Elena stared at Marco's phone screen as the message faded into the lock screen. Her heart was still trying to slow after what had just happened between them, but now a new pulse was rising—this one thick with unease.
"You recognize the number?" she asked, wrapping the sheet loosely around her.
Marco's jaw flexed as he set the phone down. "I don't need to. I know who sent it."
She waited, but he didn't elaborate.
"Marco… talk to me."
He ran a hand through his hair, getting up and slipping into his jeans. "His name's Royce. We used to run Bellamy's together. Years ago."
"You ran it together?"
"We built it from nothing. Just two kids who thought food could be magic." He paused, glancing back at her. "But Royce had… darker ideas about what made the restaurant special."
Elena frowned. "What do you mean?"
Marco sighed. "Bellamy's got its name because of how it treated its guests. No menu. No clocks. Just instinct. Desire. But for Royce, it wasn't just about food. He started pushing it into something else. Pushing boundaries. With staff. With guests."
The air chilled between them.
"He wanted to turn it into a place where indulgence had no rules," Marco said. "I walked away when it stopped feeling like love and started feeling like danger."
"And now he's back."
Marco nodded. "I knew he was in town. I just didn't think he'd… come after the restaurant."
A sudden knock echoed through the cottage.
Both of them froze.
Marco grabbed his shirt but didn't bother buttoning it. He moved to the door cautiously and looked through the side window. No one. He opened it slowly—and found a small envelope taped to the outside.
He brought it inside and opened it with a sharp tear. Inside was a simple, white card:
"I made you. I can unmake you."
Marco's grip tightened around the card. Elena stood and crossed to him, pressing a hand to his chest.
"This is more than a bad breakup, isn't it?"
He nodded slowly. "Royce knows every secret this town tries to hide. And if he's back, he won't stop with a warning."
Elena searched his face. "So what do we do?"
He looked down at her, his eyes dark but steady. "We don't run. Not this time."
A beat passed. "You sure you want to be part of this mess?"
Elena lifted her chin. "You're in it. That's enough for me."
He pulled her into a kiss—urgent, grateful, filled with the promise of a fight ahead. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.
"I don't deserve you," he whispered.
She smiled softly. "Maybe not. But you've got me anyway."
Outside, the moon cast long shadows across the gravel path. Somewhere nearby, a twig snapped.
And the back door creaked open.