Page 64 of Knot Like Other Girls

I salute, only half-joking. "Aye aye, captain. I'll dive into the cesspool of Instagram influencer drama. Try not to be jealous of my glamorous assignment."

That earns me a snort from Liam and an eye roll from Savva. Even Cole's lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. But Roman's not in the mood for jokes.

"Take it seriously, Troy," he says, his voice hard. "This isn't a game."

I straighten up, all traces of humor gone. "I know, boss. I've got this."

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then nods. "Good. Cole, you're with me. We need to have a talk with Braxley, see if he has any idea who might be behind this."

Cole grunts in acknowledgment, already moving toward the door.

As we all file out to our assigned tasks, I can't help but feel a sense of... excitement? Is that the right word? It's fucked up, I know. Someone's threatening our client, and here I am, getting an adrenaline rush.

But the truth is, this is what we're good at. This is what we're trained for. Protecting people from real, tangible threats. Not playing babysitter to some self-absorbed influencer.

Although our scent match being involved makes it all considerably less fucking fun.

I settle into a chair in the corner of the living room, pulling out my laptop. Time to dive into the wild world of Braxley Worthington's online presence.

Joy.

Three hours and approximately ten thousand selfies later, I'm ready to gouge my own eyes out. How can one person take so many pictures of themselves? And why do people care?

But beneath the annoyance, a pattern is starting to emerge. It's subtle, easy to miss if you're not looking for it. But it's there.

There's a user who comments on almost every single one of Braxley's posts. At first glance, she seems like just another adoring fan. Lots of heart emojis, gushing compliments about Braxley's outfits or his "flawless" skin.

But there's an edge to some of the comments. A possessiveness that sets off alarm bells in my head.

"You look so good in that shirt, babe! I bet it would look even better on my bedroom floor."

"Another party without me? You're breaking my heart, Brax."

"I miss the old you. Before all this fame went to your head."

And her number of selfies actually rivals Braxley's gallery when it comes to sheer volume, which is… saying something.

I lean back, rubbing my eyes. It could be nothing. Just an overzealous fan with boundary issues. But my gut says there's more to it.

I tap my earpiece. "Savva, you got a minute?"

"For you? Always," comes the dry response. "What have you found?"

I fill him in on the mystery girl, outlining the pattern I've noticed. "Could be our culprit, could be a red herring. But I think it's worth looking into."

There's a pause, and I can practically hear the gears turning in Savva's head. "Interesting. Send me the account details. I'll see what I can dig up."

"On it," I say, already compiling the information. "Oh, and Savva?"

"Mm?"

"If you find any embarrassing old posts of mine while you're digging around, just... delete them, yeah?"

His laugh is warm and rich. "No promises, Shepherd. No promises."

I grin as I end the call. For all his sophisticated airs, Savva's got a mischievous streak a mile wide. It's one of the things I like most about him.

I push the thought aside, refocusing on the task at hand. As I scroll through more of the mystery fan's comments, something catches my eye. A photo from about six months ago, showing Braxley at some charity gala. He's got his arm around the waist of a woman with red hair and a slinky green dress.

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