My knees shook as I walked from the guest room to the bedroom I shared with Max. It took four attempts to lock the door.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone like it might explode. The anonymous message glared back:
He’s not the only one who saw you last night.
The photo was vivid—Julian tangled in my hair, my shoulder bare, my face leaving no room for ambiguity. Someone had watched. Recorded. Threatened.
Scrolling through the thread, there was nothing—no name, no hint of motive, no ransom. Not yet.
Julian appeared, wordless, jaw tight. His presence made the tension worse.
“I got a text,” I said.
His gaze snapped to me. “I know.”
“You got one too?”
“No,” he said. “But I checked the cameras. Someone was outside the window last night.”
My skin chilled. “You saw them?”
