A knock sounds at the door, sharp enough to yank me out of the spiral.
“Dallas?” Nash’s voice.
I don’t answer right away. I swallow. Clear my throat. “Yeah.”
The door opens anyway.
He barges in without knocking properly because Nash has never been good at barriers. But his usual swagger is gone. He’s trying to hold a live wire without getting shocked.
“You’re gonna hate me,” he says.
I don’t look up. “Then don’t say it.”
He hesitates. “Dallas?—”
“Don’t,” I warn quietly.
He sighs and shuts the door behind him. I hear him pacing. Hear the scrape of his boots against the floor.
Nash doesn’t get nervous unless something’s really wrong.
“She’s listed on William Ross’s website,” he says finally. “Under staff.”
The words hit slow at first.
Then all at once.
The air seems to drain out of the room.
I close my eyes.
“Doing what?” I ask, already knowing the answer will hurt.
“Social media,” Nash says. “Communications. Branding. That kind of thing.”
Of course she is.
My mind flashes to Faith in my kitchen, laughing softly when I teased her about being the ranch’s social media manager. The way her eyes had brightened at the idea, not because she wanted work, but because she wanted purpose. Something that was hers. A life she chose.
And now her father has taken that too.
Turned it into a cage.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I say automatically. “It could be bullshit. He could’ve put it up without?—”
“Dallas,” Nash cuts in gently, and that’s when I know there’s more.
I open my eyes. Look at him.
He doesn’t meet my gaze.
“Evan’s been posting pictures,” he says. “Him and Faith. Old ones. Some new ones, I think. They’re dressed up. Smiling.”
My stomach drops hard enough that I have to grab the edge of the desk to keep myself grounded.
Heat floods my chest so fast it makes me dizzy.
“No,” I say, and it comes out as a warning. A plea. “No.”
