The Rogue Alpha's Detective Mate

Bubble bath & a mystery package.

Cassandra Kane.

After a long day with her new partner, Cassandra was in dire need of a bubble bath, a glass of wine, and a good book—or, more precisely, an audiobook. It wasn’t that she didn’t love physical books; she adored them. But reading while soaking in the tub felt like a risk she wasn’t willing to take. Ruining a beloved book with water or bubbles was simply out of the question.

She poured herself a generous glass of wine, the rich red liquid swirling in the glass as she made her way to the bathroom. Setting it carefully on the small table beside the tub, she took a moment to appreciate her sanctuary. When Cassandra had first bought this place, it had been a wreck—run-down, dilapidated, and barely livable. Over her years on the force, she had slowly transformed it into something comforting and inviting.

It wasn’t fancy, but it was hers, and every inch of it carried her personal touch. She’d been smart about her renovations, allocating her budget with a mix of thriftiness and splurging. The bathroom was her crown jewel—her sanctuary after long, grueling days. This wasn’t just a bathroom; it was her oasis. The tub, which could only humbly be called that, was more of a personal Jacuzzi, complete with jets to soothe her tired muscles.

She turned the faucet, letting the hot water rush in, and added a generous amount of bubble bath. The sweet, calming scent of lavender quickly filled the room, easing some of the tension in her shoulders. Slowly, she stepped in and lowered herself into the warm embrace of the water, sighing in relief as the heat seeped into her aching body.

Her phone rested on the table next to her wine, already queued up to an audiobook. With a single press of the play button, the rich, velvety tones of the narrator’s baritone voice filled the air. It was the perfect distraction, pulling her into a fictional world far from the stresses of her reality. Cassandra picked up her wine, took a slow sip, and let herself sink deeper into the tub, allowing the water to cover her up to her chin. She hummed softly in contentment, the combination of warmth, wine, and the soothing voice of the narrator working wonders on her frayed nerves.

But peace was fleeting. As she closed her eyes and leaned back, the day’s events began replaying in her mind—the new partner, the cases piling up, the tension of proving herself yet again. She groaned softly, inhaling deeply and exhaling in an attempt to push the thoughts away. This was supposed to be her time to unwind, not ruminate on work.

After an hour of soaking, the water had turned lukewarm, and her wine glass was empty. Cassandra finally emerged, wrapping herself in a soft robe and securing her damp hair in a towel. She carried the empty glass downstairs, the plush carpet muffling her footsteps as she descended.

She was halfway down the stairs when a sound froze her in place. It was faint, but unmistakable—a soft rustling, like someone moving just out of sight. Her grip on the wine glass tightened instinctively, holding it like a makeshift weapon. Her ears strained to pick up more, every muscle in her body tense as she listened. Minutes ticked by, and the house fell silent once more.

Cautiously, she resumed her descent, each step deliberate and quiet. Reaching the bottom, she peered around the living room. Nothing seemed out of place. Still, her instincts told her to stay on guard. Cassandra made her way into the kitchen, setting the glass in the sink. Just as she turned to leave, the sound came again—a faint rustling, this time from the direction of the sliding glass door.

Her breath hitched. Slowly, she moved toward the sound, her bare feet silent against the cool floor. Reaching the living room, she scanned the area, her eyes darting to the sliding door. Something was there. Her gaze dropped, and she spotted a box sitting just outside on the patio. The sight of it sent a chill down her spine.

Heart pounding, she scanned the tree line beyond her backyard. The forest loomed dark and quiet, its shadows twisting and shifting under the faint glow of the moon. Nothing moved, but her gut told her something was watching.

Steeling herself, she unlocked the sliding door and opened it just enough to dart her hand out and grab the box. Pulling it inside, she quickly shut and locked the door behind her, double-checking the latch before turning her attention to the mysterious package.

She carried it to the kitchen, setting it down on the counter. It was plain and unmarked, a nondescript cardboard box sealed with heavy tape. Unease prickled at the back of her neck. Who had left it? And why?

Grabbing a knife, she carefully sliced through the tape. The flaps popped open with a faint creak, revealing the contents inside. Cassandra’s eyes widened as she took in the sight.

Nestled within the box was a chilling assortment of items. First, there was a small, corked vial filled with a dark, viscous liquid. It glistened ominously under the kitchen light, its color so deep it was almost black, with faint red streaks swirling through it as she tilted the box. Next, she found a folded piece of parchment, its edges singed as though it had been lightly burned. The paper crackled faintly as she unfolded it, revealing neat, deliberate handwriting that seemed to crawl across the page. The symbols were unfamiliar, but something about them sent a shiver down her spine, as if they were watching her back.

Beneath the parchment was the most unnerving item: a pendant dangling from a thin silver chain. The pendant itself was unlike anything she’d ever seen. It was shaped like an eye, with a polished black stone at its center that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Around the stone, intricate symbols were etched into the metal, forming a pattern that seemed to shift subtly when she moved it.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the pendant. The moment her skin brushed against it, a sharp jolt shot up her arm, and she recoiled, the pendant swinging wildly on its chain. The sensation lingered, a faint buzzing in her fingertips that felt both electric and cold.

At the very bottom of the box, nestled in a bed of black tissue paper, was something that made her stomach twist. It was a photograph. Cassandra’s breath caught as she picked it up. The picture was of her, taken from outside her home. She was sitting on the couch, unaware, her focus on her phone. The angle was close enough to send a chill through her—someone had been watching her, someone had been close.

Her throat tightened as she dropped the photograph back into the box, her heart hammering in her chest. This wasn’t just a random delivery. It was personal, deliberate. A message.

A sudden noise from outside made her jump. The sound of a branch snapping echoed through the still night, sending a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Cassandra’s eyes darted back to the sliding door. She couldn’t see anything beyond the glass, but she knew she wasn’t alone. Someone—or something—was out there.

Her first instinct was to grab her phone and call for backup, but something held her back. If this was connected to her work, she needed to tread carefully. If it wasn’t, she didn’t want to drag anyone else into whatever this was.

Swallowing hard, she turned back to the box, her mind racing. Whoever had sent this package knew her—knew where she lived, knew her routine. And they wanted her to know it, too. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.