Page 66 of The Art of Ruin

She wasn’t inviting that interaction.

Which leaves me with a different problem.

He didn’t respect that.

My attention drops back to the file, scanning again, this time for patterns rather than facts, looking for the kind of details that don’t sit cleanly on paper but tend to surface when you know where to look.

There are gaps. Not large enough to raise immediate flags, but enough to suggest that what I’m seeing isn’t the full picture. In my experience, it rarely is.

I lean back and run my hands down my face, tiredness settling in at the edges of my brain. Christmas was hectic, and while I adore seeing my daughter’s face light up with the magic of it all, it’s a stark reminder that her mother will never get to share it with her.

Yet it wasn’t her presence I missed at our family dinner, which Matteo hosted at our old family home—it was Casey. She’d spent Christmas Day with her college friends Iris and Brianna, getting back late the following night.

Casey has become part of my inner circle because of Izzy, but she’s also my employee, and I need to protect her.

With that thought, I make a decision. I pick up my phone and make a call.

“I want a deeper look at Jasper Cole,” I say when it connects, my tone even but leaving no room for interpretation. “Not the public version. Everything.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, followed by Rossi’s immediate acknowledgment. “Of course.”

“And find out who he’s been speaking to recently,” I add. “Particularly in the last two weeks.”

“Understood. Any reason?”

“He’s harassing Casey and doing it in front of my daughter.”

Rossi sucks in a breath, already knowing how seriously I take my daughter’s safety, but he doesn’t realize this is as much about Casey as Letty now. And I sure as hell won’t be telling him. I can barely acknowledge it myself.

“I’ll handle it personally.”

I end the call and set the phone down, my gaze drifting back to the screen for a moment before I close the file entirely.

There’s nothing else I can extract from it right now.

The rest will come.

Letty’s bedroomlooks like a hostage negotiation that has gone wrong. I pause in the doorway for a second, taking in the open suitcase on the bed, the one I packed with her twice last night with deliberate efficiency, now completely undone. Clothes are spread across the comforter, some folded, most not, with a growing pile forming on the floor that suggests she’s decided to start again without a clear plan.

She’s in the middle of it, kneeling on the rug, her attention fixed on a selection of items she’s rearranging for what appears to be the third time.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Packing,” she replies, as if that should be obvious.

“That was already done.”

She glances at the suitcase, then back at what she’s holding, considering that information without accepting it. “I needed to check you packed my mermaid costume,” she says.

“You’ve unpacked everything. And what do you need a mermaid costume for? We’re going to the cabin.”

“I might need different things, just in case.”

“For what?”

“For the snow.”

“That’s what the original selection was for.”