Page 35 of Sweetly Yours

My jaw tightens, and anger flares hot in my chest. “Did you see anyone? Are you hurt?”

“No,” she says quickly. “I called 911 as soon as I saw the door.”

I pull her into my arms, holding her tightly as I glance at the officer she was speaking to. “What’s the situation?”

The officer clears his throat. “Looks like vandalism, not burglary. No signs of forced entry beyond the front door, no valuables missing. Just damage to the interior—furniture, personal items.”

Vandalism. The word makes my stomach turn. Whoever did this wasn’t after her things—they were after her.

“Did you tell them about the tires?” I ask Willow, pulling back slightly so I can see her face.

“What?” she asks, blinking up at me.

“Your tires,” I say firmly. “The ones that were slashed last night. Did you tell the cops about that?”

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No, I... I didn’t think they were related.”

I glance at the officer. “Last night, someone slashed two of her tires. Clean cuts, not random. We already reported it.”

The cop’s expression hardens. “Slashed tires and now this? Sounds like more than a coincidence.”

“No shit,” I mutter under my breath.

The officer nods to his partner, who starts jotting down notes. “We’ll include that in the report. Do you know anyone who might have a reason to target you?”

Willow shakes her head, her voice quiet. “No. I don’t know anyone who would do this.”

I can see the doubt in the officer’s eyes, but he doesn’t press her.

“Alright,” he says. “We’ll file this as an extension of the previous report. Increased patrols are already in place in your area. If you think of anyone who might have a motive, let us know.”

“Thanks,” I say curtly, wrapping an arm around Willow.

She leans into me, her body trembling slightly.

I press a kiss to her temple, the knot in my chest tightening again. Whoever’s doing this is sending a message, and I’m going to make damn sure they understand one thing:

You don’t mess with what’s mine.

The drive back to the cabin is quiet. Too quiet. Willow sits in the passenger seat, holding Frankie like he’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the moment. Her gaze is fixed out the window, but I know she’s not seeing the dark trees rushing past.

I glance over at her, catching the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers clench and unclench in Frankie’s fur. I don’t push her to talk. She’s been through enough tonight.

But inside, I’m boiling. Someone broke into her house, trashed her things, and left her feeling vulnerable in a way that’s killing me to see. Whoever did this crossed a line, and they’re going to regret it.

At the cabin, I unlock the door and step inside, flicking on the lights. It feels safe here, quiet and warm, but I can tell Willow doesn’t feel it yet. She hovers near the doorway, clutching Frankie’s leash like she’s bracing for something to go wrong.

“Come in,” I say softly, motioning for her to sit on the couch.

She hesitates before sinking down onto the cushions, Frankie hopping onto her lap immediately. “Thank you,” she says quietly, not looking at me.

I crouch in front of her, my hands resting on her knees. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” I say, my voice low. “I told you—I’ve got you.”

She nods, but her shoulders are still tight.

“I think I’m just going to go to bed,” She stands.

I nod. “Get some rest,” I say gently. “We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

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