Page 72 of Defending What's Mine

I clink my glass gently against hers, my heart warm and full of hope. "And new beginnings."

We both sip our wine, the room settling back into peaceful silence, broken only by the distant sound of traffic from the street below. My eyes are just starting to feel heavy when suddenly, a sharp knock echoes at the front door.

Melanie's eyes widen. "Who could that be this late?"

"Maybe Asher forgot something?" I suggest, standing slowly. "I'll get it."

Melanie follows close behind, curiosity written plainly on her face. I approach the door cautiously, checking the peephole.

Outside stands a tall, handsome man with dark, tousled hair, a charming smile, and deep, dark eyes. He’s holding a bouquet of sunflowers and wearing a leather jacket over a well-fitted shirt and jeans. I glance at Melanie, whose mouth has dropped open.

"What?" she whispers urgently. "Who is it?"

I open the door slowly, smiling politely. "Hello?"

He smiles wider, his gaze shifting quickly from me to Melanie. "Hi. I'm sorry to drop by so late. I'm Diego."

Melanie squeaks quietly, her eyes huge. I glance back at her, grinning. "Well, Mel," I tease softly, stepping aside so Diego can enter. "Looks like your mystery man decided to show up after all."

Diego steps inside, looking sheepish yet confident. "I'm sorry—hope I'm not intruding. But Melanie mentioned girls' night here and, well…I couldn't wait to finally meet you." He looks right at me when he says that word, and instantly my guard shoots up.

“How did you know where I lived?”

Melanie stares at me, and I step back. However it’s too late. Men surround us, and Diego drops the flowers. A hand clamps my mouth shut as soon as I try to scream. We’re dragged from my condo, kicking and fighting the entire way. Until one of the men hits Melanie so hard she passes out.

No, this can’t be happening.

34

Asher

The first call hits voicemail. So does the second. By the third unanswered ring I’m tightening my grip on the steering wheel, gut registering a wrongness that logic tries to dismiss. Maybe Charlotte turned off her phone after a late girls’ night, or maybe they’re sleeping in. Still, my pulse is climbing zones I usually reserve for gunfire. Something’s off.

At 09:26 I pull into the underground garage beneath Charlotte’s tower. The guard at the gate tips his cap, unaware that threat probability in my internal algorithm just leapt from “low” to “amber.” I kill the engine, slide the Glock into an appendix holster, and pocket two extra mags. The elevator up seems sluggish, fluorescent panels flickering overhead like they, too, sense trouble.

Hallway carpet. Neutral beige, newly vacuumed. Door to 1402 is ajar—just shy of a click. My breathing shifts to controlled compression. I draw closer, pushing the door with my foot.

The bouquet is the first thing my eyes lock on: sunflowers, drooping in a careless pile by the threshold, stems snapped. Ipivot, sweep the entryway, then step in low. Margaret Lane lies on the sectional, blanket half-tangled, wine glass resting atop a coffee table. No Charlotte. No Melanie.

I kneel beside Margaret, two fingers to her neck—pulse steady, respiration normal. “Mrs. Lane,” I say, keeping my voice calm but firm. “Margaret, wake up.”

Her eyelids flutter, pupils slow to focus. She frowns. “Asher? What—what time is it?” She reaches groggily for the blanket. “I must have dozed off.”

“Where’s Charlotte?” I ask. “Where’s Melanie?”

Confusion ripples across her features. She straightens, the movement stiff. “They were here—girls’ night. We watched movies—and I dozed, I think. They were texting that boy...”

“Boy?” I zero in. “Margaret, I need every detail. Start from when I left.”

She knots the blanket around her shoulders, mind scouring for the timeline. “You left just before evening. We poured another glass of wine. Melanie was texting—she wouldn’t say who, just that his name was Diego.”

I blink hard. Diego. Melanie’s online boyfriend. Could be benign, could be a backdoor. “Keep going.”

“We watched romcoms.” She gestures weakly at the discarded bouquet. “I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up now, you were here.”

“Any other visitors? Door knocks you remember?”

She shakes her head, a hand to her temple. “No. Not that I remember.”

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