Hired By My Rich Highland Husband

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

T he flagstone floor chilled Rowan’s bare feet as she padded into Dunmarach’s kitchen. Max’s white shirt shifted around her thighs, still holding traces of his cologne. Her legs threatened to give out. No wonder.

Who knew that being married meant having so much sex? It was as if their bodies connected in a way that they couldn’t fully understand yet.

And this new life fit her better each day.

Three weeks ago, she’d needed a map to find the kitchen. Now she navigated these halls in the middle of the night by muscle memory, knowing which floorboards creaked.

She reached for a glass. The pipes grumbled as she filled it at the sink like the castle itself was commenting on her late-night wandering. ‘Next thing you know, you’ll be embroidering his initials on handkerchiefs.’

Moonlight spilled through the tall windows across the worktops. Her reflection in the window caught her eye – hair mussed, lips swollen from Max’s kisses.

The truth crackled beneath her skin like electricity. She’d gone and done the one thing she’d sworn to avoid. The one thing she hadn’t even thought was possible. Because it made zero sense.

She’d fallen for Maxwell Drummond. Hard and fast.

For Moody MacDarcy, with his suits and scars and elegant hands. The way he touched her like she might shatter, then held her together when she did. The quiet strength in his arms when he’d carried her upstairs earlier, refusing to let her walk on legs that were useless beneath her.

‘You’ve fallen in love with your husband. Bit backwards, but when have you ever done anything the normal way?’

Husband.

The word felt not awkward anymore.

Her phone lay forgotten by the fruit bowl, its screen dark.

‘Some plan that turned out to be.’ She picked up the phone, smiling. ‘Marry the grumpy heir, write the story, keep it professional, move on. A1 execution there.’

The phone’s screen blazed to life, its blue glow harsh in the moonlit kitchen. Seventeen missed calls. Nine texts. Three voicemails.

What the…?

Rowan’s fingers went numb as she scrolled through the messages, each one more pressing than the one before. The words spun into a kaleidoscope of nightmares: Fall. Stairs. Blood. Hospital. Come now.

‘No, no, no.’ The glass wobbled in her grip, water splashed across her feet. The cold barely registered.

Her gran had wandered downstairs at some point before midnight. Confused and partially undressed. Found face-down at the bottom of the care home stairs, trousers tangled around her ankles. Head trauma. Currently unconscious at The Queen Elizabeth in Glasgow.

The kitchen reeled out of focus. Rowan grabbed the counter, her wedding ring clicking against marble. She’d been here in the Highlands, playing house and tossing around in expensive sheets while her wee gran lay bleeding on institutional linoleum.

‘Fuck. FUCK!’ The word echoed off ancient stones, splintering in the silence. ‘I should’ve been there. I should’ve—‘

But she’d been here instead, pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

Would never be.

Her breaths shrunk with every second. The moonlight seemed to strobe and the muscles in her legs seized, balance teetering on the edge.

Her mother’s last message glowed accusingly:

MAW (2:01) Where are you??? Are you ok??

‘Living in a fake fairy tale while she’s dying. God.’ Rowan’s voice frayed as she darted out of the kitchen.

The word ‘dying’ hit her like a physical blow. Memories flooded in. Her gran teaching her to make Scottish macaroons with mashed tatties, singing off-key to the radio. She could still picture her gran’s hands sewing her torn school blazer. ‘Ye’re ma wee fighter,’ she’d said with a wink, the needle flashing in the lamplight. ‘Never let any wanker grind ye doon.’

And now her gran was lying in hospital and Rowan hadn’t been there to accompany her.

‘Please,’ she prayed to whatever goddess might be listening. ‘Please. Please don’t take her. Not like this. Not yet. Not yet…’

Adrenaline kicked in. She needed clothes. Her bag. A quick way back to Glasgow.

Why did I marry the only Highland millionaire without a helicopter?

Rowan bolted for the stairs. She took the steps two at a time, her breath coming in frantic gasps that sounded like sobs.

She barrelled into the bedroom and fumbled for the light switch. The bedside lamp cast harsh shadows across the rumpled sheets where Max lay sleeping, his dark hair tousled against white cotton.

‘Max! Wake up. Please wake up! Please!’

He jerked upright, one hand rising to shield his eyes. ‘Rowan? What… What’s wrong?’

‘Gran fell.’ The words tumbled out. ‘Head trauma. She’s in hospital, and I wasn’t—’ Her hands fumbled with a jumper, dropping it twice. ‘I was here playing princess while she was—’

She yanked open drawers at random, searching for clothes. ‘I need to go. Now.’

Max sat up. ‘Calm down. Tell me what happened.’

‘I can’t calm down!’ Rowan stood by the bed, struggling to get dressed as the room around her warped. ‘She’s hurt and unconscious, and I wasn’t there and—’ Her hands shook as she tried to button her jeans. ‘Shit!’

‘Stop.’ He caught her wrist. ‘Take a breath.’

She wrenched away. ‘Don’t tell me to breathe! My gran’s dying, and I’ve been too busy shagging you to even check my bloody phone! Oh God…’

‘She’s not dying.’ His tone was annoyingly metered. ‘You’re panicking. Catastrophising.’

‘Catastrophising?’ Rowan whipped around. ‘She cracked her skull on care home stairs! While I was here letting you fuck me!’

‘Let me help you calm down, look at it logically.’ He swung his legs over the bed’s edge.

‘No!’ She spun away. ‘I don’t need logic, we need to get to Glasgow. Right now!’

‘I’ll have Oliver bring the car around so he can take you.’ Max reached for his phone. ‘At three in the morning, the Maybach will be faster and safer than a taxi. That could take hours – if they would even send one out here.’

‘What do you mean, he can take me ? What about you?’ she asked.

‘I have to stay,’ he said, typing out a text like this was just another problem to be managed, not her entire world cracking in half.

She didn’t need a plan. She didn’t need his driver.

She needed him.

‘That’s your solution? Send the help?’ Her laugh cracked. ‘You’re going to send me off with your chauffeur?’

Max’s thumbs paused over the screen. ‘Would you prefer to drive yourself? It’s the middle of the night and these roads—’

‘I’d prefer my husband to come with me! But that would require actual emotional investment, wouldn’t it? And that’s not in your portfolio.’

‘Rowan.’ His voice held a warning note. ‘I have an important online meeting first thing tomorrow that can’t be postponed. It’s an informal hearing and involves sensitive documents that I can’t carry around in public, so I need to be here. Missing this meeting would only fuel the trustee’s doubts. Blackwood and the trust—’

‘Oh, fuck the trust!’ She yanked a jumper over her head. ‘My gran is dying, and you’re worried about meetings? There are things more important than stupid meetings.’

‘I’m not a doctor. There’s nothing I can do in Glasgow except sit in a waiting room. And she’s not dying.’

‘I know you have a god complex, but you’re not God, and you don’t know she isn’t! But hey, at least the trust won’t be inconvenienced.’

He frowned. ‘You’re being unfair and irrational.’

‘Unfair? Irrational?’ She spun to face him head-on. ‘You’re dismissing my emotions. That’s fucking insulting.’

‘This situation isn’t my fault.’ Max rose to his full height, raking a hand through his hair. ‘But I’m handling it.’

‘Handling it is not the same as showing up!’ She forced her feet into her boots, not bothering with the laces. ‘But I forgot, you don’t do messy emotions, do you?’

‘I told you, you can’t fix me. You know who I am.’ His voice darkened. ‘Don’t pretend otherwise.’

‘Aye. My mistake for believing there was more.’

He glared down at her. For a second, just one second, she saw it. Not indifference, but fear. The kind that looked like coldness because he didn’t know what else to do with it.

And if she weren’t already drowning, maybe she’d have the strength to carry his fear, too. But not right now. Not when everything was splitting open, and he was just…standing there.

‘What do you want from me?’ he asked. ‘I’m arranging transport, ensuring you have everything you need—’

‘I want you to care! I want you to come with me!’ The words exploded from her chest. ‘God forbid you truly show up for someone.’

He was right.

This was who he was.

Silence fell between them like cooling embers and soot. Max’s face turned to stone. That perfect mask slid back into place.

‘You’re upset. We’ll discuss this when you’re calmer and the situation has cleared.’

‘No. We won’t. Because I won’t be here.’

‘The contract stipulates—’

‘Screw your contract! My gran might be dying, and you’re quoting legal documents at me?’ She zipped her bag with force. ‘What are you going to do? Sue me? Have me arrested for breach of contract? Go ahead, I dare you.’

He reached for a t-shirt, pulled it over his head, and straightened it. By the time the fabric settled over his skin, so did his expression. Impassive. Untouchable.

When he finally spoke, his tone was clipped. ‘Three days. That’s how long you have before you breach the contract.’

Rowan’s chest closed up. An hour ago, he’d kissed her there, everywhere. Now he spoke of legal terms.

She grabbed her bag with numb fingers. ‘Thanks for clarifying where we stand.’

‘Rowan…’

The syllables held more than her name. A plea or an order, she couldn’t tell. Something unfinished.

She shouldered past him, vision all blurry. ‘Message received. Loud and clear.’

‘Where are you going in Glasgow, which hospital?’

‘Queen Elizabeth.’ Her hand closed around the doorknob. ‘To be with my actual family.’

‘And after?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ll breach your precious contract. Maybe I’ll come back. Maybe I’ll tell the world how Maxwell Drummond bought himself a wife and couldn’t even pretend to love her.’

‘That’s enough.’ His tone turned caustic. ‘You’re lashing out because you’re upset. But don’t say things you can’t take back.’

She turned, locking eyes with him one last time. ‘You know the worst part, Max? For a minute – for one stupid minute – I let myself believe you might feel something for me. That this had become something real.’

She didn’t wait for his response. It didn’t matter. It never had.

The door closed behind her with a click that punched through her chest.

She ran down the corridor. Dunmarach’s shadows reached for her, but she was done playing princess in this fairy tale gone wrong. Time to return to the real world, where grandmothers fell down stairs and love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between fantasy and reality.

Did he come after her? Of course he didn’t.

Behind her, Max’s silence spoke volumes in a language she no longer wanted to understand. The old beams creaked as the castle settled.

Or maybe that was the sound of her heart breaking.