Page 76 of Cryptic Curse

“Yeah, maybe drugs.”He purses his lips.“More likely anthrax.”

“That cow disease?”

“That cow disease is actually a potentially fatal bacterial infection, not just something livestock get.If someone wanted to hurt you quietly, anonymously, it would be a good way to do it.”

I blink at him, my mouth going dry.“Okay, well…that’s comforting.”

He doesn’t smile.Though he’s calmed down a bit from his anger.But only a bit.

“The envelope is clean.No powder or other substance.”

I heave a sigh of relief.“Great.So it’s just a creepy valentine with a threat written in ink.”

He tilts his head.“Do you recognize the handwriting by any chance?”

“No.But the message?‘You locked the door, but you forgot—I have the key.’That’s not something you write to an old friend.”

His brows draw together.“Have you ever gotten anything like this before?”

“Never.I mean, I’d get gifts from my father’s”—air quotes—“friendsfrom time to time.But nothing threatening.My father wouldn’t have put up with that.”I shudder.“The only person who ever harmed me physically—at least, in a way that didn’t involve sex—washim.No one else was allowed to lay a hand on me or even say anything indicative of violence.”

Hawk scoffs.“So even he had his limitations, you’re saying?”

I close my eyes.“I know how it sounds.”I open my eyes to find his gorgeous blue ones focused solely on me.“Don’t get me wrong.He was a bad man.An evil man.”

I don’t know what else to say.That he let them rape me and scare me but he would have never let them threaten me?

But that’s the truth of it.

To understand my father, you have to understand the way monsters draw lines.Not moral ones—it’s about territory.Ownership.Control.He didn’t protect me because he loved me.He protected his investment.His legacy.His name.

He’d let them touch me, mark me, break me down until I was a shell wrapped in silk.But threaten me?Scare me in a way that made him look weak or vulnerable?That he wouldn’t allow.

Plus, I was one of his most valuable assets.Like his cars, his boats.He wanted them all—myself included—to look as clean and shiny as possible.

I see Hawk’s throat work as he swallows, his expression unreadable now.Maybe it’s the silence between us.Or maybe he’s realizing I’m not just some broken doll from a wealthy house.I’m haunted—worn out, used up, and still standing.

“He’s dead, right?”Hawk asks, voice low.

I nod.

“Good.”He doesn’t blink when he says it.Doesn’t flinch.“But that doesn’t mean he’s finished with you.”

And for a second, I feel it too—that cold breath at the back of my neck, the kind that whispersyou’re still his.

“Are you saying you think this note came from my father?”

He shakes his head.“I don’t believe in ghosts.But I do believe in legacies.In the kind of rot a man like that leaves behind.”

I swallow hard, the air suddenly heavier, tighter in my lungs.“You think someone’s carrying on what he started?”

“Maybe,” Hawk says, voice like gravel, eyes locked on mine.“Or maybe someone who knew him.Someone who still sees you the way he did.”

My stomach twists.“Like I’m a possession.”

“Or a threat,” he adds quietly.“Depends on what they think you know.Or what they think you are.”

I let that sink in.The silence that follows isn’t empty.It’s thick with old memories and buried warnings.The kind that don’t stay dead, no matter how deep you dig the grave.