Page 4 of Ruined Vows

“What’s the threat?” I ask, my voice low.

Moira answers before Kira can open her mouth. “A stalker. Some real freaky shit.”

My focus shifts back to Kira. She’s staring at her lap, her fingernails pressing crescent moons into the fabric of her dress. When she finally looks up, her eyes dart past me like she’s afraid of holding the connection too long.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says quickly, and it’s clear she’s trying to convince herself as she says it. “It’s probably just some overzealous student getting out of line. It happens. Guys who study abnormal psychology can be… intense.”

Her attempt at nonchalance is paper-thin. I lean forward slightly, my instincts kicking in. “You changed your locks?”

She stiffens. “Yes.”

“Your number?” Anna chimes in, her voice softer, threaded with concern.

Kira hesitates. “Yes… but the texts and calls haven’t stopped.”

Fuck.

I shift, sitting up straighter, the sharp edge of my focus locking in. “Your house was infiltrated?”

Moira doesn’t wait for her to answer. “Show him the picture.”

Kira hesitates, her jaw tight, before pulling out her phone. She scrolls through her photos with quick, precise movements, then holds the screen out to me.

Our fingers brush. Hers are small, cool against the rough calluses of my hand. She flinches slightly—just a flicker—but enough for me to notice.

But then I see the image, and everything else drops away.

She’s taken a picture of a bedspread scattered with photo printouts. They’re close-ups of Kira’s face—candid shots taken from a distance, invasive angles like she’s prey under surveillance. Mixed among them, something darker. Pictures of something bloody. And scattered among the pictures, crushed black rose petals.

My jaw locks.

“I’ll take the job,” I say, the words sharp and final. “Industry standard salary. I start now.”

No one says a word.

But Kira’s eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see something raw slip through her polished mask—relief tangled with fear.

And maybe that’s why I take the job. Not because she asked. Not because Domhn trusts me, and frankly it feels good to be trusted again after all these years.

No, I’ll take the job because I hated the look of fear on her face, and the second she looked at me like I could help… I knew I’d stand between her and a bullet if it kept that look from ever crossing her beautiful face again.

TWO

KIRA

I sit stifflyin the passenger seat of Isaak's truck, gripping my Birkin bag in my lap. My finger runs back and forth over the little gold clasp, once, twice, three times.

"You really didn't have to start right away," I say, trying to break the tension that crackles between us.

Back and forth, my finger dances over the clasp. Back and forth. Ten times. Then, ten more times. Then another ten more. Dammit. Did I lose count last time? Shit, now I have to start all over again. One, two, three?—

"No good taking chances when the threat's real." Isaak’s gray eyes briefly leave the road to glance my way.

I nod, swallowing hard. The photos on my bed. The roses. The blood. I still don't know if it was real or staged, but either way, it was a message. One I can't ignore anymore.

"Where's your place at?" he asks, voice gruff but not unkind.

I give him my address, watching his massive fingers punch it into his phone. There's something mesmerizing about how someone so large can move with such precision.

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