Page 68

Vivi had carried that weight alone, her fire a shield against grief. I wanted to carry it for her, prove she didn’t have to fight solo.
But charity wouldn’t cut it. I needed to dismantle the scam, return what was stolen, give her justice, not pity.
The scam felt too precise. Not random, but targeted. Or was I making that up?
I pulled Vivi’s mother’s records again, digging into her past—employment, associates.
A former art teacher, no criminal ties, no enemies. But a name in her old address book—Calvin Reed, listed as “friend”—flagged a hit.
Low-level con artist, arrested twice for fraud, last known in New Orleans. The connection was thin, but it was something.
I set my spiders to chase it, mind racing with possibilities. Vivi’s face flashed—eyes red but steady, that flicker of hope when I’d made my promises.
I wanted to see that again. Wanted to build a world where she could dream without fear.
But she was out there, with Jessa, chasing danger to drown her pain. I checked my phone again. Nothing. The ache in my chest deepened.
I longed to follow. To find her, hold her like last night, her body soft, grief spilling into me. But I stayed, buried in code, waiting for her call.
TheShadyLadytrace pinged. A partial hit. The handle posted about “high-risk games” in Charleston tonight, mentioning a “church lot” off East Bay—Jessa’s spot.
My blood ran cold. Vivi was walking into something big. Something I couldn’t see.
The missing piece loomed, a shadow I couldn’t grasp. I set a final script to crack the chat’s encryption, fingers trembling—not from fatigue, but need.
I leaned back, screens blurring as Vivi’s laugh echoed. I saw her tomorrow, in my suite, barefoot, fire back, hand in mine.
But today, she was running. I was here, digging, missing something critical.
The ballet’s suspension, authorities, hackers—it was connected. Had to be. I couldn’t be making that up. Could I? I was failing her, failing to see the whole picture.
My demon stirred, restless. I pushed it down, focusing on code, on work, on the call that would come.
I’d be ready. I’d find her, hold her, prove she was mine—not just her body, but her heart, her future.
Until then, I’d chase ghosts, waiting for the storm that was Vivi to crash back into my world.
23
VIVIENNE
The heat hung thick in the air. Charleston in the summer was a swamp masquerading as a city, and tonight, it felt like the air itself didn’t want to let go.
I pulled into the church parking lot at 6:15 on the dot, tires crunching over loose gravel. The lot was mostly empty except for a few faded pickup trucks and a battered Jeep I recognized instantly—Jessa’s.
She was already leaning against the hood, hair piled on her head in a messy twist, boots scuffed, jean shorts showing off thighs that didn’t give a damn about approval. She had two sandwiches in hand, wrapped in wax paper like they came from someone’s grandmother’s kitchen.
“You brought food,” I said as I parked and climbed out.
“You looked like a hurricane last time I saw you. Figured you forgot to eat.”
She held one out and I took it, surprised to find my hands shaking.
We stood there for a moment, silent, chewing in sync. The sun hadn’t set yet—still hung high and angry behind the veil ofclouds. It painted everything in a gold-tinged sweat. The brick buildings across the street shimmered in the heat, windows open, fans turning lazy circles in the distance.
“You okay?” she asked eventually, mouth half full.
I shrugged. “Define okay.”