Page 20 of Fractured Loyalties
Her eyes narrow. “You look flushed.”
“I walked fast.”
She studies me a second longer than necessary, but lets it go. “We’re overbooked today. Patterson rescheduled, but Dr. Liem added a consult last minute. You’ll need to prep three new packets.”
I nod. Routine. I can do routine.
As she disappears down the hall, I reach for the intake folders, then carry them out to the reception desk to make sure the morning schedule is updated. The receptionist glances up, and I give a quiet reminder about Patterson’s rescheduled slot. Small, ordinary tasks. Anchors I can cling to.
I turn to head back into my office—then I freeze.
Through the slat of the blinds, a black car sits across the street. Parked just far enough not to raise an alarm. Not the same one from last week, but similar. Tinted windows. Engine quiet.
I stare a beat too long.
“Mara?”
I flinch. Alec stands behind the counter, holding two coffees. I didn’t even notice when he got there.
He follows my gaze. “Something out there?”
“No,” I lie quickly. “Just fog.”
He sets one of the cups down in front of me, fingers brushing mine briefly. His touch is warm. Familiar. Safe in a different way than Elias’s ever could be. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
The lie is smoother now.
He nods but doesn’t move. Just watches me with that quiet surgeon’s patience, like he’s waiting for the symptoms beneath my words to show themselves.
I take a sip of the coffee. It’s not my usual tea, but I need the heat. I need the distraction.
Across the street, the car is gone.
Just like that.
I blink twice. Glance around. Nobody else seems to have noticed.
I try to breathe, slow and deep, the way Dr. Chang—my old therapist back in Michigan—taught me. Breathe in to the count of four, hold for two, out for six. But my lungs still feel coiled as I move back to my office.
At lunch, I escape to the staff kitchen and pretend to check the breakroom fridge, even though I already know there’s nothing in there but celery and expired yogurt. I just need to be alone. My fingers find the edge of the counter and grip tight.
Elias said he’d stay close. I didn’t think that meant surveillance-grade close. Not that I even know if that’s what this is. I haven’t seen him, haven’t caught him watching—but I feelhim. It’s a phantom sensation, like heat after a hand’s been lifted from skin.
The way he moves, speaks, the way he looks at me like he’s already memorized my pulse—none of it feels accidental. He knew my name. He knew about Caleb. He walked into my life like he belonged in it, like he had a key he never asked for.
Maybe that’s why I trusted him so easily. Maybe I’d been practicing for it without knowing—letting those fragments of him slip past my guard until they stitched together into something almost familiar.
And God help me, he’s beautiful in a way that makes my stomach knot. Sharp, elegant features. Dark eyes that don’t blink enough. A mouth that never quite softens. He looks like every mistake I’ve never had the courage to make—until now. I should be questioning everything.
But instead, I’m wondering what his hands would feel like if he didn’t stop at tucking hair behind my ear. I’m wondering how long until I stop pretending I haven’t already let him in.
Who is he, really? What kind of man says, with terrifying calm, that he wants me—but will wait until I’m ready? It should feel threatening. But it doesn’t. Not in the way Caleb did. Not in the way predators do.
Elias doesn’t feel dangerous. He looks like something out of a dream I shouldn’t admit to having. Too polished. Too still. Too controlled. His eyes carry weight I don’t understand yet. Maybe I don’t want to.
And yet, when he said he wanted me—just hours after we met—I didn’t flinch. I leaned in.
