Page 8 of Her Remarkable Protector

“Chase Samson?” she asks, her tone unsettlingly familiar, like we’re old friends catching up. But there’s an edge to it, like she’s used to owning every room she steps into.

“I’m him,” I reply, forcing calm into my voice even as tension knots in my chest. Then her face registers, and it’s like the air’s been sucked from the room.

Mira Stone. Damon Stone’s wife. The man who destroyed me, who turned my life into a waking nightmare.

The past slams into me. Kalispell. A little girl, her ridiculous Canada T-shirt soaked in her mother’s blood. I never learned her name, where she ended up, or if she even survived. But the image never left me. None of us deserved what happened. Least of all, her.

“Shit! Itisyou,” Mira says, her eyes narrowing as she studies me like a puzzle she’s reluctant to solve. “Chase Samson. I thought the name rang a bell, but I didn’t recognize you from your website photo.”

Her frown deepens, her lips curling with faint amusement as if she’s sizing me up. “Then again, the last time I saw you, I was still a virgin.”

“How can I help, Mrs. Stone?” I ask, keeping my tone professional. I’m damn sure I don’t want her elaborating the last time we saw each other. My memories of her are hazy at best, but I know we crossed paths just days before I made the decision to leave the Circle for good.

Her smirk vanishes in an instant, replaced by a cold glare. “A woman kidnapped my son.”

The words hit me. Whoever Mira is, a mother never deserves to lose her child. I straighten, gesturing toward one of the meeting rooms. “Please, come this way.”

As I lead her, Ethan steps forward, his curiosity practically radiating off him. I catch the movement and stop him with a quick gesture. “Head upstairs with your dad, buddy. I’ll handle this.”

Ethan hesitates, lowering his voice as he leans in. “You know her?”

“Yeah,” I say shortly.

“Isn’t this, like, a conflict of interest?”

Smart kid. Too smart, sometimes.

“My only interest is helping her,” I reply firmly, locking eyes with him. “Now go. Remember, I’m your boss.”

He sighs but doesn’t argue, trailing after Mark and Sam with a glance over his shoulder.

As I push the door to the meeting room open, Mira strides in ahead of me, her heels clicking like a countdown. She doesn’t bother thanking me. Of course she doesn’t. Women like Mira don’t say thank you. They demand results.

And I have a sinking feeling this is just the beginning of whatever storm she’s about to drag me into.

Mira’s eyes sweep the room, her gaze lingering just long enough to convey approval. “You’ve done well for yourself, Chase,” she says, her tone hovering between admiration and surprise. “I heard Red Mark is the best.”

“So, your son. What’s his name?” I steer the conversation back.

“Oakley. Oakley Stone.”

“It sounds like you know who took him?”

Her expression hardens, and she leans forward. “Damon’s mistress. His favorite. She’s pregnant.”

Anguish, resentment—not the typical emotions I expect from parents of missing children. Where’s the worry? The fear?

But people react differently, so I remind myself to keep an open mind.

She continues, “One son of Damon isn’t enough. She decided she wanted mine too.”

The tangled web of the Stoneborn Circle, Damon’s twisted empire, is rearing its head again. Back when I was caught in it, his father ran the show. But their succession plan clearly worked. The machine keeps turning, just as ruthless, just as dark. It’s the world I clawed my way out of, fought tooth and nail to escape. And yet, here it is, pulling me back.

“Damon’s been looking for her,” she continues. “But I’ll give her credit—none of the Circle has found her. How hard is it to track down a pregnant woman running with a thirteen-year-old boy?”

Apparently, very hard, I think. Whoever she is, she’s either exceptionally resourceful, desperately reckless, or both.

“What’s her name?”

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