Page 67 of Client Privilege

I laid him carefully on the bed, intending to step away, but his fingers remained tangled in my shirt.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, the first words he’d spoken since the motel.

“I won’t,” I promised, easing down beside him.

He shifted closer, his head coming to rest on my chest, tears soaking through my t-shirt. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding him securely as silent sobs shook his frame.

Sandra appeared in the doorway, setting Alex’s bags down quietly. Our eyes met over Alex’s head, and I saw in her expression the same fury that burned in my chest. She nodded once, understanding without words, and slipped away.

I lay there in the darkness, listening to Alex’s breathing gradually slow as exhaustion claimed him. My mind raced with everything I’d heard tonight—the jury tampering, the threats, the violence. Marcus had crossed every line, broken every law, and still believed himself untouchable.

The rage I felt was unlike anything I’d experienced in my professional career. This wasn’t about winning a case anymore. This was about justice in its most fundamental form. Marcus Delaney had hurt someone I cared about—was still hurting him—and I would use every legal tool, every connection, every ounce of my knowledge and skill to make him pay.

Alex stirred slightly against me, his fingers still clutching my shirt even in sleep. I tightened my arm around him, a silent promise that he wasn’t alone anymore. Whatever came next, he wouldn’t face it by himself.

Outside, the first hint of dawn lightened the sky. In a few hours, I would begin the process of destroying Marcus Delaney. But for now, I simply held Alex as he slept, finally safe.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Alex

I WOKEwith a violent start, heart hammering against my ribs. Unfamiliar ceiling. Unfamiliar bed. Unfamiliar silence. Where was I? Where was—

Marcus.

The memories crashed back like a physical blow. The motel. The splintering door. His hands on my throat. The police.

I bolted upright, gasping for air, eyes darting around the spacious room. Cream walls. Mahogany furniture. Heavy curtains filtering morning light. Not my motel. Not Marcus’s house.

Damian’s guest room.

But I was alone. Last night, I remembered clinging to him, begging him not to leave. Had he left anyway? Had he—

The door opened and I scrambled backward against the headboard, a strangled sound escaping my throat.

“It’s just me,” Damian said softly, stepping into the room with a bundle of fabric in his arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

My lungs remembered how to work again. “Sorry,” I whispered automatically. “I didn’t know where I was for a second.”

“You’re safe,” he said, keeping his distance. “You’re in my home.Marcus is in custody.”

He placed the items at the foot of the bed—a plush bathrobe and several fluffy towels.

“I thought you might want a shower,” he said. “There’s an en suite through that door. Take all the time you need.”

I nodded, embarrassed by my reaction. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be downstairs making breakfast. No rush.” He turned to leave, then paused. “Alex?”

“Yes?”

“You’re safe here. I promise.”

The door closed behind him, and I sat motionless, trying to slow my breathing. Safe. What did that even mean anymore? I’d thought I was safe at the motel. I’d thought I was safe behind a court order.

I pushed myself out of bed, wincing at the soreness in my body. Every muscle ached, as if I’d been in a car crash. Fight-or-flight aftermath, probably.

The en suite bathroom was bigger than my entire motel room. Marble counter-tops. Glass-walled shower. Heated floor tiles warm against my bare feet. It was beautiful and overwhelming, like everything in Damian’s world.