Chapter 107 Chapter One hundred and six
ARA
What?” Celia’s voice sharpened, her eyes narrowing at Thayne. “You’re not going to say anything?”
Thayne’s jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking under his skin. He didn’t answer her. He didn’t even look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on me, as if he was waiting for me to act.
I walked over to Celia, ignoring the way my hands shook, and held out my palm.
“Give me the envelope.”
She hesitated, glancing between me and Thayne like she was waiting for him to stop me. When he didn’t move, she smirked and slapped the brown envelope into my hand.
I ripped the seal open in one rough tug and poured the pictures onto the marble floor.
They scattered like confetti, glossy, high-resolution, almost too perfect, like they'd been shot with cautious precision.
I dropped to my knees, spreading them out, my fingers trembling, afraid of what I was about to see.
One showed them in a dimly lit restaurant, her hand was on his arm, and their heads were close. As if they were going to kiss.
Another had them walking side by side on the street, she was laughing at him and he was looking at her, as if she was the most interesting thing that had happened to her.
I held my breath, forcing my thoughts back down, never letting them have a voice of their own.
I turned the third one over. It was more intimate, like the photographer had caught them in what looked like a hotel hallway, his hand on her lower back.
Then I flipped the last one and clenched my fists.
Thayne and Celia were under steaming water, her leg hooked around his waist, their bodies pressed together, their heads thrown back in what was supposed to look like ecstasy.
I stared and stared until my eyes begged me to look away. I couldn't. I stared harder.
Something about this picture was wrong. Very wrong.
Thayne had six fingers on the hand gripping her left hip. Six.
And in the same picture, the hand holding the shower head, another hand, was also his. Three hands. One man.
I mean, he had two of his hands on her hips, and another hand gripping the shower head?
The water looked too perfect, droplets suspended in mid-air like they’d been frozen by a graphics program.
The steam curled in unnatural, symmetrical patterns. The reflections on the tiles didn’t match the angle of the light.
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
“AI?” I said, my voice rising. “Seriously?”
Celia’s smirk faltered.
I picked up the shower photo and held it up.
“Six fingers, Celia. Three hands. You didn’t even bother to fix the anatomy. And look—” I jabbed a finger at the water droplets. “They’re identical. Every single one. No variation. That’s not real photography. That’s generated.”
I looked up at her, then at Thayne.
He was watching me, his expression shifting from fury to something almost like pride.
Celia snatched the photo from my hand.
“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “People believe what they want to believe. These will be everywhere by morning. Your marriage is a sham, and the city must know it.”
Thayne finally spoke, his voice gravelly like that of a Marvel cast. “You think anyone will buy this garbage once they see the mistakes?” He stepped forward, towering over her. “You’re not the first person to try blackmail with fake images. The second the internet gets hold of these, every AI detector in existence will light up. You’ll be a joke. A desperate, sloppy joke.”
Celia’s face paled, the triumph in her eyes dimming.
Thayne took another step.
“And if you release them,” he continued, his voice dropping colder, “I will make sure every law firm, every tabloid, every single person you’ve ever threatened knows exactly who you are. I’ll bury you in lawsuits so deep you’ll never climb out. You’ll be the cautionary tale people tell when they talk about blackmail gone wrong.”
He leaned in.
“Walk away now, Celia. Take your fake pictures and your fake tape, if you even have one, and disappear. Because if you don’t, I will make what’s left of your life hell.”
She stared at him, then at me, then back at the scattered photos on the floor. Her bravado cracked.
She snatched up the now empty envelope and backed toward the door.
“This isn’t over,” she hissed.
Thayne’s smile was carved in ice. “It is for you.”
She turned and fled like the grim reaper was hot on her heels.
The door slammed behind her.
Thayne looked down at me, still kneeling among the fake evidence.
I met his eyes.
“You really didn’t—” I started.
“No,” he said immediately. “Never.”
I nodded slowly. Then I stood, brushing off my knees.
Something stung my palm, like a bee had hidden behind one of the photographs and struck when I wasn’t looking.
Blood welled up instantly, bright red against my skin, dripping in slow, fat drops onto the marble floor.
I lifted my hand, staring at the tiny puncture wound in confusion. There was nothing on the floor, no glass, no pin, no shard of metal. So how?
“What the…” Thayne’s voice snapped me out of it. He was already moving, his eyes wide with alarm. “Ara, you’re bleeding! How?”
He reached for me, arms sweeping out to lift me like he had a hundred times before, but I grabbed his shoulders hard, stopping him.
“I think there was something pinned to the back of one of the photographs,” I said calmly even though my heart had started racing.
Thayne dropped to his knees without another word. He gathered the glossy sheets one by one, flipping them over with careful, deliberate movements.
When he reached the one with the impossible three hands, he paused. His fingers turned the photograph slowly, then his eyes narrowed.
“What’s that?” I asked, crouching beside him despite the sting in my palm. “Talk to me.”
He held the back of the image up to the light. A small, black square no bigger than a grain of rice was stuck to the glossy paper with a tiny drop of adhesive.
A thin metal pin, barely visible, protruded from it, the tip dark with my blood.
“It’s a tracker,” he said flatly.
I blinked. “A tracker?”
He nodded once. “High-end. Military-grade. It's small enough to hide on paper, strong enough to ping location every few minutes as long as it has line-of-sight to a satellite or cellular tower.”
I stared at the tiny device. It looked like it was supposed to go in the trash.
“So when I tore open the envelope…”
“You activated it,” he finished. “She didn’t just come here to threaten us. She came here to mark us.”
He crushed the tracker between his thumb and forefinger, grinding it until the chip cracked and the light inside flickered out.
But it was too late. The damage was done.
My blood was on it now. Our location had been broadcasting for the last few minutes.
Thayne stood, his face hardening into the cold, focused mask I recognized from every fight we’d survived.
“Pack one bag,” he said. “Essentials only. We’re leaving. Now.”
I didn’t argue.
I walked to the bedroom quickly while Thayne barked orders into his own phone, calling the pilot and alerting security, telling them to prepare for immediate departure.
Celia hadn’t come to collect money. She’d come to collect us.
And now whoever she worked for, whether my father or Slade Senior, they knew exactly where we were.