**POV: Silas**
Day three of Serena Vale's protective detail, and I was starting to understand why she'd refused security for so long.
The woman was exhausting.
Not in the way difficult clients usually were, demanding, irrational, fighting every protocol out of ignorance or ego. Serena fought protocols because she understood them, saw the gaps, and had alternative solutions that were often better than our initial proposals.
Which meant every security decision became a negotiation.
"The Morrison Show wants me to arrive through the main entrance," Serena said, studying the venue layout on my tablet. We were in her apartment, now command central for operations, planning her television appearance scheduled for tomorrow. "Standard talent entrance is around back, but they're making it part of the show. Celebrity arrivals, fan interaction, the whole spectacle."
"Too exposed," Ash said immediately. "Main entrance means public sidewalk, crowd control issues, multiple sightlines we can't secure."
"I know. But it's also expected. If I suddenly change the arrival plan, it signals fear. Tells whoever's watching that they've succeeded in disrupting my life." Serena looked at me. "What if we control the variables instead of avoiding them?"
"Explain."
"We use the main entrance, but we manage the timing. Arrive early, before the crowd builds. I do a quick photo op—two minutes maximum—then we move inside. You position your team to cover all approaches. Lucien screens the crowd for known threats. Riven monitors digital channels for real-time intelligence." She pulled up a modified schematic. "We give them what they expect while maintaining tactical control."
I studied her plan. It was bold. Risky. Also strategically sound.
"Riven?" I called to where he sat at the dining table, monitoring multiple screens.
"Crowd analytics are manageable if we arrive at 8:47 AM. Fans start gathering around nine. Building security can establish a perimeter, we supplement with our team, in and out in ninety seconds." He didn't look up from his screens. "Risk level acceptable."
"Lucien?"
"I'll need facial recognition access to the venue's security system. Also want to position two additional spotters in the crowd with direct comms." Lucien made notes on his tablet. "But it's workable."
I looked at Serena. "You're sure about this? We can push back on their arrival requirements."
"And spend political capital I might need later." She shook her head. "This is manageable risk. The album release party next month? That's where I'll need you to be inflexible about security. Pick your battles."
Smart. Strategically intelligent. Exactly the kind of thinking that made her a good partner and a terrible client.
Because good clients followed instructions. Partners questioned everything.
"All right. We do it your way. But the second anything feels off, we abort. No arguments."
"No arguments," she agreed.
My phone buzzed. Marcus.
"How's it going?"
I stepped into Serena's bedroom for privacy. "Your sister is a pain in the ass."
Marcus laughed. "Told you. She cooperating?"
"Depends on your definition. She's engaged, strategic, follows protocols when they make sense. Also questions every decision, negotiates every restriction, and has contingency plans for our contingency plans."
"Sounds like Serena." A pause. "She trusting you?"
"Getting there. Slowly." I looked back toward the living room where Serena was now debating vehicle approach angles with Ash. "She's scared, Marcus. Hiding it well, but it's there."
"I know. That's why I sent her to you." Marcus's voice went serious. "She won't accept help from anyone she thinks will try to control her. You're one of the few people I know who understands the difference between protection and imprisonment."
"No pressure."
"Silas, I mean it. If she gets hurt because she's too stubborn to accept proper security..." He stopped. "She's all I've got. Our parents died in a car accident when she was sixteen. It's been just us for twelve years. If something happens to her..."
I understood. Family was everything when it was all you had.
"We'll keep her safe," I said. "Even if it means letting her think she's in charge."
"She is in charge. Of her life, her choices, her boundaries. Your job is to keep her alive while she makes those choices. Not to make them for her."
"Understood."
"Good. And Silas? She's going to test you. Push boundaries, see if you'll snap and try to control her like everyone else. Don't."
"I won't."
"I know. That's why I called you."
I ended the call and returned to the living room. Serena looked up, awareness flickering across her features.
"Marcus checking in?"
"Wanting to make sure I haven't killed you yet."
"What did you tell him?"
"That you're exhausting but competent. He seemed unsurprised."
She smiled slightly. "He knows me well."
Rita arrived with lunch—Thai food from a restaurant Lucien had already vetted—and we took a break. I watched Serena interact with her assistant, the easy familiarity between them, the way Rita anticipated needs before they were voiced.
"How long have you worked together?" I asked Rita.
"Four years. Started as an intern at her management company, got promoted to personal assistant when Serena realized I was one of three people in her life who didn't care about her designation." Rita handed Serena a container of pad thai. "Also I make excellent coffee and never ask invasive personal questions."
"Valuable skills," Ash agreed.
"Rita's leaving after lunch," Serena said. "She has family in Portland, visiting for the week. I told her to take the time off."
"You don't want her here?" I asked carefully. Having trusted staff nearby could be an asset.
"I want her away from potential danger. If whoever's targeting me decides to expand their scope—" Serena's jaw tightened. "Rita has a six-year-old daughter. I'm not putting them at risk."
"Does Rita agree with this assessment?" Lucien asked.
"No. But it's not her choice." Serena's tone left no room for argument. "She takes the week off, spends time with her family, stays out of the blast radius."
Rita sighed. "I hate that you're going through this alone."
"I'm not alone. I have Silverthorne Security." Serena gestured to us. "Four overqualified operators who probably think I'm a nightmare client."
"You're growing on us," Ash said. "Like a fungus."
"Charming."
We finished lunch, Rita left with promises to check in daily, and we returned to planning. The Morrison Show tomorrow, a recording session on Thursday, the photo shoot on Friday. Every appearance required advance reconnaissance, security coordination, threat assessment.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
I answered. "Vorn."
"Mr. Vorn, this is Detective Sarah Chen, Seattle PD. I understand you're providing security for Serena Vale?"
I straightened. "That's correct."
"We received a complaint this morning. Anonymous tip suggesting Ms. Vale is being held against her will by private security contractors. The caller was... quite insistent that we perform a welfare check."
Fuck.
Serena looked up sharply, reading my expression.
"Ms. Vale is here voluntarily, working with us on a stalking situation. She's free to terminate our contract at any time."
"I'm sure. But given the nature of the complaint, we're required to follow up. Would it be possible to speak with Ms. Vale directly?"
I looked at Serena, muted the phone. "Seattle PD. Someone called in a welfare check, claimed we're holding you against your will."
Her eyes went cold. "Let me talk to them."
I handed her the phone.
"This is Serena Vale. Yes, I'm working with Silverthorne Security voluntarily. No, I'm not being held against my will. Yes, I'm happy to verify this in person if needed." She listened. "Tomorrow at ten AM works. I'll come to the station. Thank you, Detective."
She ended the call, handed back my phone.
"Well. That's new."
"Your stalker called the police on us," Ash said. "That's bold."
"Or smart." Lucien was already typing on his laptop. "Creates confusion, wastes our resources responding to false complaints, potentially damages Serena's relationship with law enforcement when she actually needs them."
"Also gives them information," Serena said quietly. "They know I hired security. Know the company name. Probably know I'm taking the threat seriously."
"Which confirms their impact," I finished. "Tells them they're succeeding in disrupting your life."
"Yes." She stood, paced to the window. Her scent control was perfect as always, but I was learning to read other signs. The slight tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers drummed against her thigh. Stress responses she couldn't completely suppress.
"We go to the station tomorrow," I said. "You verify you're there voluntarily, we document the false complaint, establish a relationship with the detective. Turn a negative into a positive."
"Agreed." Serena turned back to face us. "But this means they're watching close enough to know I hired you. They're monitoring my communications, my movements, possibly my financial records."
"Riven, full digital audit," I ordered. "Every device Serena owns, every account, every potential point of compromise. I want to know how they're getting their information."
"On it." Riven's fingers were already flying across his keyboard.
"Also means they're getting desperate," Ash observed. "Calling the police is high-risk. If it backfires, it gives us leverage, potentially identifies them through phone records."
"Unless they're confident they can't be traced," Lucien said. "Burner phone, spoofed location, voice modulation. If they're technically sophisticated enough to breach Serena's apartment security, they're sophisticated enough to hide a phone call."
The pieces were starting to form a picture. Technically skilled. Well-resourced. Patient but escalating. Obsessed enough to take significant risks.
"We need to profile this person," I said. "Lucien, I want everything we know synthesized into a behavioral analysis. What motivates them, what triggers them, what their endgame looks like."
"Already working on it. I'll have something preliminary by tonight."
My phone buzzed again. This time it was building security.
"Mr. Vorn? We have a delivery for Ms. Vale. Flowers. No card, no sender information. You asked to be notified of any unexpected deliveries."
"Don't touch it. We're sending someone down."
I ended the call. "Riven, you're up. Flowers in the lobby, no sender. Full screening before anyone handles them."
Riven grabbed a kit and headed for the door without a word.
Serena watched him go. "Flowers. That's the third time this week."
"You've been receiving flowers?" I asked sharply.
"Since the photographs. Always the same—white roses, no card, no sender. Building security's been holding them, but I haven't mentioned it because they seemed like standard stalker behavior."
"Standard stalker behavior is still stalker behavior. We need to know about everything, Serena. Every contact, every gift, every anomaly."
"I know. I just—" She stopped herself. "You're right. I should have mentioned it."
"Why didn't you?"
She met my eyes. "Because it felt like admitting defeat. Like acknowledging that they're getting to me."
And there it was. The pride Marcus had warned me about. The need to appear strong, in control, unaffected.
"Serena, listen to me carefully." I moved closer, waited until she was looking directly at me. "Reporting threats isn't weakness. It's intelligence gathering. Every contact they make gives us more information about who they are, how they think, what they want. You hiding these things doesn't protect you. It handicaps us."
"I know that intellectually."
"But emotionally, it feels like giving them power."
"Yes."
"Then we reframe it. Every flower, every call, every contact—that's not them winning. That's them giving us more data to hunt them with. You reporting it isn't surrender. It's operational intelligence." I held her gaze. "Can you work with that framework?"
She considered it. "Yes. I can work with that."
"Good. From now on, anything unusual gets reported immediately. No matter how small, no matter how insignificant it seems."
"Understood."
Riven returned twenty minutes later with the flowers in an evidence bag. White roses, a dozen of them, professionally arranged.
"No biological threats, no tracking devices, no hidden cameras. Just flowers." He set them on the table. "But there's something you should see."
He pulled out one of the roses. Tucked into the bloom, nearly invisible, was a small piece of paper.
Serena reached for it, but I stopped her. "Gloves first."
She pulled on the latex gloves Riven offered, then carefully extracted the paper. Unfolded it.
Her face went white.
"What does it say?" Ash asked.
She handed it to me silently.
*Soon. I promise.*
Two words. Simple. Devastating.
Because they weren't a threat. They were a promise. An assurance. The tone of someone who believed they were offering comfort.
"They think this is romantic," Serena said quietly. "They think they're courting me."
"Delusional attachment," Lucien confirmed. "The pattern fits. They believe they have a relationship with you, that you belong together, that they're patiently waiting for you to recognize the connection."
"Which makes them more dangerous," I said. "Because they're not trying to hurt you. They're trying to claim you."
Serena's hands were shaking slightly. She noticed, clenched them into fists.
"I need a minute."
"Take all the time you need."
She walked to her bedroom, closed the door.
I looked at Ash and Lucien. "We accelerate the timeline. I want this person identified and neutralized before they escalate to direct contact."
"Direct contact might be inevitable," Lucien said. "The pattern suggests they're building toward a confrontation. The flowers, the photographs, now this note, they're preparing her. Getting her used to their presence before they reveal themselves."
"Then we make sure when they reveal themselves, we're ready." I picked up the note, studied the handwriting. Precise, controlled, educated. "Riven, can we get handwriting analysis on this?"
"Already photographed and uploaded to our forensic contacts. We'll have preliminary analysis by morning."
"Good. Also pull everything you can from the flower delivery. Which shop, how they were ordered, payment method. Someone had to physically arrange this."
"On it."
Ash moved to the bedroom door, knocked gently. "Serena? You okay?"
No response.
He looked at me, concerned. I moved closer, pressed my ear to the door.
Silence. Complete silence.
That wasn't right.
"Serena?" I knocked harder. "I need to know you're all right."
Still nothing.
"I'm coming in." I tried the handle. Locked.
Fuck.
"Serena, if you don't answer in five seconds, I'm breaking this door down. Five. Four. Three"
"I'm fine." Her voice was muffled, distant. "Just need a minute."
"I need visual confirmation."
A pause. Then the lock clicked.
The door opened a crack. Serena stood there, face composed, scent still perfectly controlled. But her eyes were red.
She'd been crying.
"I'm fine," she repeated. "Just needed to process."
"Process or hide?"
"Both." She opened the door wider. "You can stop hovering. I'm not going to do anything stupid."
"Define stupid."
"Run. Fight. Try to handle this alone." She leaned against the doorframe. "All the things I want to do but know are counterproductive."
At least she was self-aware.
"Come back out. We'll go through the security plan one more time, make sure tomorrow's covered." I kept my voice gentle. "Then we'll order dinner, debrief, call it a night. You need rest."
"I need a target." Her voice was sharp. "I need to know who's doing this so I can stop feeling like prey."
"We're working on it."
"Work faster."
She pushed past me, returned to the living room. Ash caught my eye, raised an eyebrow.
Yeah. She was spiraling.
We spent another two hours on security planning, but Serena's focus was fractured. She made uncharacteristic mistakes—missing obvious vulnerabilities, suggesting protocols that conflicted with earlier decisions.
At eight PM, I called it.
"That's enough for tonight. Lucien, Riven, head home. Ash and I will take first watch."
"I don't need a babysitter," Serena said immediately.
"You have someone sending you threatening love notes. Yes, you do." I kept my tone firm. "Ash takes the first shift, midnight to six AM. I'll take six to noon tomorrow. Riven and Lucien rotate after that."
"Where exactly will you be watching from?"
"Ash will be in your living room. I'll be in my truck in the parking garage with full surveillance access." I pulled up the camera feeds on my phone. "We can see every approach to your apartment. If anything moves, we'll know."
She wanted to argue. I could see it in the set of her jaw, the way her fingers clenched.
But she didn't.
"Fine. But Ash gets the couch, not the floor. And he's allowed to raid my kitchen if he gets hungry."
"Generous," Ash said dryly.
"I'm a gracious hostess when people aren't trying to control my life."
After Lucien and Riven left, I helped Ash set up his watch position. Serena retreated to her bedroom, door closed but not locked. Small progress.
"She's going to be a problem tonight," Ash said quietly. "Too much stress, too much fear she's trying to suppress. She'll either have nightmares or she'll stay awake all night trying to maintain control."
"I know."
"You want me to check on her?"
"Give her space. But if she comes out, engage her. Get her talking about something other than the threat. Music, her brother, anything that lets her brain rest."
"Got it."
I left at ten PM, took up position in my truck. Four cameras gave me full coverage of Serena's apartment building. Motion sensors would alert me to any approach. Riven had access to my feed, monitoring remotely from his own location.
Redundant security. Overlapping coverage. No gaps.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that we were missing something.
The stalker was too sophisticated. Too patient. They'd been planning this for months, maybe longer. Every move calculated, every contact designed to build toward something.
The question was: what?
My phone buzzed. Text from Ash.
She came out. Can't sleep. We're watching a movie. All good.
Good. Better she was distracted than lying awake running worst-case scenarios.
I settled in for a long night, coffee in hand, surveillance feeds displayed on my tablet. Watching. Waiting.
Protecting someone who desperately didn't want to need protection.
But that was the job. Keep them safe whether they liked it or not. Whether they trusted you or not. Whether they understood the threat or not.
Marcus had been right about one thing: Serena was different.
Most clients became passive once they understood the danger. Let security make decisions, followed protocols without question, accepted limitations on their freedom in exchange for safety.
Serena fought every step. Questioned every decision. Demanded partnership even when it would be easier to just follow orders.
It was exhausting.
It was also exactly what made her likely to survive this.
Because passive clients made easy targets. They fell into predictable patterns, stopped thinking tactically, relied entirely on their security team.
Serena would never stop thinking tactically. Would never stop looking for escape routes, alternative solutions, ways to maintain control.
Which meant when - not if, when - her stalker made their move, she'd be ready to fight.
And so would we.
My phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't Ash.
Unknown number. Text message.
She's beautiful when she sleeps. You should see her.
Attached was a photo.
Serena. In her bed. Tonight.
Taken from inside her apartment.