Page 154 of A Vicious Love

My chest went strange. Waiting was not an activity I respected.

I set the phone face down.

Then immediately turned it face up again.

Nothing.

Fine.

I opened another acquisition file. If I could not breathe properly, I could at least purchase something.

The studio building was already partially mine through a layered property hold I had set up after the harassment incidents. Sienna needed more than the building. She needed the block. The side lane. The florist beside the studio. The parking lot behind it. The little physiotherapy clinic she used when her ankle got bad.

The physio clinic mattered. If she was injured, I wanted to know who touched her body. No. It wasn’t that I wanted it— I needed it.

I pulled up the clinic ownership.

Family-owned. Two sisters. No debt. Good reputation. Treated dancers, and athletes. Treated Sienna carefully, according to the appointment reports I had no right reading and absolutely intended to keep reading.

I did not buy the clinic.

Emmie’s voice again. Do not be cruel to her because you are scared. Buying Sienna’s medical provider without her knowledge felt like something I would call protection until she discovered it and looked at me like I had caged another piece of her life.

So I did something worse.

I set up a private fund under a dance injury foundation. I had Reeves arrange anonymous equipment upgrades, scholarship rehab slots, and a security system grant for the whole building.

Still controlling. But cleaner.

God help me, I was learning ethics through loopholes.

My phone buzzed.

One message. From Sienna.

Thank you. I got home safely.

I stared at the screen like an idiot.

My baby wrote back. My chest tightened around that thought until it hurt. She wrote back.

I dragged a hand over my mouth and read it again. My thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Do not say the wrong thing.

I typed slowly.

Good. I owe you an apology. Not over text. Only when you are ready to hear it.

I read it three times.

It sounded like a man…not a monster.

I sent it.

My pulse hit once. Hard. The message delivered.

No reply. That was fine, for three minutes. then it was fucking torture.