Page 15 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

“Yes, him. Come to think of it, I don’t believe he’s said two words to me since you put him on the job. I never see him around, like he’s always in stealth mode. It’s like he doesn’t exist. He certainly fits the character bible for a stalker.”

“You think Morrison is Butterfly Man?”

“The guy is a creep. He has access to the house and the system. He knows all your moves, when you’re out and when I’m alone and vulnerable.

He’s always in the back, which means he could have been listening to our sensitive conversations at the blind spot, and he keeps a low profile so that when he strikes, no one suspects him. Where is he from?”

“Arkansas…but he did serve at Homestead Air Reserve Base, near the southern end of the Florida peninsula, about twenty-five miles south of Miami.”

Her jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? And not once have you thought it was him? I can’t believe this shit. He’s been right under our noses all this time and—”

“Morrison can’t be your stalker, Birdie.”

“Because he, too, is married with four kids in Oklahoma? Give me a break.”

“For fuck’s sake, he’s gay, okay? Like that Spencer guy, Morrison is gay. He can’t be obsessed with someone like you .”

She blinks again. “Unless he pretends to be to keep suspicions away.”

“Puta madre, you’ll just say anything to protect your stupid boyfriend.” I’m gonna kill the tall fucker myself.

“I’m not trying to protect anyone but myself, Tristan. I’m tired of running in circles. You have your theory, and I have mine. Then let’s prove it. One way or another.”

I cross my arms. “How?”

“Butterfly Man will go crazy if he doesn’t have access to me or know where I am, which will lead him to do something gruesome enough to force me out.

I won’t let him control the narrative anymore.

The only way we take charge is by setting a trap.

” Her eyes gleam with determination. “Two traps, actually.”

I push off the wall. “What kind of trap?”

“We leak two different pieces of information. Tell your team I’m being moved to another safe house of yours in a different city. Tell Torrance I’m renting a cabin on the other side of the island to take a break from all of this. See who shows up where.”

“That’s...” I pause, considering. It’s not a bad plan, except for one thing. “Too dangerous. We’d be splitting our resources, leaving you vulnerable.”

“Not if I’m somewhere else entirely.” She steps closer, her voice dropping. “Here. Where no one can find me.”

Fuck. This plan actually…can work. But no. “No. I don’t like this, Birdie.”

A ghost of a smile touches her lips. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to help me prove you wrong.”

The challenge in her voice stings my pride. I run a hand through my hair, already regretting what I’m about to say. “Fine. Three days. We’ll set up both scenarios, but you stay here with me and Brandon at all times. We do this my way, do you hear me?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

I ignore the sarcasm. “And if anything feels off, if I see anything—anything—that suggests this is going south...”

“You’ll protect me. That’s what you do, isn’t it?"

“Damn you, Birdie Abel.” I sigh. “If you’re wrong about this...”

“I’ll owe you one hell of an apology.”

My strides aren’t fast enough. I reach her and lift my hand next to her cheek, but I don’t touch her. “Not enough.”

She steps forward, placing her foot between my feet, her body grazing mine. “What else do you want?”

You . “Stop playing games. You already know what I want.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

My tongue darts to lick her breath that has just fanned my face. Then my upper lip curls under my teeth to contain the hammering of my heart—and hopefully the swelling in my pants. “When I prove to you Torrance is Butterfly Man, I’ll get rid of him, and then…you will be mine.”

“Someone has just grown a pair. A brazen one, too.” A tilt of her lips unfolds slowly, equal parts charm and warning, promising both pleasure and pain.

A gesture that somehow manages to be both playful and menacing.

There’s something cruel in it, sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous.

Paired with the sardonic arch of her brow and that gleam in her blue eyes, it becomes her most effective weapon—one that disarms before you even realize you’re under attack.

A smile that says she knows something I don’t, and she’s enjoying every second of my ignorance.

A predator’s smile, a hint of the monster lurking beneath the beautiful camouflage. “You’re forgetting a tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

“Never forgotten. I’ll get rid of your husband, too, Birdie. You have my word.”

She grunts. “But if you’re wrong?”

“What do you want?”

The smile turns into a smirk. “You’ll put all of this behind, and we’ll go our separate ways. You will forget all about me, Tristan, and never look back.”

The muscles in my jaw clench so hard I can hear my teeth creaking, but I force that twisted smile anyway, one that feels like glass shards cutting into my cheeks. “You mean let you be with Torrance while I fucking watch and do nothing.”

She doesn’t answer, but the silence says it all. She’s asking me to let her go. To watch her walk away with him. To pretend that every moment, every touch, every shared breath between us meant nothing.

My mind spins, replaying images I don’t want to see: the way he fucking looks at her, at her body, her smile directed at him, her laughs at his whispers…. Rage builds in my gut. My hands shake as I shove them into my pockets to hide the evidence. I want to break something. Everything.

The pressure builds behind my eyes, in my chest, threatening to explode. Each breath feels like inhaling broken glass, and still, she stands there, looking at me with those eyes that only make it worse. Because I can see it—the pity. The fucking pity.

I want to laugh. Or cry. Or howl. Instead, I stand here, drowning in this toxic cocktail of love and hate and jealousy that’s eating me alive, as she asks me to let her choose someone else in peace while pretending I’m not dying inside.

Words bubble up my throat—bitter, angry words that taste like copper and ash.

I swallow them back, but they sit there, burning.

She has no idea how much I’m holding back, how much it takes to stand here and not grab her, shake her, fuck her until she’s pieces, to make her see what she’s doing to me.

The urge to destroy something beautiful pulses through me with each heartbeat, matching the rhythm of these thoughts I can’t control: Mine. Should be mine. Only mine.

But I stay still, while everything inside me screams and rages and begs to be let loose.

Because that’s what she wants, for me to be reasonable, controlled, understanding.

To be the bigger person while she rips my heart out with her gentle hands and kind words about “moving on” and “what’s fucking best.”

The worst part? Even now, even like this, I still love her. And that makes me hate myself most of all.

“I will…not be wrong, Birdie.”