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A knock at the door interrupts us, and Talia strides in radiating crisis-management energy in her power suit.

“Security breach in the building already?” She extends her hand to Sean. “Talia Monroe. PR Director and occasional firefighter.”

“Sean Langston.” He shakes her hand firmly.

A small smile tugs at Talia’s mouth as she throws me a glance. “Well, that was quick. Thank you for coming around. Will you be joining Ms. Sinclair's security detail permanently?”

“That's yet to be determined.”

After she leaves, Sean continues his assessment, walking the perimeter of the building while I try to focus on work. The normality of spreadsheets and emails feels surreal against the backdrop of threats and scandals. When he returns, his expression is grimmer than before.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“Your security is inadequate.” He stands at my office window, looking down at the street. “Single-point entry system that's three years outdated. No proper screening for deliveries. Blind spots in your camera coverage.”

I shake my head. “We're a skincare company, not the Pentagon. This building wasn’t for war.”

“It is now.”

His tone slices clean through my composure.

“Look,” I start, “I didn’t ask for this level of attention. I created a brand. Not a scandal.”

He steps closer. Not threatening. Just close enough for his presence to settle in my bones.

“You’re a high-profile target. It doesn't matter if you meant to be.”

My jaw tightens.

“What do you suggest?”

“I'll have a team upgrade your systems tomorrow. In the meantime, I'd recommend enhanced protocols for all staff, security escorts for any off-site meetings, and—” he hesitates “—consideration for temporary relocation of you and Eric.”

“Relocation? This is just a PR crisis. We're not in witness protection.”

“When threats reach your home, it's no longer just PR.” His voice remains calm but firm. “The goal is prevention.”

Having someone else make decisions about my safety feels like surrendering control. This is something I've fought hard never to do again. I’ve lived all these years on my terms. I make my own decisions.

“I appreciate your concern, but I can handle?—”

“This isn't about what you can handle.” Sean cuts me off, his eyes intense. “It's about what you shouldn't have to.”

Something in his tone silences my objections. For a brief moment, I'm reminded of what it feels like to have someone else shoulder the weight.

Sean collects his notes and heads for the door. “I'll submit a full assessment tonight. We'll implement changes starting tomorrow.”

“That's it?”

He pauses, hand on the doorknob. “One more thing, Wren.” His expression is solemn. “Based on what I'm seeing, this is going to get worse before it gets better. Be prepared.”

The door closes with a soft click behind him, leaving me alone with his warning echoing in my mind.

Worse?I sink back into my chair, staring at the pile of threats on my desk. How much worse could it get at this point?

My phone buzzes with a notification. It's an email from an unknown sender. The subject line makes my blood run cold:“We know where your son goes to school,Lemons.”

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