On the tablet screen, Keira continues her rehearsal, unaware of how deeply she’s changed the most fundamental relationship in our lives. Not by what she’s asked for—but by making us conscious of something that had always existed in the spaces between us, undefined and unexamined.
30
CYRUS
“We should go get her,” I say, checking my watch. “Rehearsal ends in ten minutes.”
Ace nods, tucking away the plans we’ve been working on. “Let’s make sure the message is clear.”
I understand immediately what he means. From the surveillance feed, we’ve seen how Marco watches Keira, the lingering touches, the way his eyes follow her across the studio. The asshole thinks he has a chance with what’s ours.
We park the Audi directly in front of the studio’s glass windows, ensuring maximum visibility. I adjust my suit jacket and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. Ace straightens his tie.
“Show time,” I murmur as we enter.
The studio is all polished wood and mirrors. Keira stands in the center, demonstrating a complex sequence of movements. The dancers copy her, including Marco, whose eyes snap to us the moment we walk in.
Keira spots us in the mirror. Her rhythm falters slightly—the only indication she’s surprised to see us. She completes the count before turning to face us.
“That’s all for today,” she announces. “Great work, everyone.”
I stride across the floor, and Ace follows. We reach Keira simultaneously, flanking her on either side.
“Ready, princess?” I ask, deliberately loud enough for everyone to hear. My hand slides possessively around her waist.
“We missed you,” Ace adds, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger before leaning in to press his lips against her temple.
Marco’s eyes widen, his body tensing as he watches us sandwich Keira between us.
“I need to grab my bag,” Keira says, cheeks flushing a pretty red.
“I’ll help,” I volunteer, following her to the corner where her things are stored.
Ace remains in place, his cold eyes locked on Marco, who shifts under the scrutiny.
When we return, I make a point of taking Keira’s hand while Ace drapes his arm across her shoulders. We move as a unit toward the exit, a message broadcast in every step: she belongs to both of us.
“See you tomorrow,” Keira calls over her shoulder to her dancers.
“Yeah, see you,” Marco replies, his voice tight with envy.
Once outside, Keira yanks her hand free from mine and steps away from both of us.
“What the hell was that about?” Her eyes flash with irritation. “You two never come to my studio. And that whole...” she gestures vaguely between us, “possessive display. You practically marked your territory in there.”
I can’t help but grin. “Is that a problem? Because from where I was standing, your dancer friend needed the reminder.”
“Marco?” Keira rolls her eyes. “He’s just?—”
“Just nothing,” I cut her off, opening the car door. “He wants what’s ours.”
Ace steps forward, his expression more measured than mine. “We need to get on the road. The flight to Idaho leaves in two hours.”
Her shoulders tense, and all the fire leaves her expression, replaced by something darker. “Oh. Right.”
Her spine straightens, but the rest of her seems to fold inward. It’s the same body language we saw when the anonymous message arrived and when she told us about the basement. Turns out the anonymous message was from Henderson’s son, who knew she was abused at the time.
“Henderson,” she whispers.
