“Alex,” she whispers quietly, running her fingers across the beautiful compass. “What is this for?” She bites her lip, and I can see her heart racing by the steady pulse of the vein in her neck.

Do I tell her the truth? The truth that I need her as much as she needs me? The truth that I don’t want to live without her? The truth that she is the only good thing in my life?

The truth that I love her?

“Because you stayed,” I finally say. “You loved me enough to stay. You don’t know what that means to me.” I reach out and brush a strand of hair off of her face, tucking it behind her ear. She flinches at my touch and pulls away slightly, but I see tears in her eyes—a sign of conflict.

My smile falters. “If you don’t like it, I can return it.”

“No,” she says quickly, pulling the chain from the box. “I love it, but you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.” I’d do anything for you.

She unhooks the clasp and reaches behind her neck. I turn her around and remove the chain from her fingers, fastening the clasp and fixing her hair. The necklace sits perfectly on her chest.

“Em.” I tip her chin up so she looks me in the eye. “It kills me to hear you say you have nobody. You’ll always have me. You’ll never be alone or lost again. I don’t know if I believe in fate, but something brought us together at that hotel. I took one look at you and knew we needed each other.”

Tears spill from her eyes, and she swats them away.

Before I lose my nerve, I tell her, “I love you, Emilia.” Then she lunges into my arms and sobs into my chest. I’ve never been good at comfort, but if I could take away all of her pain, I would.

She clings to me as if she doesn’t believe what I’ve said. “Alex,” she stutters between breaths. “Before you say anything else, I need you to be honest with me.” She slides her hand into mine and pulls me toward the couch in the living room. She sits but puts some distance between us. I notice her slouched shoulders and balled up fists in her lap.

“What’s going on, Em?”

“Are you going to hurt me?” Her chin quivers.

“Never,” I cut her off. “Why would you even ask me that?”

“The picture.”

Shit. I swallow hard. “What picture, Emilia?” I play stupid. She saw the fucking picture.

“The picture of me on your computer. And the one of my dad, and my mom, dead. Why do you have those, Alex? What’re you doing with them?” Her voice shakes.

Wait, what? I saw the one—of her. But that was it. “What’re you talking about? Pictures of your mom and dad? I don’t have pictures of your parents, Em. I don’t even know who your parents are.”

“You do. On your computer in your office. I saw them this afternoon.”

“Shit.” I rake my hands over my face. I knew something was wrong last night when I saw her picture, but the only man that has the answers I need is locked up, and I can’t ask him.

“Tell me, Alex.” Her voice is angry, her face sad. “If you love me, tell me the truth.”

I fumble for words, helpless. “I don’t know the truth, Emilia. That’s the truth. I don’t know.” I know I need to get to that computer and see what else is on there, but I’m more worried about Emilia at the moment. “Here’s what I can tell you. I transferred files from a computer in Mexico to a flash drive. That’s where those photos came from. I haven’t even had time to look at them.”

“Whose computer did you transfer files from?” Her voice is clipped.

I scoot toward her on the couch, but she shifts back further. She looks fragile and frail, yet so strong. Beneath her tears is the most beautifully broken woman I’ve ever met. But instead of the truth, I’ll break her with more lies.

“A business associate.” I don’t look at her as I spill lies. I can’t tell her it was my father’s computer. Before I can tell her the truth, I need to get answers for myself.

But she sees through my lie and jumps up from the couch, running into her room. I follow close behind, and she grabs her bag and begins shoving clothes into it.

“What’re you doing?”

“Leaving,” she snaps. My heart drops.

“No you’re not, Emilia. I cannot lose you. I love you.” I can’t let her leave like this. And I sure as fuck can’t let her leave now. Not when I know my dad knows her whole fucking family. Something is not right here.

“Like hell, I’m not,” she rages. “You said yourself if I tried to leave, you’d let me. I’m leaving. I can’t trust you.” Her voice shakes and her movements are clumsy. She’s breaking down, losing control, but it’s the words she just snarled at me that hurt me the most. I don’t trust you. Those words cut me and my heart falls.

“Emilia. I’m the only person you can trust.” I grab her arm and try to turn her to look at me. “Stop. You need to calm down and let me figure out what’s going on.”

“Don’t touch me.” She yanks her arm free and runs to the nightstand for her journal and an envelope. She pulls out cash and throws it on the bed. “That should cover everything I owe you.” Then she hikes her bag onto her shoulder and stomps out.

“You don’t owe me anything. Em, don’t leave. I love you,” I yell at her again. Anger and frustration—but mostly fear—course through me. If she walks out that door, I can’t protect her. She’s the first woman I’ve ever loved and I cannot lose her. “Emilia.” I chase her out to the elevator. “Please.”

She steps inside, clearly struggling to keep her emotions in check, but she’s not stopping. She’s not coming back to me. I can see it in her eyes—disgust.

“I love you, Em. Please. Stay. Let me figure this out. I’ll get you answers,” I beg her as the elevator doors close in my face.

* * *

I pace the condo, my stomach in knots. She left her phone on the bed next to the cash, so I have no way of reaching her. I’m panicking. Fucking panicking. I’ve never felt like this before. I step over the broken vases and the picture I tore off the wall in my rage a moment ago, and I stomp into my office to finally look at those files.

I click on the folder titled “Research” and the image titled “EA.” It’s Emilia. The initials of her first and last name identify the image, Emilia Adams. JM stands for Jeffrey Martin, the judge overseeing my father’s case. I recognize his photo immediately. As I click through more photos, I find more of Judge Martin and more of Emilia. Emilia mentioned seeing her mother and her father. My stomach flips when I make the connection. Jeffrey Martin. Judge Jeffrey Martin is Emilia’s father.

“Holy shit,” I mumble and rub my chin. Emilia is a pawn in this game, and she’s played right into my father’s hand. I continue clicking through a few more pictures, but it’s the last photo that sends chills down my spine and bile rising into my throat. It’s of Emilia’s mother lying dead in a pool of her own blood on the trailer floor.

“The fuck.” I shut my eyes and close the image. Picking up my cell, I scroll through my contacts, finding the name of the only person I shouldn’t trust, but I do. I press send on the screen and listen to the phone ring.

“I need to talk to you,” I say, sputtering out a location to meet before hanging up. Then I toss my phone on the desk and bury my face in my hands, fighting back the tears that have been on the brink of breaking free all day.