Page 59 of The Viper
“Define smart,” I said.
“You’re trending on three continents. Someone’s going to spot you.”
“Exactly why I need to get out,” I said. “I refuse to live like a fugitive.”
His jaw ticked once. “Most people don’t hide from cameras by driving to a seven-million-dollar beach house.”
“Most people don’t get stalked for existing,” I said, and that shut him up.
Tabitha’s car turned down a gravel lane framed by live oaks draped in Spanish moss. The sunlight flickered through branches like camera flashes. At the end of the drive stood the house—pale stucco, wide porches, glass everywhere. Money in architectural form.
“God,” I murmured, stepping out. “It’s like breathing wealth.”
Lucas scanned the perimeter before he shut his door. “It’s exposed.”
“It’s oceanfront,” I corrected, adjusting my sunglasses. “There’s a difference.”
He gave a humorless snort. “Not to a sniper.”
Tabitha met us on the steps, all coral lipstick and linen confidence. “There’s my favorite actress,” she trilled. “And you must be?—”
“Security,” Lucas said flatly.
“Wonderful,” she said, undeterred. “Come see the view.”
Inside, the air smelled like eucalyptus and new paint. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, bouncing off marble floors. The living space opened directly onto glass doors and a deck that framed the Atlantic like a painting. The ocean glittered beyond the dunes, calm and deceptively harmless.
“Imported marble from Carrara,” Tabitha said. “Hand-carved banisters. Smart-home security. Ultra-discreet listing. The owners moved to Monaco.”
“Of course, they did,” I said, under my breath.
I walked to the glass doors, pressing a palm against the cool surface. “It’s beautiful,” I said.
Lucas’s reflection hovered beside mine, darker, solid. “It’s a liability.”
“Everything’s a liability to you.”
He didn’t blink. “Everything is.”
I turned, letting the sunlight fall across my shoulders. “You can’t see the beauty for the breach points, can you?”
He gave a half-smile. “That’s why I’m still alive.”
Tabitha reappeared, gesturing down the hallway. “You have to see the primary suite. Ocean views on three sides. I’ll give you two a moment.”
She vanished again before I could correct her assumptions. Although, maybe I shouldn’t bother.
The bedroom was outrageous—white walls, gauzy drapes, a bed big enough for indecision. Through the glass doors, the ocean glittered under a sky so blue it hurt.
I walked to the window and unlatched it. A breeze swept in, carrying salt and something electric. “If this isn’t peace,” I said, “it’s close enough.”
Charleston had gotten under my skin in ways I hadn’t expected. Maybe it was the light—the way it turned everything gold and forgiving—or the rhythm of the tides, steady and patient, like the city had learned long ago not to rush what mattered.
Or maybe it was Lucas.
The shoot had been chaos so far, sure—scandal, exhaustion, the constant press of eyes—but somewhere between the bar fight, the rain, and the quiet moments that didn’t make it to camera, something had shifted. I’d started to imagine what it might feel like to have roots here. A place that wasn’t a rental, a set, or a hotel suite I’d have to leave before sunrise.
And if I was honest—though I wasn’t ready to say it out loud—I could picture him here, too. Not as protection detail or complication, but as something closer. More dangerous. More permanent. The image startled me, soft and terrifying all at once, so I folded it away before he could see it on my face.
