Chapter 4 A Crack In The Wall

Over the next three weeks, their routine solidified. Morning runs where Stacy pushed herself harder, trying to impress Isaiah even though she told herself she didn't care what he thought. Self-defense training where she slowly, painfully, began to improve. Isaiah was always patient, always professional, always maintaining that careful distance.

But Stacy noticed things. The way Isaiah's jaw clenched when other men looked at her too long. How he always positioned himself between her and potential threats, so naturally she doubted he even thought about it. The way his eyes softened slightly when she made a self-deprecating joke, as if he wanted to argue but held back.

She also noticed that she'd stopped trying to ditch him. Stopped complaining about the runs. Started looking forward to their training sessions, even when they left her sore and exhausted.

She was getting attached, and that terrified her.

Stacy still spent her free time digging into her mother's death, but carefully now. She'd learned Isaiah reported her activities to her father, so she was subtle. Late-night internet searches. Quiet questions to her mother's old friends. Piecing together a puzzle she didn't fully understand yet.

But she was getting closer. She could feel it.

Isaiah, meanwhile, maintained his routine with military precision. After their morning training, he'd give her space to shower and eat breakfast in peace, though she knew he was always nearby, monitoring the security feeds from his room. He'd eat his own meals quickly, efficiently, like it was just another mission objective.

He joined her for lunch when she ate at home, sitting at the opposite end of the table, always watching the doors and windows. He accompanied her to meetings, shopping trips, and dinners with other rich people who tried to be her friends, a silent shadow that her friends had stopped commenting on.

"Your bodyguard is so hot," one of the girls Melissa had whispered last week over cocktails. "Does he ever smile?"

"Not that I've seen," Stacy had replied, trying to ignore the possessive flutter in her chest.

Now, as Stacy finished her shower after a particularly brutal training session-Isaiah had introduced grappling today, which meant a lot of close contact that left her flustered-she heard her phone ring.

It was her father.

"Stacy, I need you to come to my office," David said without preamble.

"When?"

"Now. Bring Isaiah."

Twenty minutes later, Stacy and Isaiah sat across from her father in his downtown office. David looked tired, stressed, but also... excited?

"The Thompson Foundation Gala is in three days," David said.

Stacy's heart jumped. The gala was the biggest event of the year, a massive fundraiser her mother had started fifteen years ago. Stacy hadn't been allowed to attend since her mother's death, her father deeming it too public, too risky.

"I know," Stacy said carefully. "What about it?"

"You're going." David looked at Isaiah. "With full security, of course. Isaiah will be with you the entire time."

"You're letting me go?" Stacy couldn't keep the hope out of her voice.

"I've been thinking about what you said. About living in fear, about hiding." Her father's expression softened slightly. "Your mother would hate seeing you locked away. And with Isaiah there, I trust you'll be safe."

Stacy felt tears prick her eyes. This was the first time in six months her father had acknowledged that maybe, just maybe, his over protectiveness was hurting her too.

"Thank you," she whispered while staring at her father

David nodded, then turned to Isaiah. "I'll send you the full security plan. I want your assessment by tomorrow."

"Understood, sir." Isaiah's expression remained neutral, but Stacy saw his hand tighten slightly on the armrest. He wasn't necessarily happy about this.

After they left her father's office, Stacy practically bounced to the car. "I can't believe I'm finally going! I need a dress, and shoes, and-"

"We need to talk about security protocols," Isaiah interrupted.

"Can't we talk about them later? I'm excited!"

"Stacy." Isaiah stopped walking, and his serious tone made her pause. "A public event like this, with hundreds of people, many of whom we can't vet in advance... it's a security nightmare."

"So you don't think I should go?"

"I didn't say that." He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I think you should go. I think your father's right that you need to start living again. But I need you to be smart about this. Stay close to me. Don't wander off. If I tell you to move, you move immediately. No questions, no arguments."

"I can do that," Stacy said quietly.

Isaiah searched her face, those blue eyes intense. "Can you? Because this isn't like our morning training sessions. If there's a real threat, every second counts."

"I trust you," Stacy said, and realized she meant it completely.

Something shifted in Isaiah's expression, a crack in his professional armor. He paused slightly before he responded "Okay," he said softly. "Okay. Then let's make sure you're ready." Stacy nodded and Isaiah seemed to look out the wind as if scanning out the car as usual.

As they drove home, Stacy couldn't shake the feeling that the gala was going to change everything. She just didn't know if that change would be for better or worse.