Drake’s POV
That blurry picture was sitting in my phone like a loaded weapon. One wrong move, one curious eye, and everything I had built would collapse. I poured a glass of whiskey, but even that did not steady my hands. My reflection stared back from the window — tired, older, guilty.
The image of Chloe would not leave my head. The way she looked at me the last time I touched her, soft and trusting, like she believed I could protect her from the world. Now, that same world was about to eat her alive. I knew how vicious the press could be, and I also knew Margaret’s reach. Once she saw that picture, she would not stop until she burned everything connected to me.
My phone buzzed again. Marcus. I answered before the second ring.
“She saw it,” he said.
My throat went dry. “Margaret?”
“
