Page 42 of Fallen Heir
I gave a small nod. A silent thank you.
One I wasn't ready to say out loud.
After a few short blocks, we entered the café. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to eat anything, my nerves still on high alert, stomach still uneasy from earlier.
Ben kept a discreet distance, but I felt his presence like a weight on the back of my neck. Heavy. Unrelenting. Not threatening but protecting me from the threat. A threat that now seemed to be inevitable.
Millie glanced over her shoulder at him too. “You okay?”
“Just tired,” I said, sliding into a booth by the window.
She studied me for a beat too long. “So… you’ve officially been sucked into the Jaxson Westbrook vortex. What’s that like?”
I blinked at her. “You’ve known him forever?”
“Pretty much,” she said with a shrug. “I’m basically his sister. I can’t say he’s the reason I’m not married, but I’d bet he played a part.”
That pulled a weak smile from me. “He doesn’t seem like the meddling type.”
“Oh, he is,” she grinned. “In a ‘you’ll never see it coming’ kind of way. He joined the military right out of high school, and then… nothing. Radio silence for a few years. When he came back, it was like the world had shifted. He wasn’t the same guy who left.”
She paused, eyes softening. “Took over his dad’s company and multiplied it like it was nothing. But there was always something under the surface. Like he’d seen things he’d never talk about.”
I glanced over at Ben again. “So that kind of transformation just… happens?”
Millie leaned forward, voice low. “No. It doesn’t. Whatever changed him—it wasn’t gentle. He came backdifferent. Quiet. Calculated. Deadly smart. But still loyal to a fault.” She gave a small nod as she popped some bread into her mouth. “That part never changed.”
My stomach twisted, and I couldn’t shake my thoughts.
They weren’t just businessmen. Not the kind you’d find in Forbes or Bloomberg.
I looked at Ben again. Not just muscle. Not just security. Trained.
You don’t get bodies like that sitting in boardrooms.
And yet, despite the suspicion buzzing in my chest, something told me I could trust them.
Maybe not all the way. But enough to stop running—at least for a minute.
I pushed back from the table and headed outside, walking right up to Ben. “If you’re going to be the one watching me,” I said, lifting an eyebrow, “the least you can do is make me feel a little more comfortable. Eat lunch with us.”
His mouth twitched. “I don’t do lunch.”
“Then sit near us. Pretend you’re doing lunch.”
He glanced past me at the café, then back at me. “You sure?”
No. But I nodded anyway. “Yeah.”
The three of us sat at the table, the conversation light and surprisingly easy. Ben and I took turns recounting parts of the Gala—how we pretended to be siblings, how I jumped into character like I’d rehearsed it for years.
“You should’ve seen the look on the redhead’s face,” I said, laughing lightly. “I told her I already had him set up with my bestie.”
Millie laughed, but I didn’t miss the quick glance she gave Ben.
Huh.
It was subtle—so quick I almost didn’t catch it. But I did. The way her eyes lingered just a second too long, the tightness in her smile. I filed it away, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name.
