Chapter 62 Enemies In The Room
Becca’s POV
Jonathan Carver’s voice still echoed in my head long after the meeting room emptied, like it had carved its way into the air and refused to leave.
Mark Simmons, so we meet again.
He didn’t say it loudly, but he didn’t need to. Men like him didn’t raise their voices, they just raised hell.
And Mark… didn’t answer him.
Not a single word.
He simply grabbed Danielle’s shoulder, nodded stiffly at the confused authorities, and walked out like someone was tugging invisible strings beneath his skin.
The guardians were advised to take their wards home for a week while the investigation continued.
“A precaution,” they called it.
No one wanted to admit how badly the situation had spiraled.
In the car, the atmosphere was thick, like breathing inside a balloon.
Danielle sat quietly in the backseat, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.
Mark drove like the world offended him, jaw clenched so tightly I worried something would crack.
His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, the tendons in his hand straining like cables.
I had never seen him look like that.
Not even during those days when everything between us felt like a grenade waiting for someone to pull the pin.
Silence wasn’t just silence tonight.
It was pressure. A storm gathering its teeth.
When Danielle finally spoke, her voice was so small it barely reached the front of the car.
“Why… why did he look at you like that?”
Mark didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch nor even blink.
He just shut down completely.
By the time we entered the penthouse, the air around Mark was practically vibrating.
He didn’t ask Danielle if she was okay. He didn’t ask if she was hungry nor check if she was scared.
He just turned to me and murmured, low and controlled, “Becca. Come with me.”
It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a command.
It was a warning wrapped in tenderness.
He led me into our bedroom and closed the door behind him. Quietly.
He stood there a moment, hands on his hips, back rising and falling in uneven breaths. I watched him, unsure if approaching him would help or make something snap.
“Talk to me,” I whispered.
He didn’t move. But then he exhaled, a shudder of frustration, and reached for me. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me close until my chest pressed against his.
His forehead dropped to mine.
“Some people,” he murmured, voice deep and dangerous, “don’t deserve a space in my life again.”
My heart thudded.
Again?
That meant Carver hadn’t just stared at him.
He had history with him.
“Mark,” I whispered, brushing my thumb across his jaw. “What happened between you two?”
His grip tightened on my waist not painfully, but possessively, like he needed the anchor.
“Just warn your sister,” he breathed against my forehead. “To stay away from that Liam… or whatever he calls himself.”
His tone sharpened into something darker.
A tone that had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with danger.
“Mark..”
“I mean it, Becc”
His voice cut through the room like a blade.
“Keep her away from him.”
I swallowed. He wasn’t saying it out of anger. He was saying it like a man who knew things.
Things that were chosen to be buried forever beneath the earth crust but still it left scars.
And pressing further would only make him retreat deeper.
So I nodded, even as worry churned in my chest.
He kissed me softly, too softly for the storm inside him and then left the room without another word.
I found Danielle sitting on her bed, hugging her knees, eyes swollen from holding tears she didn’t want anyone to see. She looked up as soon as I entered.
“I swear I didn’t do anything, Becca.”
“I know,” I murmured immediately, sitting beside her. My arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“We trust you, okay? The truth will surface eventually. It always does,”
She nodded, but her chin trembled.
“And about Liam…” I continued carefully, “just… be careful. Mark is strict about your friendship with him.”
Danielle blinked, confusion shadowing her features. “Why? He didn’t do anything.”
“I never said he did,” I whispered. “But sometimes people aren’t who they present themselves as.”
She frowned, stubbornness sparking behind her fear, very much like me at her age.
She had already decided where her loyalty would lay.
“Try making other friends,” I added gently. “And maybe… forget him.”
Danielle looked away.
It was a perfect response for me.
A soft vibration hummed in her pocket. She pulled out her phone, glanced at it, and her shoulders dropped in relief.
“Is it him?” I asked quietly.
She nodded.
“He asked if I got home safe.”
Something in her voice softened. It became hopeful, relieved… attached.
I didn’t want it to bother me. I didn’t want to assume anything.
But the timing… the speed… the way he always showed up when she needed him…
It tugged at something uneasy inside me.
Still, I forced a small smile.
“That’s nice,” I murmured.
But inside, a warning bell rang.
Hours later, the apartment had settled into a deceptive calm.
I should’ve been asleep. Mark should’ve been asleep.
But something nudged me awake, some instinct, some uneasy shift in the air.
I slipped out of bed, padded through the dim hallway, and found a thin strip of light glowing under Mark’s study door.
At first, I thought he was on a call. Or working a late-night project.
Some normal stuff.
But when I opened the door
He looked like a man holding the match to his own past.
Papers were spread across the desk.
Old files, photos and one thick manila folder lying open under the lamplight.
At the top, stamped boldly:
CARVER, JONATHAN Fraud, 2012.
Surprise number one.
Something else was more shocking,
Someone had drawn a red “X” over the case file.
Was it Mark?
His eyes lifted slowly, meeting mine with a heaviness that made the room colder.
“Mark…” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
He just stared at the papers, jaw tightening again, like a man preparing to face a demon he once thought he’d buried.