Page 117 of Devil's Azalea

“What’s this for?” I had asked, running my fingers over the expensive device.

“Now that you’re no longer with the FBI, you need something to stimulate that inquisitive brain of yours. Use it to figure out what you want to do next.”

The laptop sits on the coffee table now, practically taunting me. I’ve already taken multiple tours of this three-story penthouse, but I keep finding myself drawn back to the dining room on the first floor.

I wander there again. It’s clearly designed for entertaining—the kind of room where power moves happen over expensive wine and carefully orchestrated conversations. The massive dining table commands attention, crafted entirely of glass with intricate gold etchings along its edges. Twelve elegant chairs in white and cream surround it, each one probably worth more than my old monthly salary.

But that’s not what has me intrigued. It’s the chair at the head of the table. It’s enormous—easily three times the size of the other chairs. And carved into the back, delicate and unmistakable, are the same flowers now permanently etched into my skin.

My fingers trace over my still-bandaged forearm unconsciously as I walk to the chair across from it. This one is also bigger than the rest, though not quite as imposing as the one that obviously belongs to Rafael. A daintier version—the same design carved behind it.

These aren’t just chairs. They’re thrones. His and hers. Made for the host and hostess. So he had it made with his wife in mind.

Who?Jealousy claws at my insides with razor-sharp talons.

But wait—aside from me, he had never been engaged. Never even gotten into a serious relationship, as far as I couldtell. And trust me, I would have known. I’ve had my eyes on him for years.

Before I can start spiraling down that particular rabbit hole, I sink into the smaller throne. Regardless of who he made it for, it’sminenow.

The view from here is insane. My lips kick up as I lean back, crossing one ankle over my knee.I love it.

I take my phone out and call Katie.

“I wasn’t sure when would be safe to call you,” she says by way of greeting, her tone carrying that familiar playful edge. “Didn’t want to interrupt anything intimate and risk your husband’s wrath. That man is… super protective.”

I wince, remembering the way Rafael had her in a chokehold yesterday. “I’m so sorry about that. The tensions were high, and he doesn’t really know you yet. He can be–”

“Hey, stop. It’s fine. Really.” Her voice is firm but warm. “I’m glad you finally have someone who cares so deeply about you watching your six. Sure, being choked wasn’t exactly pleasant, but I understand his reaction completely.”

I tap my index finger on the glass tabletop, hesitating. “I actually… need a favor. It’s risky as hell, and I totally understand if you don’t want to do it. In fact, I shouldn’t even ask. I–”

“Just spill it, Em,” she cuts in with a laugh. “You never ask for favors, so this must be really important. Tell me.”

I swallow. “I need to know what happened with my dad, Katie. Why he faked his death when I was sixteen—and why he died ten years ago. Stacey won’t tell me and neither will Rafael. I can’t stand being kept in the dark about this any longer.”

“I’m on it.”

“Be careful, please. Nobody can know what you’re doing.Staceycan’t know.”

“I’ll be the soul of discretion,” she promises. “Where are you right now?”

“At Rafael’s penthouse.” I switch the phone to my other earas I uncross my leg and get up from the chair. “He gave me a laptop to research potential career paths.”

“What? He doesn’t fancy a housewife?” She’s clearly joking, but there’s genuine curiosity underneath.

“He knows I’d go crazy if I’m idle for too long,” I tell her as I make my way back to the living room where the cutting-edge laptop waits.

“Yeah, you absolutely would. Have you given any thought to finally putting that medical degree to use?”

No, I haven’t. I can’t picture myself stuck inside four walls, day after day. I love being out there, hunting down bad guys. But maybe that part of my life is over now…

I sigh. “Maybe I should consider it.”

Suddenly, there’s a blaring alarm on her end. “Shit—the fire alarm! I forgot I was making toast. Gotta run!”

I chuckle as the line goes dead. Katie could burn water if you gave her a chance.

My heart gives a sharp pang as I imagine her racing through our apartment to turn off the alarm. It’s only been a few days, but I miss it already.