satat the kitchen table, staring at the half-eaten sandwich in front of her. The soft hum of the refrigerator filled the awkward silence. Charlotte insisted Brad eat something too, like it would make things better, make this whole nightmare more normal. It didn’t. Nothing felt normal. The conversation around the table was forced, the words brittle, crumbling under everything left unsaid.

She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t care. She’d lost her appetite the moment she saw Kathy hanging there. Kathy was dead. Kathy, who had been more than her assistant, more than a colleague. She was her friend. She had always been there forIsobel, through every day, every last-minute deadline, every quiet lunch in the office. And now she was gone.

Isobel's hands clenched into fists under the table. She couldn’t stop the anger swirling inside her, thick and suffocating. She blamed herself. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she had done something different—anything—Kathy would still be alive. And now Brad was here, telling her what to do, acting like he had the right to order her around.

Eat this. Drink that. Come here. Sit down. Go there.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But instead, she just sat there, pushing the sandwich around on her plate, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. Brad was beside her, calm and steady like always, but she felt trapped under his scrutiny, like a fragile object he was trying not to break. It was suffocating. Everything was.

After what felt like an eternity, she forced the last bite down. The food tasted like dust, sitting heavy in her stomach. She didn’t feel better, didn’t feel stronger or more ready to face anything. She just felt... empty.

Brad stood up and placed his hand on her shoulder, a silent signal that it was time to go. She followed him without a word, too tired to fight. Outside, the cool air hit her face as they made their way to his car. She slid into the passenger seat, her body moving automatically as Brad buckled her in. She felt like a child being managed, being taken care of because she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself.

Once Brad got into the driver’s seat, they pulled away from Charlotte’s house. Isobel stared out the window, the world passing by in a blur of streetlights and shadows. She barely registered where they were going, too lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t care where they ended up. Nothing mattered anymore.

Brad’s voice cut through the silence, "Your mom offered us the guest room, but I thought we’d go back to our place."

Isobel didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the dark road ahead.Our place?

"I asked Larson to take a cyber team and sweep my house and all our electronics," he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "They’re checking for any bugs, making sure no one’s listening."

She didn’t know why, but that made her feel... something. A flicker of relief, maybe. At least no one else was watching. No one else could hear how broken she was, how much of a mess everything had become.

But that didn’t change the fact that Kathy was gone. It didn’t stop the guilt that ate at her, that told her this was all her fault. That she should have done something—anything—to prevent it.

Brad kept his eyes on the road, the tension between them thick, but he didn’t push her. For now, the only sound was the rumble of the engine and the occasional swish of tires against pavement. Isobel’s thoughts churned, a storm of anger, guilt, and exhaustion, but she couldn’t find the words to say any of it.

She didn’t know if she ever would.

Brad’s mindraced as they entered his house. He watched Isobel, her face like a mask, every emotion hidden behind a wall he couldn’t see through. Her silence cut deeper than any words might have. She was shutting him out, bottling everything up—her pain, her anger, her guilt. And he knew it was only going to get worse if she didn’t let go.

Normally, he’d give her space, let her come to him when she was ready, but this was different. He was terrified. The killer wasstill out there, and the thought of something happening to her while she was in this fragile state made his blood run cold.

He couldn’t allow it. Not when she was breaking inside.

Brad turned on the security system with methodical precision. He kept his eyes on Isobel, who stood by the door, arms wrapped around herself as if holding herself together was the only thing she could do. She didn’t look at him, didn’t speak. It was like she had checked out, was lost in her own head, drowning in emotions she refused to share.

"Stay here," he ordered softly. He moved through the house, checking every room, every closet, every cabinet. He looked under every piece of furniture, his movements measured, ensuring their safety. When he returned, he announced, "The house is clear."

Isobel barely nodded, moving mechanically as she walked past him and headed up the stairs. She was locked down so tight, it scared him. He had never seen her like this before. This was different. Darker.

Brad followed her, his mind a swirl of thoughts. He had to do something—somethingto get her to release, to let go of the burden she was carrying. He was her Dominant. It was his responsibility to take care of her, even if that meant taking control when she couldn’t. And right now, she was spiraling, sinking into a place where he couldn’t reach her unless he did something drastic.

He considered his options as he followed her up the stairs. Normally, he’d give her a choice, let her tell him what she needed. But she wasn’t in a place to choose. She was so closed off, she didn’t even realize how much she was hurting herself. His job was to keep her safe, even if it meant stepping in when she couldn’t ask for help.

Once they reached the bedroom, Isobel moved toward the bed, but Brad’s voice stopped her. “Isobel,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”

She paused, still facing away, her shoulders tense. She didn’t move, didn’t turn, just stood there as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Isobel,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a commanding growl.

She flinched but didn’t turn.

Brad’s chest tightened. He knew what she needed, even if she didn’t. He had to break through the walls she was building, pull her out of that dark place. She needed to feel again, toreleaseeverything she was holding inside, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

He closed the distance between them, taking her by the shoulders and gently but firmly turning her to face him. Her eyes were wide, defiant, but beneath that, he saw it—the hurt, the raw pain she was trying so hard to bury.

“You can’t stay like this,” he said, his voice low and full of authority. “You think bottling this up will protect you, but it won’t. It’s going to tear you apart, and I won’t let that happen.”

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