Page 122 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
Hutton calls around three.
"Sir. I have an update on Ms. Rivers."
I grip the phone tighter. "Go ahead."
"Her car arrived at her mother's apartment building approximately two hours ago. She went inside and hasn't emerged since. Our team is monitoring from a distance, as instructed."
I should feel relieved. She's doing exactly what she said she would—visiting her mother, not running. But relief doesn't come. Just more of the gnawing uncertainty that's been eating at me all day.
"And Mercer?"
A pause. "That's the other thing I wanted to report. Zach left the city about an hour ago. He's heading in the same general direction as Ms. Rivers."
Ice floods my veins. "He's following her?"
"We don't know for certain. It could be a coincidence—he has associates in that area. But given his interest in her..."
It's not coincidence. Zach knows Poppy left the estate. He's been watching, waiting for exactly this moment—the moment when she's vulnerable, away from my protection, emotionally devastated, and searching for answers.
"Where is he now?"
"About forty minutes from her mother's location. We're tracking his vehicle."
Forty minutes. That's nothing. By the time I could get there, he could already be at Linda's door, already poisoning Poppy further against me.
"Sir? Do you want us to intervene?"
I close my eyes, weighing my options.
If I send a team to intercept Zach, I'm breaking my promise. I'm following her, even if indirectly. I'm proving that her wishes don't matter when they conflict with my desires.
But if I do nothing and Zach reaches her...
"Monitor only," I say finally. "Don't engage unless he makes direct contact with Poppy. If he does, call me immediately."
"Understood, sir."
I end the call and stand at the window, staring out at the gardens where I watched her disappear just yesterday.
She asked me not to follow. She didn't ask me not to protect her.
There's a difference. I have to believe there's a difference.
***
The afternoon crawls by, each minute stretching into eternity.
I try to work—reviewing contracts, answering emails, the mundane business of running an empire. But my mind won't focus. Every few minutes, I check my phone, hoping for a message that doesn't come.
Around five, Benedict calls.
"Brother." His voice is smooth, amused. "I've been hearing the most interesting rumors about your little florist. Is it true she's fled the estate?"
"She's visiting her mother."
"Is that what we're calling it?" A soft laugh. "Word around town is that you've been having some... domestic troubles. That your pretty pet has learned things that upset her."
"Word around town should mind its own business."
