Page 232 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“And nothing sad,” Mia adds. “I’m still recovering from what Sophia made us watch last time.”

“It was a cinematic masterpiece!” Sophia protests, settling Luke beside her in the oversized armchair.

“It was emotional terrorism,” Rebel counters, though her smile softens the accusation.

We eventually settle on a light-hearted comedy—something with enough humor to keep the adults entertained but tame enough for little ears. Luke and Zephyr are tucked between Sophia and Violet, their eyes growing heavy even as they insist they aren’t tired.

Halfway through the movie, my phone buzzes with a text from Harrison:Outside your door with the documents from your father. Need your signature tonight.

I tilt the screen toward Jenna. Her brow furrows.

“He didn’t call ahead?”

“He texted earlier,” I say, already rising, heart ticking up a notch. “Said it was paperwork Dad needs signed.”

Jenna stands too, all instinct and sharpened edges.Her time with Carter reshaped her reflexes—she doesn’t move, she assesses. Max mirrors her, already trotting ahead, alert.

At the door, Max freezes. His entire body locks—ears flatten, tail rigid. A low growl curls from his chest, guttural and unrelenting.

Jenna stops dead. “Max?” Her voice cuts like a blade, hand hovering near where she used to carry her weapon.

I move beside her, my attention fixed on the dog who’s never once growled at someone I trusted.

I peer through the peephole. Harrison stands outside, flanked by three men in dark suits. The earpieces, the identical posture—it looks like a damn presidential escort.

“It’s just Harrison,” I murmur. “My dad’s chief of security.” I force calm into my voice. “He’s been with us since I was a kid.”

Max doesn’t care. His growl deepens, a warning.

Primal.

Jenna’s frown carves deeper. “Why would your father send his top guy—with backup—for a signature?”

A flicker of unease slithers through my gut. I pull out my phone and text:

Harrison is here with documents. Did you send him?

Before I can hit send, a message from Harrison lights up the screen:

Everything okay? The documents are time-sensitive.

“Give me a sec,” I tell Jenna, backing away from the door, fingers flying.

My father replies almost instantly:

Yes, I sent Harrison with the trust amendments. SEC filing deadline hits at 5 a.m. We need your sign-off to avoid penalties.

I hold the screen up. “He says it’s the trust paperwork. Filing deadline in the morning.”

But Jenna’s not convinced—and neither is Max. The dog is a statue, vibrating with tension, teeth just shy of bared.

“Harrison’s been around forever,” I say again, quieter now. Doubt is a bitter taste on my tongue. “Maybe Max is just reacting to the other guys?—”

“No,” Jenna cuts in. “Max isn’t scared. He’s guarding. There’s a difference.”

My pulse kicks harder. Still, I move toward the door. “I’ll open it—but stay ready.”

I unhook the chain. Turn the deadbolt. Crack the door.

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