Page 17 of Fallen Heir
If I could help women escape the very kind of man I’d once called my husband—if I could give them clean exits, fresh starts, and security from monsters in disguise—then I could absolutely do this.
I just had to stay one step ahead of the story. And the past. At least I wasn’t using my real last name.
Savannah Starling had died the day I packed my bags and left Alabama behind. I buried her with everything else I couldn’t face.
Here in Manhattan, I went by Savannah Sinclair—a name that sounded like reinvention. Like survival.
But even that felt too close sometimes. Too traceable.
Because it was.
I should’ve changed it more. Should’ve used my mother’s middle name—Rose. Should’ve Started over completely. Fake ID, the whole nine yards. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel this constant ticking clock behind my ribs.
And still... the signs were there.
That bank account—the one I barely checked anymore but couldn’t ignore—was growing. Quiet deposits. Every week. Millions of dollars that made no sense.
My mother was a successful attorney. My father, a real estate tycoon—or so I thought.
But this kind of money...
I hadn’t earned it. Hadn’t touched most of it. But it kept showing up—like someone out there still believed I was part of something I’d tried to leave behind.
And deep down, I knew it wasn’t clean.
It couldn’t be.
My father had always hidden things—strange phone calls, locked drawers, secret compartments I stumbled on as a kid. I used to think it was just business. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
The money. The whispers. The name I left behind...
It was all part of something much bigger.
And maybe—just maybe—I was in more danger than I realized.
Chapter 8
Jaxson
She said yes. And now, I couldn’t get her out of my damn head.
I’d left her office hours ago—long enough that I should’ve moved on, buried myself in contracts or deals or meetings. I’d answered emails. Taken two calls. Poured myself a drink. But nothing stuck. Every time I blinked, she was there—those eyes, that hesitation. That damn whisper of a smile like she was afraid it might hurt to feel something again.
But in reality, I hadn’t done shit. I’d sat at my desk pretending to review documents, my mind replaying every second of that conversation like a song on loop.
The way her lips parted when she agreed. The look in her eyes—terrified but determined. The way her fingers hesitated in mine like she wasn’t just agreeing to a deal… but stepping off a cliff. She haunted the room like a ghost I wasn’t ready to lay to rest.
I ran a hand through my hair and stood from my desk, pacing the window of my office. From the thirty-fourth floor, Manhattan looked quiet. Controlled. Like everything down there was exactly as it should be. But nothing in me felt calm.
And I hadn’t been able to breathe right since I left that office. Couldn’t stop wondering what the hell I was doing. Why this woman I’d barely met unraveled the walls I’d spent years building.
Millie was the closest thing I had to a friend—my anchor, my voice of reason.
But Savannah...She stirred something deeper. A need I didn’t know existed. I felt it in my gut—a primal urge to protect her. Keep her safe.Mine.Not in the sense of ownership—she wasn’t a thing to claim.
I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. My life didn’t allow for it. Feelings got people killed.
But every instinct I had—the ones that had kept me alive all these years—told me to stay close. Guard her. Even from herself.
