It started with the broken lock.
Rhea stood in the doorway of her apartment, heart pounding in her chest, keys still clutched in her hand. The lock had been forced—not expertly, not cleanly. Whoever had done it wanted her to know.
Inside, nothing was missing. But everything was off. Her bedroom drawers were slightly open. Her files had been rearranged. Even the pictures on the wall were crooked, like someone had walked through the space and touched everything just enough to make their presence known. Not a theft. A message.
She backed out slowly, phone in hand.
It didn’t take long for Damian to arrive. He didn’t ask if she was okay. He didn’t question the scene. One look and his jaw locked in that dangerous way that warned everyone to clear a path.
"You’re not staying here tonight," h
