Page 122 of Shadow

“What does this mean?”

“I don’t know,” Destiny whispered. “So many lies.” She lay down on the bed, pulled her knees up. “I just want it to be over.”

“I know.”

Daphne moved to the window. Pulled back the curtain slightly. Night pressed against the glass, stars scattered across the sky. The ranch was quiet below—just the sound of wind through pine trees and the creek rushing over rocks.

“Tell me everything,” Daphne said. “Everything you know about Draven. About Ralph. About who else might be involved.”

And Destiny did.

Told her about Ralph’s confession three years ago about his affair. About Draven’s arrival. About the growing fear as Draven became more dangerous. More uncontrollable. “Maybe I was wrong about Roger,” she said, her face wan. “Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

Daphne didn’t have an answer for that.

So Destiny continued. She told her about Ralph’s death. About her certainty that Draven had orchestrated it, even though she couldn’t prove it.

Told her about the decision to testify. About saving Roger by choosing his life over his freedom.

And Daphne listened. But one thing kept nagging at her. One question that didn’t have an answer.

“Destiny—who handles the finances now? After Ralph died? Who actually controls the money?”

“I don’t know.” Destiny’s voice was small. “I assumed Draven.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“No.”

Daphne filed that away. Something to investigate. Something that might explain why the syndicate was so desperate to eliminate witnesses.

Maybe Draven wasn’t the real threat. Maybe there was someone else. Someone who needed Roger and Destiny dead to protect their own position.

She needed to tell Asher. Needed to figure out what this meant for the case.

“Will you stay?” Destiny asked suddenly, voice breaking. “Just—for a little while? I don’t want to be alone. I’m afraid if I’m alone, I’ll fall apart completely.”

Daphne looked at her. Polished, poised Destiny, society widow who had learned to pass pies at a community potluck.

She didn’t deserve the trail of deceit in her family.

“Yes,” Daphne said. “I’ll stay. As long as you need.”

Destiny nodded. Lay back on the bed. Curled on her side. Pulled the blanket over herself.

Daphne settled into the chair by the window. Keeping watch. The clock on the nightstand glowed: 3:36 a.m. Hours until dawn.

Destiny’s breathing eventually evened out. And watching her—this woman who’d spent years protecting her son, who’d built her life around keeping Roger safe, who’d waited and hoped and sacrificed—Daphne saw her mother.

Saw the woman who’d waited at windows. Who’d trusted her husband to come home. Who’d built a life around someone she couldn’t control, someone who’d made dangerous, albeit heroic, choices.

Saw the woman who’d shattered when that trust had been broken.

And Daphne understood why she’d spent fifteen years building walls.

But sitting here, thinking about Asher down the hall and the kiss and his rough voice saying “I care about you more than anything”—Daphne faced the truth she’d been avoiding.

She was clearly in love with Asher Morrison.