Chapter 19
RILEY
The silence in this house is loud.
It’s been four days since Vaughn dragged me here. Four days of staring at the same four walls, reading the same books, and eating meals with a man who destroyed my life while simultaneously making the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.
I’m sitting in the living room, the deck of cards Vaughn got for me spread out on the table. I’m playing Solitaire, but my mind isn't on the cards. It’s on the documents I saw on his laptop. The signatures. The dates. The cold, hard facts that suggest my father is a criminal.
Vaughn is in the kitchen. I hear him moving, the clink of glassware, the low hum of a melody he’s whistling. It’s a domestic sound that shouldn't exist in a kidnapping scenario.
I can’t take it anymore.
I stand up, the chair screeching against the tiles, and walk into the kitchen. Vaughn is standing at the counter, his back to me. He’s changed into a dark T-shirt that stretches across his shoulders.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask.
He doesn't turn around. "I told you why, Riley. Revenge isn't a complicated concept."
"No, I mean this." I gesture to the room, the food, the cards. "You could have locked me in a basement. You could have chained me to a radiator. Instead, you're teaching me how to dice onions and getting me card games. You’re acting like... like we’re a couple on a very weird vacation."
Vaughn turns around slowly. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. His gaze is intense, stripping away my layers until I feel like that thirteen-year-old girl again, standing alone in a pink bedroom.
"Is that what you think this is?" he asks softly.
"I don't know what to think! You're a ghost, Vaughn. You have no footprints, no past other than a tragedy you use as a shield. You married me to get to my father, but you look at me like..."
"Like what?"
He takes a step toward me. I should back away. My brain is screaming at me to run to my room and lock the door. But my feet are glued to the floor.
"Like you actually see me," I whisper. "Not the heiress. Not the IT expert. Just me."
Vaughn reaches out. His hand hesitates for a fraction of a second before his fingers brush against my jaw. His skin is warm, a sharp contrast to the air-conditioned chill of the house.
"I see you, Riley," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "That’s the problem. I wasn't supposed to see you."
He closes the distance. His other hand finds the small of my back, pulling me against him. I can feel the heat of his body, the steady thrum of his heart against my chest.
"This is a mistake," I mumble against his lips.
"The biggest one yet," he agrees.
And then he kisses me.
It’s not like the elevator in Vegas—that was fueled by tequila and rebellion. This is different. It’s desperate and honest. It tastes like the four days of tension we’ve been building, like the fear of what comes next and the relief of finally giving in.
My hands find his hair, pulling him closer. I want to disappear into him. I want to forget the documents, the desert, and the fact that we’re enemies.
Vaughn groans, a low sound in his throat, and lifts me onto the counter. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively. His hands are everywhere—on my thighs, my waist, my face—as if he’s trying to memorize the texture of my skin.
He pulls back for a breath, his forehead resting against mine. His eyes are dark, clouded with something that looks suspiciously like hunger.
"Riley," he pants. "If we do this... there’s no going back."
"Good," I say, reaching for the hem of his shirt. "I hated where I was anyway."
He carries me to his bedroom. This time, the door doesn't just close; it locks out the rest of the world. In the shadows of the room, with the desert wind howling outside, we stop being a kidnapper and a hostage.
We just become two people who found the only thing that’s real in a life full of lies.