Chapter 36: THIRTY-SIX

RYDER

“Did you get a look at them? Hear anything?” the officer presses, voice gentle but persistent.

Eve exhales sharply, not even trying to hide her irritation. “I already told you. They came up behind me. I didn’t hear a word. Didn’t see a face.”

The officer turns his attention to me next. “You’ve had some issues with your cameras recently, haven’t you, Mr. Vane?”

My teeth grind. “Yeah. There was a weird delivery not long ago—left us shaken. After that, the front camera glitched out. I had it looked at, thought it was sorted.”

His brow furrows. “We checked the system logs. Every single feed cut out just before the break-in. And your alarms? Disabled.”

Something sour curdles in the back of my throat. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

First the break-in. Then the attack. Then those creepy little dolls—carbon copies of us—and that haunted-looking dollhouse. It’s too calculated. And now Eve’s involved. They laid hands on her.

My skin crawls with fury at the thought.

She was lucky to get away. But the scream she let out—raw, terrified—still echoes in my ears. I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened if I’d been just a minute later. Or if they hadn’t let her go.

Or if next time, it’s worse.

I force a breath in. I can’t afford to lose it. Not now.

The officer’s voice pulls me back. “We’ll handle this, I promise. Our forensics team is already scanning for evidence.”

Mei-Lee, who hasn’t let go of Eve’s hand, looks up and signs something. Eve catches it, then glances at me.

“She wants to know if we’re allowed back at the house tonight,” I say.

The officer shakes his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Not with that window shattered and your security compromised. Do you have anywhere else to stay? A friend? Family? Even a hotel would be safer tonight.”

Eve hesitates. “We can stay at my apartment,” she says softly. “Taylor won’t mind. There’s a pull-out for Mei-Lee, and... you can crash with me.”

I study her face. “Will you feel safer there?”

She nods, a little more firmly this time. “Yeah. I will.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go.”

The second Taylor opens the door and sees us, her eyes go wide. “Holy shit,” she blurts, staring at the forming bruise across Eve’s neck. “You look like you got jumped by a demon.”

“I’m fine,” Eve says automatically. “You should see the other guy.”

Taylor shakes her head. “Your texts were all over the place. Something about a freak breaking in and leaving doll versions of you? That’s some horror movie-level freak show.”

“Thanks for letting us crash here,” I tell her, sincere. “Sorry for the sudden drop-in.”

She waves it off. “Don’t sweat it. I already pulled out the sofa bed, and there’s leftover pasta in the fridge if anyone’s hungry.”

“Thanks, Tay,” Eve mumbles. “But I just... I think I need to lie down.”

“Totally fair,” Taylor says. “I’ll lock up and call it a night. You guys try to rest.”

Eve squeezes Mei-Lee’s hand and signs something soft before tugging me down the hallway behind her.

And for the first time all night, the silence feels almost safe.

The moment the door clicks shut and we're finally alone, I pull Eve gently toward me.

My hands brush the side of her neck, eyes narrowing as I take in the bruises darkening her skin. Rage pulses in my veins.

Whoever did this is going to pay. Not just legally—I want them ruined. I don’t care what it costs me. They broke into my home, shattered our sense of safety, and laid a hand on her. That’s the line.

Her voice cuts through the storm in my head, soft but steady. “It looks worse than it is,” she says, almost like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “You can breathe, Ryder. I’m okay.”

I should be the one holding her together, not the other way around.

But she just shakes her head, quiet again, her expression unreadable.

She’s been through hell today—her exam, the ambush by the paparazzi, and now this. The last thing she needs is another ounce of pressure. What she does need is rest. Peace.

“C’mere,” I murmur and scoop her into my arms before she can object. Her frame melts into mine, exhausted but still trying to be strong.

Her bed is modest—just enough for one, definitely not ideal for two—but she doesn’t complain.

Neither do I.

She curls in beside me, fingers trailing along the edge of my inked skin as her eyes start to drift. I wrap an arm around her and pull the blanket over us, holding her close like she might vanish if I loosened my grip.

“I’m not going in tomorrow,” I whisper.

Eve shifts slightly, her cheek pressed to my chest. “Don’t skip work because of me. People count on you, Ryder.”

“Eve…”

She lifts her eyes briefly. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”

It physically hurts to accept that. My instinct is to stay, to protect. But I know she’s right. My crew, the entire production team—they rely on me to show up. Not because I’m irreplaceable, but because responsibility doesn’t pause just because I wish it would.

I kiss the top of her head. My eyes stay open far longer than they should, watching the shadows in the room, waiting for her breathing to even out before I finally let myself sleep.

The following day stretches like a rubber band on the edge of snapping. Eighteen hours on set, and I can’t stop checking my phone.

She texts me every few hours, just enough to keep my nerves in check.

Taking Dad back home. He’s been discharged.

Did he say anything about the rehab brochures?

No answer.

I take that silence as all the answer I need.

A knock rattles my office door, and I flinch more than I’d like to admit. My shoulders are tense before I even register who it is.

Renee steps in with a sheepish smile. “Sorry—saw your light was still on. Thought I’d check in.”

“You’re working late too?” I ask.

“Always,” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Spreadsheets don’t crunch themselves.”

I give a tired nod. “Appreciate your dedication.”

She takes a step inside—closer than necessary—and pauses. There’s a strange glint in her eye as she smiles, a little too expectantly.

“Notice anything different?” she asks, tilting her head.

I blink at her, too exhausted to play games. “No.”

“My hair,” she says with a playful laugh. “It’s darker now.”

She’s right—her once-vibrant red hair is now a rich brown. But that’s not what unsettles me. It’s her clothes. The skirt, the white blouse, even the flats—it’s all… familiar. The kind of thing Eve wears when she’s at work. Plain. Practical.

My gut twists.

“What do you think?” she asks, her tone sugary and slow, lashes thick with mascara.

I stand, eyes hardening. “I think it’s time you headed home, Ms. Thatch.”

She falters, blinking rapidly, the smile slipping. I say nothing more, just gesture toward the door.

Something’s off. Way off.

And I don’t like it.

For the briefest second, something flashes across her face—disappointment, maybe? But it’s gone so fast I’m not even sure it was real.

“If you’re planning to stick around for a while,” she says, her voice dipping into something softer, “I don’t mind staying too. Could keep you company.”

“I’m good,” I reply, clipped. “You should head out. Night.”

Her jaw tightens ever so slightly, lips pressing into a thin line, but she doesn’t argue. Just nods and slips out of my office, heels clicking softly against the floor as the door eases shut behind her.

And just like that, I’m alone again.

But the air feels colder now.

What the hell was that supposed to be?