Chapter 35 – Chrissy
Chapter
Thirty-Five
CHRISSY
The hollow ache in my chest had settled in like an old tenant, refusing to budge. It wasn’t sharp anymore. I hadn’t cried any fresh tears, no more dramatic sobs. All I had now was this gnawing worry that chewed at me every waking second, especially about Lucia.
I kept seeing her face in the kitchen during the Game: the tiny smile she gave me when she slid an extra roll onto my plate, the way she whispered ‘cara’ so softly I almost missed it, the quick squeeze of my hand when she thought I looked too tired.
She had been the only person in that whole place who made me feel seen without wanting anything in return, and now she was gone…
fucking vanished along with Ben and Henry.
The ransacked lodge kept replaying in my head: the basil jar shattered, green flecks on the floor, drawers hanging open like mouths screaming.
If her husband did that — if he came looking for her and found an empty house — then God knows what he would do next time he actually found her.
What happened? Are they all right?
Henry’s letter had been vague on purpose, I knew that.
Threats closing in. Lucia’s situation demanded immediate action.
But vague didn’t stop my mind from trying to fill in the blanks, and not liking how that puzzle looked when I did.
Was she safe? Had her husband found her?
Hurt her? The ransacked lodge flashed to the forefront of my mind again, drawers gutted, everything tossed around like someone had been in a blind rage, searching for something or someone.
If that was him… if he’d done that looking for her…
I grabbed my keys off the counter and locked my apartment door on Hospital Street, checking the deadbolt twice before forcing myself to stop.
The morning air was damp and cold with that wet Stonewood chill that sank straight through denim and into your bones.
As I slid into my car, the image of Lucia in her kitchen followed me — her hands dusted with flour, her voice low and warm as we chatted during the food shortage challenge.
The thought of someone ripping that safety away from her made my stomach knot as I pulled away from the curb.
I couldn’t shake it. I hadn’t slept much last night, just stared at the ceiling in my apartment, replaying every kind interaction Lucia had ever shown me, way beyond just calling me ‘cara’ under her breath when she thought no one was listening.
She didn’t deserve whatever hell her husband was putting her through. None of them did.
Suddenly, I thought about Ben’s letter again… those eight pages where he said he would make sure Vivian never touched me or Granny. If he could protect me from his own, personal evil stepmother, why couldn’t he protect Lucia from one violent man?
Or maybe he was trying right now. Maybe that was why the lodge was empty. The thought made my worrying worse instead of better.
Main Street came into view faster than I wanted it to. I barely remembered the drive, only flashes of stoplights and storefronts, my mind looping through the same questions on repeat.
Where the fuck are they? Is Lucia hiding, or running, or hurt?
I pictured the ransacked lodge again and shook my head. If her husband had done that looking for her…
I pressed my foot harder on the gas, like I could outrun the thought.
Unfortunately for me, work responsibilities waited for no one, even when your life felt like it was unraveling. The email notification from HR pinged as I pulled into the small parking lot behind the mediation office on Main Street.
Of course it did.
I sat there for a moment, engine idling, staring at the email confirming that my resignation letter had been received. I’d sent it late last night, after hours of drafting and deleting and drafting again. I sucked in a breath and climbed out of the car.
No more delays.
With the prize money in my account — every debt cleared, Granny’s care upgraded and paid ahead, my rent paid for the next six months — I didn’t need this job anymore.
I needed time. Time with her while she still remembered my name more often than not.
Time to sit with Granny and brush her hair and listen to her hum the hymns she’d forgotten the words to.
Time to figure out what the hell came next in a life that felt upended.
And maybe time to track down the people who’d vanished without a trace so I could get some answers.
What I hadn’t expected was how much the thought of quitting scared me, now that I was here and it was happening.
This job had been my life raft for so many years, my proof that I was stable and able to handle shit on my own because I knew my family wouldn’t help me, since we disagreed about nearly everything.
It had been my proof that I could hold things together when everything else in my life had a habit of splintering apart.
Letting it go felt right, but it also felt like jumping off a cliff when you couldn’t see the bottom, even though I had over seven-hundred-thousand dollars in the bank after paying off all of my debts and Granny’s, thanks to Ben.
I kept picturing Ben’s handwriting on that thick envelope, the way the ink had smudged in one spot like his hand had been shaking when he wrote ‘Yours, even if you’re not mine’.
I still hadn’t taken his mother’s ring off.
Every time I tried, my fingers froze. It felt like the only piece of him I had left.
As angry as I was with him, I didn’t want to let him go.
I grabbed my printed resignation letter from the passenger seat and headed inside.
Jason Wagner looked up the second I stepped into his office, his expression shifting to quiet understanding before I even said a word.
“This is the ‘I’m quitting’ face,” he said, not even a question.
I managed a small, tired smile.
“Yeah. It is.”
“Two weeks?” he asked gently.
I shook my head and handed him the letter.
“I don’t need them. I came into a windfall of sorts and Granny Irene is declining faster than the doctors hoped. I want every minute I can possibly get with her.”
He scanned the letter quickly, then leaned back in his chair. Something soft passed over his face — sympathy, and something else I couldn’t quite define.
“Then don’t waste a single one here. We’ll reassign your caseload today.”
“Thank you,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “Really.”
He nodded.
“Go take care of your family, Chrissy. You’ve earned it.”
The ease with which he said it nearly undid me. No interrogation. No skepticism. Just trust. I nodded quickly, afraid that if I spoke now, I’d betray how fragile I felt holding myself together.
“You good?” Jason cocked his head, his too-perceptive gray eyes studying me closely.
I forced myself to swallow the lump in my throat and spoke anyway.
“Yeah, but there’s one more thing before I go.”
He raised a brow.
“There’s a woman who might need help soon. Lucia. Her divorce… it’s bad. She’s scared, and her husband’s the kind who doesn’t take no for an answer. You’re the best at handling cases like this. Please… if she reaches out to you, take her on.”
His jaw tightened, the telltale sign he was already invested.
“Send her my direct line. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get steamrolled.”
Relief eased a fraction of the ache in my chest.
“Thank you.”
I didn’t tell him that I had no idea how to get in touch with her to get his number to her right now. I would have had to explain far too much, and I didn’t have it in me to have that conversation with Jason.
I left the office without looking back, coat pulled tight against the winter chill.
The decision to go to Ashgrove House didn’t hit me fully until I was back in my car.
I sat there for a moment with the engine running, hands resting uselessly in my lap.
This wasn’t part of any plan. It was instinct.
Worry. A refusal to sit still while people I cared about disappeared without explanation.
I pulled out of the lot before I could talk myself out of it.
Ben’s ancestral mansion loomed on its hill like something out of a gothic novel — a rambling navy-blue Victorian with tall white columns, white trim, white shutters, turrets, wraparound porches, wrought-iron gates, and pines crowding close around it like sentinels.
I’d only ever seen distant photos before.
Up close, it felt imposing and untouchable.
A man in a crisp, starched uniform opened the massive front door before I could even knock. He was in his mid-fifties and had a polished demeanor, with the kind of neutral expression that screamed of professional detachment.
“May I help you?” he asked, his voice clipped and cool.
“I’m looking for Ben Stonewood. Or Henry. Or anyone who can tell me what’s going on, honestly.”
He didn’t blink.
“Mr. Stonewood is not in residence at present.”
“But I know he’s not at the hunting lodge, either,” I pressed, stepping closer. “The place was ransacked and empty. I’m worried — about him, about Henry, and about Lucia. If they’re here—”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss Mr. Stonewood’s private affairs with members of the public,” he cut in smoothly, his tone icing over. “If Mr. Stonewood wished for you — whoever you are — to know his whereabouts or activities, I believe he would contact you himself.”
The words landed like a slap.
Something inside me fractured at that. I saw Ben’s handwriting in my mind, the way his letters crowded the page like he was afraid of running out of time. I felt the familiar weight of his mother’s ring on my finger, hidden beneath my glove but burning all the same.
Whoever you are.
As if I were just some random woman off the street, not the one who’d bandaged Ben’s hand four years ago. Not the one he’d built an entire twisted game around, just so he could have me.
My throat closed up.
“Please. Just tell me if they’re okay. If Lucia’s safe.”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.” His expression didn’t soften as he raked his gaze over me from head to toe. “Good day, miss.”
The door shut firmly in my face.
I stood there on the porch for a long moment, wind whipping through the pines, the hollow ache in my chest deepening into something rawer.
He was right, in a way. If Ben wanted me to know, he’d have found a way to bring me into the loop. But that didn’t stop the worry from clawing deeper, about Lucia most of all, but about him and Henry too.
I turned and walked back to my car, gravel crunching under my boots.
Fine.
They could hide behind gates and standoffish staff all they wanted.
I’d be back tomorrow. And the day after. And every goddamn day until someone else answered the damn door — or until I got answers about what the hell was going on. Or until I broke that fucking door down myself, if I had to.
I wasn’t done yet.
Not by a long shot.
I started the car but didn’t drive away immediately. I sat there staring at the mansion, at the dark windows that might be watching me back.
Three days until Christmas Eve. Three days until Vivian came home to claim everything.
If Ben didn’t marry someone by midnight on the 24th, she would win… and I was the only person he had ever said he wanted to marry. Even after everything. Even after I walked out.
The realization made my pulse stumble. If I was still that person — still the one choice he’d willingly make — then whatever happened next wasn’t just about inheritance or pride. It was about what would happen if the clock ran out before I got the chance to see him again.
The realization hit me like cold water down my spine. I wasn’t just worried about Lucia anymore. I was worried about Ben losing everything he had left if I couldn’t find him in time.