Which is good for me in this instance. Because what I wanted to know about Evan? Ryan could find.

I pop open the email. A password prompt flashes on the screen. I enter the last four digits of my Social and the screen unlocks. I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head.

I never told him my fucking Social. But before I can read the full contents, another alert pulls my attention away.

A notification, but it’s not from my inbox, it’s from Izzy’s phone, appearing on my screen.

It’s Evan. Calling again.

Rage curls deep inside of me as I watch it ring. Watch it go to voicemail. It takes a moment and then the transcript loads, and what I see makes my vision go black with rage.

You think you're fucking safe now? You think you can just walk away from me? I gave you years, Izzy. You owe me. You're mine. And if you think some fucking guy is going to protect you from me, you're wrong. He won't always be watching you, sweetheart. He won't always be there. And when he's not, I will.

My jaw clenches so hard it aches. My grip on the phone tightens, white-knuckled.

This motherfucker. This walking corpse.

Because that's what Evan is now. He just doesn't know it yet.

It takes every single ounce of control I have not to get up, grab my keys, and drive straight to his apartment. Because men like him only understand one language: violence. Pain. A lesson taught in blood.

And normally? Normally, I'd be more measured. I'd be calculated, strategic, restrained.

But this? Izzy? She's not normal to me. She's everything. And for her, I'm willing to become someone else entirely.

I've taken lives before. Each one weighs on me differently. Some of them I still see in my sleep. Some of them I regret. Some of them I don't. But this? This is the first time I'm certain⁠—

If I put a bullet in Evan's head, I wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it. But that's not my choice to make. Not yet. I can't do something that would haunt her forever. Because if it were up to me, he'd already be rotting.

I inhale, exhale. Forcing myself to breathe. Forcing myself to be calm.

I click off the phone when Izzy stirs. Her body shifts, pressing closer to me, her breath warm against my skin. She blinks up at me, still soft with sleep, hair a mess, eyes hazy.

She smiles, and fuck me, I'd give anything to wake up to her for the rest of my life.

"What time is it?" she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

I glance at the clock. "Almost six."

She stretches, sighing against me. "Did you sleep?"

I brush my fingers down her back. "A little."

The truth. Because even with my mind spinning, my body wired, the ghost of Evan's actions making my blood run hot, I still managed to sleep a little. Because of her. Because she’s tucked against me, soft and steady, exactly where she’s meant to be. She tilts her head back, peering up at me.

"What do you want to do today?"

I know exactly what I want to do. Stay in bed with her. Make her come until she forgets her own name. Keep her here, wrapped around me, locked in this bubble where the outside world doesn't exist.

But instead, I sigh. Because that's not an option.

"I have to go to the store for a meeting," I say, voice edged with regret.

Her nose scrunches slightly. "On a Saturday?"

I nod. "Gotta patch a security hole."

Because when I'm not here, when I'm not watching her, I need to make damn sure the place she spends most of her time is fucking locked down. And until I figure out what the hell Evan's been up to, where his money is coming from, and why the fuck he's still trying to keep his grip on Izzy when he clearly has women on the side—I need to be prepared. For anything.

Izzy nods, her fingers lightly tracing patterns over my chest, small and absentminded but enough to make my skin tingle.

"I should go visit Amanda," she murmurs. "She's been really worried."

I pull her closer, my arm firm around her waist, keeping her right where I want her for just a few more minutes.

"That's a good idea," I tell her.

She tilts her head up at me, brows knitting together.

"What?" I ask, confused at the look on her face.

She hesitates, then lets out a soft laugh, almost self-conscious. "I guess I'm just not used to a guy being supportive of me going out and spending time with my friends."

That's a fucking problem. I slide my hand down her back, a silent reassurance—I'm here. I'm not them. You’re safe.

"Get used to it, pretty girl," I murmur. "Because I like the idea of you having friends. And even though Amanda is a little disturbed⁠—"

She snorts, laughing against my chest. "Completely deranged," she agrees.

"Total menace to society," I add.

"She really is."

We both chuckle, shaking our heads.

But then I sober, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm glad she's in your life, though," I say honestly.

She inhales deeply. Then, quietly, she says, "Thank you."

I can tell she means it. Every single letter of it. She shifts a little in my arms, stretching, her fingers still drawing those lazy patterns against my skin.

"Usually, when I see Amanda, I just stay over at her place," she says. "We drink a lot, and it's just easier that way."

That makes sense. But still.

"That's fine," I tell her. "But I can come sleep outside her door there too."

She bursts out laughing, head tipping back against the pillow. I watch her, soaking in the way she looks so fucking beautiful when she's carefree like this. Her laughter fades just slightly, and she nestles deeper into my arms, like she's trying to disappear.

"No," she mutters.

I raise a brow. "No?"

She shifts again, ducking her head a little, voice quieter than before.

"I don't wanna give Amanda access to you when she's drunk."

That makes me pause. I tilt my head, watching her, reading her. It's not jealousy. Not exactly. It's insecurity. A tiny, nagging voice in her head telling her she's not enough. That Amanda would be more appealing. That Amanda is the type of girl men choose.

I don't fucking like that.

I reach down, gripping the curve of her thigh, squeezing firm enough to steal her breath. My hand trails upward, feeling every inch of it before I tip her chin up to face me.

"Izzy, listen to me," I say, my voice steady. "Even if Amanda threw herself at me, I wouldn't go for her over you."

She stays quiet, eyes searching mine.

"You wanna know why?" I ask.

She nods, barely there. I grip her thigh again, fingers digging in slightly.

"This is what I like," I tell her. "A body with curves to grip." I trail my hand higher, up her waist, along her ribs, until I cradle her face in my palm. "A beautiful mind, a beautiful person, to go with a beautiful fucking body," I say. "Amanda is not my type. Never will be."

I watch her eyes widen slightly, her breath catching.

Then, I press my lips to hers. Like I’m trying to kiss every single bad thought out of her head. Like I’m rewriting the way she sees herself, one brush of my mouth at a time.

When I pull back, her eyes are glassy. She just stares at me for a second, stunned. Then she tucks herself against my chest, curling back into me.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. "I don't understand what I did to deserve you."

My arms tighten around her. I press another kiss to her temple, lingering there for a beat, letting my breath fan against her skin. "You don't have to understand it, pretty girl," I murmur. "You just have to believe it."