Not until today.

Because today, I feel a little bit more like myself.

The sunlight feels warmer on my skin. The aroma of fresh coffee brewing in my kitchen smells appealing for the first time in days. The weight of the blanket around my shoulders feels comforting rather than suffocating.

And maybe it's time to figure out what comes next. What life will be like for me without Evan weighing me down.

IF IT TAKES CAMERAS IN EVERY CORNER, SO BE IT.

CAL

If it were up to me, I would've taken the entire week off to be with Izzy.

I would've stayed at her apartment, cooked every meal, made sure she drank water, made sure she wasn't alone with her thoughts for too long. I sat outside her bedroom every single night, listening for signs of bad dreams, for the restless shifting of sheets, for the soft whimpers that might tell me she needed me. And even if she had told me she didn't want me there anymore, if she had tried to push me away, I wouldn't have left.

I would've slept outside her front door.

But every morning, I had to leave. Closing the door behind me felt brutal in a way I couldn’t shake. But with the security issues at the store getting worse, I didn’t have the luxury of staying.

The organized crime ring that I was hired to deal with? They'd been dormant for months. And now, suddenly, this week of all weeks, they'd decided to start making moves. So I had to be at the store.

But that didn't mean I wasn't watching her.

While Izzy slept in, exhausted, healing, I had installed cameras in every single corner of her apartment.

She only knew about the exterior ones, because those were the ones I told her about. But, every other corner of that apartment was visible to me, too, and that was a security measure I didn't explicitly tell her about. Mainly because I wasn't going to watch that feed unless there was an intruder alert. I wasn't going to violate her privacy to that extent, which, I guess isn't saying much considering. But, if a spider so much as sneezed in that apartment, I would know about it.

And I wouldn't change that for all the privacy lawsuits in the world.

Because what mattered to me more than her potential anger was her safety. Because I knew that Evan wasn't done with her yet. At least, that's what he thought. Because, he was very, very much done, and lucky to be alive in my book.

The first action I took—besides securing Izzy's safety—was to run a full background check on the douchebag.

In my position, I had access to databases that most people didn't. Criminal records, financial histories, even credit scores. And if information wasn't available in those systems, I had plenty of contacts who were more than willing to do a favor or two.

What I found?

Was disconcerting.

Somewhere during the first year he and Izzy were together, Evan had been fired from his finance job.

And never got a new one.

His employment history was a blank space after that. No applications, no records of new income. But he was still making money.

A lot of money.

It was being deposited into his accounts through an offshore LLC.

Where was it coming from?

What was he doing to earn it?

And that wasn't even the worst of it.

Since being fired, he'd upgraded his life. A brand-new BMW sedan, an extremely overpriced Manhattan apartment. Living well beyond what he should be able to afford with zero job history.

And then there were the women.

A constant rotation of them.

Different faces coming in and out of his building, security footage showing them entering late at night, leaving early in the morning.

Even when Izzy called him to break up, there was already another woman in his apartment.

Which meant he wasn't faithful.

So why the fuck had he been so possessive?

Why drag Izzy through the mud for years if he had been sleeping around? Why snap when she tried to leave?

None of his behaviors added up. His entire life story was a fabrication.

Which meant I had more work to do.

Because this wasn't just about Izzy anymore. Evan was involved in something illegal. And I was going to find out what.

I had, of course, been monitoring Izzy's calls since the attack.

Was it an invasion of privacy?

Yeah.

Did I give a fuck?

No.

She was too vulnerable, too raw, too easy to manipulate in this state.

So if Evan was going to try to crawl back into her life, I was going to make sure it didn't happen.

And of course, he tried.

He called her the day he got out on bond and left a voicemail. That was my mistake. I should have been more proactive in blocking his number. With the restraining order in place, it didn't dawn on me that he'd violate it so quickly. I know she saw the call come through, saw the voicemail, but hadn't listened to it. But I had.

"Izzy, you're being dramatic. You know you overreacted. We just had a fight, that's all. You're probably feeling really emotional right now, but I forgive you for what happened. You should call me back so we can talk this through. Don't throw away what we have over some misunderstanding. You and I both know I didn't mean any of it. You'll regret this. Just call me."

Gaslighting.

Manipulation.

It made my blood boil.

I blocked his number immediately, which didn't stop him from trying again. Three times a day, like clockwork, he would continue to attempt to call. He persisted in leaving voicemails. He kept trying to get inside her head.

Thankfully, she was unaware of any of it.

And I was going to keep it that way.

Because the only reality more infuriating than what he had already done was the fact that he was continuously trying to worm his way back in.

The other call she hadn't answered was from the District Attorney's office. They needed her to testify. They said without her testimony, they probably wouldn't take the case to trial.

She hadn't called them back.

I already knew why.

Her confidence wasn't where it should be. Testifying in open court about an attempted rape wasn't an experience just anyone could endure. Even the strongest people in the world would struggle with it.

And Izzy—as strong as she was, as far as she had come—was still healing. It was a conversation I would have to have with her eventually. A process I'd have to help her work through. Because there was no way in hell I was letting Evan get away with what he did. But, at the end of the day, whether or not she wanted to testify would ultimately be her decision.

A voice crackled through my earpiece.

"Callahan, you there? We've got a situation downstairs."

I exhaled, pushing away from my desk, already heading toward the exit.

"On my way."

Because once I handled whatever this was?

I was going back to Izzy.

I take the stairs two at a time, my mind already shifting gears. The sound of my boots echoes in the concrete stairwell. The store is only three levels when you include our admin spaces, and I've never really liked elevators. Far too confining for my preferences.

When I reach the security office, Ramirez and two other guys are stationed outside the locked room, arms crossed, eyes on the monitors showing the two suspects inside. They look exactly like what I expected—nervous, trying to play it cool, failing miserably.

"What do we got?" I ask, stopping beside Ramirez.

"Two idiots," he says, voice dry. "But, to be fair, they made it all the way to the stockroom before they got caught."

I exhale through my nose. That's obviously a weak point we will need to tighten up before the holiday rush starts to pick up.