BLOODSTAINED SECRETS

Paty POV

“A woman trying to prevent a second attack that will land on your desk if you keep ignoring what’s right in front of you. And when it does? I will make sure every inch of that blood is traced back to the fingerprints you didn’t lift. The leads you didn’t follow. The bare minimum you couldn’t be bothered to do.”

Silence.

Then, finally:

“If something happens, tell her to call it in.”

That’s it. That’s his answer.

I don’t even say goodbye. I just hang up.

Hard.

The phone hits the desk with a bang and skids into my stapler. My rosé sloshes, and so help me, if it had spilled on my blouse, I’d be filing a second criminal report today.

“Fiddlesticks!” I hiss, grabbing the edge of the desk. “Fiddlesticks and flaming fudge rockets!”

Because what I want to say is too unladylike for my lipstick.

“Do we need shovels for bodies or martinis?” Sebastian is ready for anything. Always. No questions.

“Both.” I stare down at the desk, breath hitching. My hand is shaking from the adrenaline.

I blow out a sharp exhale through my nose and tap back to Mari’s line.

She picks up instantly. “Paty?”

“I’m here.” I soften my voice, smoothing the edges like a fraying hem. “Listen, honey, it’s Friday night. Courthouse is closed until Monday, which means the legal system is basically on vacation unless someone gets murdered.”

“Great,” she mumbles.

“I’m not saying that for drama—I’m saying it because I need you somewhere safe until I can do something more permanent.”

She goes quiet again.

“Can you get to a hotel?” I ask gently. “Something close by, maybe a place with cameras in the lobby. Somewhere with staff, lights, witnesses. Give me the weekend. I’ll be the first one through the courthouse doors Monday morning.”

“Mmm,” Sebastian mutters, going back to editing his Tics with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Tragic.”

There’s a long pause, then a rustle—she’s moving, I think.

“Yeah,” she says finally. “There’s a Holiday Inn off Canal. My mom used to stay there when she visited. I can go there tonight.”

“Good. That’s good.” I nod like she can hear it. “Book the room. I’ll work on drafting a protective order. I’ll file it the minute the clerk turns on the lights Monday.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. It’s fragile. Like everything inside her is one more scare away from breaking.

I try to smile, try to put warmth in my voice. “Go pack a bag. Something cozy. Grab that pink hoodie with the wine stain you pretend not to love.”

“Pink is your color, Paty.” There’s a little bit of that bite still in there.

“Pink is everyone’s color, if they are only brave enough to handle it.”

She laughs—a little. Barely. But it’s enough. I give her the information to send the charges to the DA’s office. Demand she order room service ice cream and text me when she gets in her room.

We hang up.

And just like that, the silence rushes in.

I stare at the phone for a moment longer, thumb hovering over the call screen like I might dial her back just to say something else. Anything else.

But there’s nothing left to say. Not that’ll make this okay.

Across the room, Sebastian doesn’t speak. He just clicks his phone shut and slides it aside, his expression softer than I’ve seen it all day.

He doesn’t try to fix it or deflect with sass—he just lets the quiet exist, lets me breathe through it without filling the air.

He walks over, sets my wine glass a little closer to me, and squeezes my shoulder.

Once. Firm. Solid.

I place my hand over his and lean my cheek on it.

She’s scared. She’s alone. But, she’s alive.

For now.

And the worst part?

I don’t know if that last part is going to stay true.

I shouldn't be this distracted behind the wheel.

But here I am—hands at ten and two, eyes on the road, thoughts three blocks behind and spiraling.

Mari hasn’t texted. Not since yesterday.

She made it to the hotel Friday night. Kept me posted yesterday. Today? Quiet.

I’m not sure if I should message her. Maybe a selfie with room service and a snarky caption like “five-star paranoia on a two-star budget.”

Something to let me know she’s okay.

But it’s been radio silence.

I check my phone at the red light—no calls. No texts.

“Oh, bananas. This isn’t good.”

Sebastian’s voice filters through the speakers like a glitter-scented breeze. “Still nothing from Mari?”

“Not a peep,” I murmur, drumming the wheel. “It’s been four days. She was scared. Now—just silent.”

“She could be resting. Regrouping with reality TV and waterproof eye masks,” he offers.

“Or she could be dead in a ditch, and I missed the signs,” I snap. Then sigh. “Sorry. Keep telling me about your date.”

“Uh-uh, Miss Ma’am,” he says. “Terrified clients outrank me guzzling two fabulous dicks last night. I’m here to listen and look fabulous.”

My car idles beside a man walking his dog, a fogged-up bodega, teens laughing on a stoop. Everything looks normal.

And yet it all feels off.

Like I’m watching a slow-motion car crash, just waiting for the sound.

“I just... the system failed her,” I whisper. “Just like it failed my mom.”

And me.

I don’t think about it often—what I am.

The product of an assault.

My sperm donor was charged, saw court and then walked free.

She was fifteen. He was twenty-one.

The DA said it was a misunderstanding.

Said she probably liked the attention an older man was giving her.

She was blamed. Accused, right alongside the man who violated her, beat her and then walked out free.

She smiled through it anyway. Built a life and raised me with more love than I deserved.

To be her sunshine on her rainy days.

But the cracks are still there. Quiet, deep and waiting.

Just like Mari 's.

“Oh, sweetheart...” Sebastian murmurs.