Page 24 of Fractured Devotion (Tainted Souls #1)

My eyes haven’t left the monitors since last night. Hours bleed into each other, shadows crawl across the walls, and the cold glow of screens becomes my only companion. I rewind the footage again, frame-by-frame, and force my breathing steady, even though anger pulses hot beneath my skin.

Whoever slipped into Celeste’s apartment did so with surgical precision, fluid motions executed without hesitation. The figure moved exactly where my cameras couldn’t see, intentionally navigating blind spots as if they had installed the damn surveillance themselves.

My jaw tightens, my teeth grinding until the dull ache shoots into my temples. I replay the intruder’s movements, looking for the smallest slip or an overlooked detail—something I can use. But every motion is calculated and perfect.

“Fuck,” I mutter, leaning back and pushing my fingers through hair that’s grown unkempt overnight.

I’m meticulous by nature and controlled to a fault.

But this intruder was beyond careful; they were flawless.

It makes my blood run cold. And hot. It’s an invasion, not just of her space but mine too. A challenge. A threat.

I glance at the other screen, which shows the latest timestamp of Celeste’s movements. She left for the clinic twenty minutes ago with tense shoulders set beneath a tailored coat, her wary eyes checking every corner she passed.

Something inside me stirs, the twisted blend of protectiveness and possessiveness tightening around my chest.

She suspects something. She knows she’s being watched, though not yet by whom. The paranoia might be hers alone, but the fear brewing inside her can be my strongest weapon.

If I play this right, she’ll come to me willingly, driven by instinct to the only man who understands her anxiety, her fears, who can soothe the very chaos he created.

But first, I need answers. I swivel in my chair, grab the tablet, and open the clinic’s security log. Each entry scrolls by in stark black letters on white, clinical and emotionless.

My fingers pause on one timestamp—Celeste’s access ID duplicated twice in the last week, her movements recorded at times and locations she couldn’t possibly have visited. My pulse quickens.

Anger coils tight and sharp, fueling the dangerous edges of my thoughts. Someone is using her credentials and mimicking her identity to move unseen.

I pull up another tab, digging deeper into access points, camera outages, and door logs. Each discovery tightens the knot in my gut. The intruder is sophisticated enough to shadow her digitally and mimic her movements, even falsify digital footprints. It’s chilling, and maybe personal.

But the intrusion could also be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for—the justification for my presence.

I can make myself essential, irreplaceable.

Not just the silent watcher, but the vigilant protector.

My grip tightens around the tablet, and I pace to shake off restless energy, planning each step carefully.

The clinic is buzzing in its own rhythm when I arrive, the staff absorbed in routine and oblivious to the darkness threading silently through their halls. I move smoothly, nodding politely at greetings without engaging deeply.

I’m just about to head toward Celeste’s office when a sharp voice slices through the ambient hum of the clinic. “Kade, a moment.” Rourke’s tone leaves no room for refusal, and I turn slowly, meeting his cold, analytical gaze from across the corridor.

“Of course,” I reply, feigning neutrality, though tension coils tighter in my gut.

He turns abruptly, expecting me to follow, and I move swiftly behind him toward his office, our footsteps echoing lightly on the polished tile. Inside, he closes the door and rounds his desk before settling into his chair with an expectant air.

“Sit,” he commands tersely. I comply without hesitation, carefully masking my irritation.

“Update,” Rourke demands bluntly, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his eyes locked unwaveringly on mine. “What have you found out about Celeste’s recent behavior?”

My pulse quickens slightly as I weigh my options, deliberately withholding my discovery of the intrusion.

“She’s anxious, paranoid even,” I respond, carefully choosing my words.

“But no significant developments yet. It seems to be mostly internal stress—her own insecurities amplified by recent events.”

Rourke studies me closely, and the scrutiny is uncomfortable, piercing. I maintain a neutral facade, betraying nothing of my personal stake. “Is that all?” he asks sharply.

I nod once, my face carefully blank. “For now. I’m monitoring the situation closely.”

He sighs, irritated yet resigned. “Fine. I need you elsewhere today. Immediately. There’s an issue at the downtown lab. Someone got sloppy and left behind sensitive materials. I want it handled discreetly.”

I suppress a flare of annoyance. The task could easily take the whole day, pulling me far from Celeste when she’s most vulnerable. But refusal isn’t an option, not with Rourke. “Understood,” I reply evenly.

“Make sure it’s clean, Kade. No traces,” he warns sternly, turning to his computer as a clear dismissal.

The assignment is tedious and meticulous.

Every trace of an unauthorized experiment needs to be obliterated from servers and physical locations alike.

It takes hours of careful work, leaving me drained, but my mind never strays far from Celeste.

By the time I finish, night has blanketed the city, and I rush back, hoping she’s still at the clinic.

I nearly miss her. The clinic is already shutting down, the staff trickling out in exhausted waves. Then I spot her, her shoulders tight and eyes clouded with worry, stepping quickly toward the exit.

“Celeste!” I call, my voice controlled yet urgent, catching up swiftly. She turns, startled, and her gaze flickers briefly with relief.

“Kade.”

“You look troubled,” I note gently, matching her pace as we exit onto the shadowed street. “Everything alright?”

She hesitates, visibly torn, before sighing deeply. “I honestly don’t know anymore.”

I allow silence to hang between us briefly, crafting a careful vulnerability. “Let me walk you home,” I offer, my tone gentle yet insistent. “Our routes align, and I’d feel better knowing you’re safe.”

She looks up, studying me carefully before giving in with a tentative nod. “Alright.”

We fall into step together, our pace leisurely yet cautious. At first, we walk without a word, the city’s subdued rhythm carrying us forward. Finally, I break the silence with careful ease.

“Long day?” I ask gently, shooting her a sideways glance.

She exhales slowly, a soft chuckle slipping out. “You could say that. Every day feels like it’s getting harder lately.”

I nod in understanding, keeping my voice light. “Believe me, I know the feeling. This job, it’s relentless, isn’t it? Constantly weighing on you, even when you’re supposed to leave it behind.”

Her lips curve in a faint, reluctant smile. “Exactly. I used to think I could handle it, compartmentalize it all. But lately… I don’t know. It’s just harder.”

We pause at a crossing, the traffic lights casting their reflections in her eyes and drawing out subtle hues I’ve never noticed before.

I soften my voice further, leaning into the intimacy of the moment.

“Well, sometimes it helps to talk about it. Even if it’s just trivial things or silly annoyances.

Not everything has to be life or death.”

She glances at me, her eyes thoughtful and almost suspiciously curious. “Do you ever do that? Talk to someone, I mean.”

I shrug gently, offering a small, self-deprecating smile. “Honestly? Not often enough. But maybe that’s why I’m suggesting it. You deserve to have that, Celeste, someone to confide in without worrying about how it looks or who’s judging you.”

She pauses, her expression softening considerably as we start walking again. Her shoulders visibly relax, the tension draining slightly as she lets out a slow breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve kept everything bottled up for too long.”

“Well,” I say, allowing warmth and sincerity to thread through my voice, “I’m here if you ever need that person. No pressure, just an offer.”

Her gaze slides to mine, steady and contemplative, as a tentative trust begins to warm the cool evening air between us. “I appreciate that, Kade. Truly.”

As we near her building, the air cool and crisp between us, I slow slightly, drawing her attention.

“Listen,” I begin cautiously, a careful vulnerability coloring my tone, “this isn’t something I normally do, but if you ever need someone to talk to outside of all this chaos, I’m here.

No expectations, just someone to listen.

” I pause, meeting her gaze directly. “Could I have your number? Just in case?”

She bites her lower lip thoughtfully, clearly weighing the risk, the silence stretching as her eyes hold mine. Then cautiously, she pulls out her phone, her fingers brushing mine briefly as we exchange contacts beneath the soft golden glow of streetlights.

“Thank you,” she whispers softly, a hint of genuine gratitude in her eyes.

A contained, burning satisfaction spreads through me as we part, each step closer to her solidifying the bonds I’ve so carefully constructed. Trust, fragile yet tangible, now sits nestled safely in the palm of my hand.