Chapter 97

Brandon's POV

"I'm not worried or anything," her voice came through, attempting to sound casual, but I caught the underlying tension. "Just thought you should know someone's been trailing me. No clue what they're after with these photos!"

"Hmm," I responded, keeping my tone neutral while my mind ran through possibilities. The timing was too perfect to be coincidental.

Right on cue, my email pinged. I opened the message to find several photographs—Summer and Alexander outside Manhattan General. The angles were deliberately chosen to suggest an intimacy that didn't exist, a carefully orchestrated setup.

"Are you heading home now?" I asked.

"No." Summer sighed. "I'm just out wandering around. Don't worry about this now. We can talk when you're home."

I allowed myself a small smile at her consideration. "Not necessary. I'm not busy." I signaled James to wait with his documents as I finished the call. These little moments of normalcy with Summer were becoming increasingly precious.

After instructing James to send those photographs to Victoria—a decision made with calculated precision—I headed home.

The Hamptons estate was quiet except for the sound of the shower. On the nightstand, Summer’s phone lit up. Alexander Stark. My eyes narrowed. The persistence of the calls was telling.

The shower stopped, and Summer emerged, wrapped in a towel, her skin still glowing and damp from the heat. She froze when she saw me, her lips parting in a soft gasp.

"What's going on?" she asked, eyes dropping to the phone in my hand.

I extended it toward her. Her face hardened immediately upon seeing the name. She declined the call without hesitation, and when it rang again, she blocked the number entirely. "There. Problem solved."

She turned to face me, searching my expression. "I thought you might be annoyed."

"Why would I be?" I asked simply. Alexander was a non-entity, a ghost of a past she had clearly moved beyond.

I retrieved a fresh towel. "Come here. You'll catch cold with your hair wet."

She perched on the edge of the bed, her body still humming with the lingering adrenaline of her irritation. As I began to dry her hair, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The air grew heavy, charged with a sudden, electric heat. My hands strayed from the towel, grazing the warmth of her shoulders.

Summer leaned back against me, a soft sigh escaping her. "You're so... chill about everything. I wonder what it would actually take to get you worked up."

Instead of answering, I turned her around. The look in her eyes was no longer about the frustration of the phone calls; it was a silent invitation, a deep, mutual hunger that had been building between us for months. I pulled her closer, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that was no longer gentle. It was a claim—passionate, desperate, and absolute.