Third—my fingers paused. There. The wood didn’t sit flush with the frame. It was a fraction off. Barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for.
I moved my hand along the seam, pressing until the other side gave some. Luke shifted behind me.
“What did you find?”
“Not sure yet.”
The false bottom lifted just enough for me to hook my fingers under it. I felt along the bottom until I brushed up against paper. I pulled it out. It was a notebook. Black and worn at the edges.
My pulse kicked harder. I set the panel back in place before turning.
Luke had moved in behind me, close enough that heat radiated off him, his attention locked on the notebook in my hands.
I flipped it open. The first page wasn’t notes. It was a letter. Handwritten and addressed to my mom.
Adriana, my love,
There’s more at play than I’ve been able to explain. More than I wanted you involved in. But that’s no longer an option.
You’re in this now whether I like it or not, and I won’t leave you unprotected while I handle the rest. I’ll fill you in soon. Everything. No more half-truths.
In the meantime, I’ve put together a few safeguards. It’s far from everything—but it’s enough.
If you need it—take this to them. Don’t wait.
Luke leaned in slightly, reading over my shoulder. I felt the shift in him before I heard it.
A slow burn started in my chest. My grip on the notebook tightened.
Was it all a lie? Or a promise he never got the chance to keep.
Luke’s hand came to rest lightly against my lower back. Grounding. Or steadying himself. Hard to tell.
My eyes tracked the final line.
And no matter what happens: trust no one tied to King.
The world tipped. My throat closed so hard I couldn’t speak.
Luke’s body went still beside me, instantly alert. His hand shifted—barely—like his body wanted to pull me behind him, to prove he’d stand between me and anything, even ink on a page.
“What the hell does that mean?” he asked, voice low, controlled to the point of breaking.
“It means,” I answered evenly, “my mom knew enough to hide this. And Darren knew enough to warn her about your family.”
Luke’s jaw tightened, muscle ticking. His gaze flicked to the dresser, then back to me, calculating, dismantling, rebuilding all at once.
The name King echoed in my skull. Luke’s family. Luke’s father. Their world.
I turned my face toward Luke, searching for a crack, for defensiveness, for the cold certainty that he would choose blood over me. I found none. Banked rage rolled through his eyes—restraint built from discipline.
My instincts screamed run. But my hand stayed where it was, trembling against my thigh. I was done letting fear steer me. I’d lost Luke once. I wasn’t losing him to a dead man’s warning without a fight.
“I’m here,” Luke murmured.
I swallowed hard. “That line?—”
“I saw it,” he replied.