Rebirth: Love me Again

[EVE]

Meanwhile, Damien was pacing a few feet away, murmuring into his phone like he was organizing an assassination.

Every few seconds, he'd glance—no, glare—at Victor like he was already planning how to fit him into a duffel bag.

Father wasn't helping either. He stood beside Damien, whispering things in his ear like a mob boss giving instructions to his favorite hitman. And judging from the way both of them kept stealing glances at Victor, I was pretty sure they weren't planning a welcome party.

Nope. Definitely not a party.

Now I was totally convinced they were plotting something. Against Victor. My poor, innocent, butler, Victor who couldn't even kill a spider without moral conflict.

Suddenly, I was scared for his life. Like legit scared. I started eyeing the exits, wondering how fast I could smuggle Victor out if things went south.

But Victor, being Victor, just smiled at them like he had no idea his life was hanging by a thread held together by my rapidly deteriorating sanity.

He even waved. Waved.

God help him.

"Boys. Boys," my mother finally stepped in, her voice soft, graceful—like the calm before a very stylish storm.

I was grateful she did. She was the only reason this household hadn't been burned down in a testosterone-fueled explosion of overprotectiveness and bruised egos. If anyone could rein in her chaotic sons and my equally stoic-dramatic father, it was her.

But then she said something that made me pause.

"I only just got Eve back after so many years of searching and longing," she said with a sweet smile that could've made flowers bloom—or wither in fear, depending on the angle. "So if you don't mind, I'd like a moment alone with my daughter. As you can see . . ." She gestured toward me with elegant flair, "she's doing plenty fine."

The room dropped a few degrees.

Her tone was light, but there was a glacial undertone beneath it—a possessiveness that made every man in the room sit up a little straighter and reassess their life choices.

Even Victor, who'd planted himself like a very moody houseplant, stopped mid-email draft and blinked. Sinclair visibly recalculated his flight schedule. And Sebastian just wagged his tail once and wisely sat down.

Good boy.

There was something in the way she said "my daughter" that sent a very clear message: Touch her and I will rearrange your internal organs in alphabetical order.

She beamed at me, radiant and terrifying, and I realized—out of all the colorful characters in this house, my mother might be the most dangerous of them all.

And that, my friends, is saying something in a household where one man brings scalpels to emotional conversations.

"Anyway, I had my things already moved here," Victor said.

Sinclair sighed the deepest sigh known to mankind. "You had these delivered where exactly?"

"Here," Victor said like it was obvious. "To Eve's room. It has the best lighting."

My jaw dropped. "You were planning a hostile office takeover?!"

He didn't answer. Just took a sip of his coffee like nothing was wrong.

Sinclair pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned to me with a very tired, please help me expression. "He's not staying. Victor, get your things."

"I'm not a child."

Sinclair grabbed his ear.

Victor yelped. "I am already a grown man! Stop pulling—!"

"You're going back to New York if I have to carry you there," Sinclair growled as he half-dragged, half-guided Victor toward the car.

Victor, despite being a whole grown man, clung to the nearest doorframe like he was about to be exiled. "Eve, don't let him take me! You have rights! Tell him I have rights!"

I was laughing so hard I nearly dropped my tea.

"You'll survive, Victor!" I called after him. "Besides, didn't you say the office plants needed watering?"

"They can die without me!" he shouted dramatically as Sinclair finally shoved him inside the car. "Let them feel my absence!"

And just like that, my overly attached work family was gone, leaving a suspiciously quiet house behind.

But the dents in the hallway from Victor's chair delivery attempt? Yeah, those would probably stay forever.

Which reminded me . . .

I still hadn't heard anything about Dave and Helen and their children, Dutch and Haley.

No one told me a single thing about what happened to them, and trust me, I asked. Multiple times. But every time I brought it up, my brothers gave me the same vague response.

"They've been taken care of."

What did that even mean? "Taken care of" like a problem at work? Or "taken care of" like . . . mob-movie style?

The way Dean had said it—so calm, so emotionless—it sent shivers down my spine. The kind of shivers you get when you're home alone and hear a door creak.

He wouldn't elaborate. None of them would. Even my most talkative brother, Dean, suddenly developed a selective case of amnesia every time I brought it up.

And that, more than anything, gave me goosebumps.

Not that I wanted details. Okay, maybe a little. But part of me also didn't want to know. Because if they had done something—permanent—I wasn't sure I was ready to carry that truth, even if part of me cheered at the thought of those people finally getting what they deserved.

Still, one thing was certain: I wasn't the same girl I was four months ago.

Frizkiel had changed me. My family had changed me. The love I had been smothered with (often literally) had reshaped how I saw the world.

And now, with businesses pulling me back to New York, with responsibilities waiting and people depending on me . . . I knew the vacation part of this journey was over.

It was time to return. Not as the old Eve who was unsure and drifting and in love.

But as the new Eve—stronger, loved, and no longer alone and needed a man to make her whole.

I was ready to go back to New York, take care of some things then return to Frizkiel to be with my family but things . . . weren't really went according to plan.