My heart stuttered at that information. She'd taken Barnaby with her. The thought of Emily holding onto that connection, even while running away, made something tight in my chest loosen slightly.
"It doesn't matter," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I crossed a line going through her files. She was right to be angry."
"I’d have done the same," Gideon shrugged. "But that's not why she ran, and you know it."
I turned away from the monitors, unable to watch anymore. "Then why?"
"Because she's never had anyone care about her the way you do. Because letting herself be vulnerable with you terrifies her more than facing down human traffickers." Gideon's voice was gentle but firm. "Because she's spent her entire life believing she has to handle everything alone."
"She told me I was no better than the men who abducted her," I said quietly, the words still like shards of glass in my throat.
Gideon winced. "That was a low blow. But people say cruel things when they're scared."
"What if she's right, though?" The question had been eating at me since she'd left. "What if I am too controlling? Too protective? What if I'm just another man trying to make decisions for her?"
"Are you?" Gideon asked pointedly.
I considered the question seriously. "I think she might need someone not as..."
"Dominant?" Gideon arched a brow, because we both knew that was what I was.
“Sneaky?” Walker said as he walked in.
We both looked blankly at him. “So, don’t kill me,” he said.
Every hair on the back of my neck stood up. “What did you do?”
“I hid a microphone above her bookshelves when I went for the lockbox.” He held his hands up like I was going to attack him. “Audio only, and only the main room, not her bedroom or bathroom, but in case anyone came snooping.”
Shit. She was going to kill me.
“Her mother has just arrived,” Eric said. Walker strode over to Eric’s computer and pressed some keys, connecting the microphone. In a moment, Emily’s mom came through loud and clear.
"...your father's practice can't afford any scandal, and frankly, neither can you. A woman your age, unmarried, in a job that already raises eyebrows..."
I listened to the cold, cutting tone of Emily's mother through the speakers, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. Every word was like a blade designed to slice away at Emily's confidence, her sense of self-worth.
"Jesus Christ," Gideon muttered under his breath. "No wonder she has trust issues."
"What are you implying, Mother?" Emily's voice came through, small and defensive.
"I'm not implying anything, dear. I'm simply saying that when one's professional conduct comes into question, it's wise to be extra careful about one's personal conduct as well. You know how quickly rumors spread in our circles."
The threat in the woman's voice was unmistakable, and I felt my protective instincts surge to dangerous levels. This was Emily's own mother, the person who should have beensupporting her, defending her, and instead she was delivering veiled threats about reputation and scandal.
"Do think about the position at your father's firm. It really would solve so many problems."
The audio went quiet for a moment, then we heard a door closing. I waited, my heart hammering in my chest, for Emily's reaction. When it came, it nearly broke me.
The sound of her sobbing—deep, wrenching cries that spoke of years of accumulated pain—filled the room. I'd heard grown men cry in combat, had witnessed the aftermath of unspeakable trauma, but nothing had ever affected me quite like the sound of Emily's tears.
"Turn it off," I said roughly.
Eric reached for the controls, but I caught his wrist. "No, wait. Leave it." I needed to hear this, needed to understand what she was going through. Even if it killed me.
The crying continued for several minutes before gradually subsiding into quiet sniffles. Then, so softly I had to strain to hear it: "I'm sorry, Dion. I'm so sorry."
My knees nearly buckled. She was alone in her apartment, clutching that bear, apologizing to me through her tears. The woman who'd spent her entire life being strong for everyone else was finally allowing herself to break down—and she was doing it alone.
