Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
Chrissy
I didn’t have work anymore.
Which meant I didn’t have any excuses left.
After another restless night of tossing and turning in a nightgown that smelled faintly of the lodge’s woodsmoke, I drove straight to Ashgrove House again, for the second day in a row, now.
My breath fogged the windshield in the cold morning air.
I was running on coffee, stubbornness, and that persistent gnaw of worry in my gut about Lucia.
The massive gates were closed this time, but I parked anyway and walked up the long drive, gravel crunching under my boots like brittle bones.
The same house manager opened the door before I could knock, his uniform impeccable, and his expression as polished and unyielding as the day before.
“Let me guess,” I said, voice flat from exhaustion. “He’s still not in residence, is he?”
A flicker of something — annoyance? discomfort? — crossed his face before it smoothed back to beige neutrality.
“No, ma’am. He is not.”
“It’s been two days now,” I pressed, hugging my arms around myself against the chill. “The hunting lodge was ransacked and empty. Do you at least know if they’re okay? More importantly, do you know if Lucia’s safe?”
His posture stiffened.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss Mr. Stonewood’s private matters — or those of his staff — with members of the public.”
There it was again, that damn dismissive phrase. Members of the public. Like I was some tabloid reporter or curious townie, not the woman Ben had obsessed over for years. Not the one who’d read his raw confession and left a note begging for a sign they were alive.
The words stung deeper today, cutting through the hollow that worry had carved in my chest.
If Ben wanted me to know anything — if he cared at all — he’d have left a way for me to get in touch with him. A number. A message. Something.
But he hadn’t.
He’d vanished the second I showed the slightest crack in my armor, like he couldn’t face the possibility of real forgiveness. Or like maybe he’d decided I wasn’t worth the risk anymore, since I told him to stay the fuck away from me forever.
I nodded once, sharp and final.
“Fine. Thank you.”
He didn’t stop me as I turned and walked away, frost crunching under my boots.
The wind cut sharper on the way back down the drive, whipping through the pines that crowded the property like they’d been planted to keep the world out.
I remembered Ben’s letter — how he’d described this place as a mausoleum after his father died, how he never came back here after the accident turned him into something the town whispered about as if he was a monster.
Granted, there were certain ways he’d proved to me he was perfectly capable of being exactly that, but… was that who he really was at his core? I couldn’t say for sure.
Ashgrove House loomed behind me, its turrets stabbing at the gray sky, its windows like dark eyes, watching my retreat. It looked exactly like the kind of fortress a scarred billionaire would hide behind… or run from.
I stopped halfway to my car, breath fogging, and stared up at it. If Ben was in there — if he’d come home without telling anyone — he was choosing to face every ghost he’d avoided for years. And he was choosing to do it alone. Maybe that butler was lying to me about Ben not being in residence.
Or maybe he really wasn’t in there at all. Maybe Vivian’s people had already moved in, preparing for her victory lap on Christmas Eve.
The thought twisted something cold in my gut, and the not knowing was driving me insane. I climbed into my car and slammed the door harder than necessary, hands shaking on the wheel.
Granny Irene was waiting. She was the only person who wouldn’t lie to my face or shut a door on me.
Bayview Hospice smelled like disinfectant, lavender lotion, and the faint sweetness of the poinsettias families brought for the holidays. The nurses smiled warmly as I signed in — they always did when residents had someone who showed up consistently.
Granny Irene was by the window again, blanket over her knees, watching birds flutter at the feeder outside. Her face lit up when she saw me, hazy recognition sharpening into joy.
“There’s my Chrissy-girl,” she said, voice thin but bright. “You’re early again.”
“No work anymore,” I said, pulling up a chair and taking her frail hand in mine. “Thought I’d steal the whole day this time.”
“That sounds perfect.” She squeezed my fingers with surprising strength. “You look worried, baby. More than tired.”
I leaned my head lightly on her shoulder, breathing in the familiar vanilla-and-lavender scent that always meant home.
“I am worried. About a friend — Lucia. She’s in trouble with her husband. Bad trouble. And the people who could help her… they’re just gone. No one knows where.”
Granny hummed softly, stroking my hair like she had when I was small and afraid of thunderstorms.
“The kind of trouble that makes folks disappear?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked a little. “And Ben — the man I told you about — he’s one of the ones missing. With only days left before his stepmother shows up and takes everything from him.”
She was quiet for a moment, thumb tracing circles on my knuckles.
“If he’s the man I think he might be, he’ll find his way to you before the clock runs out.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then maybe he wasn’t the one meant to be with you.” She tilted her head to meet my eyes. “But something tells me this one’s fighting battles you don’t even know about yet. Give it time, Chrissy-girl. But not too much.”
I swallowed hard.
“It doesn’t feel that simple.”
“Love never is,” she said simply. “But worry won’t bring them home any faster. Sit with me and let me tell you about the birds outside.”
I followed her gaze to the feeder. A pair of cardinals flitted back and forth, the male’s red feathers bright against the dull winter branches.
“That one’s James,” Granny said, pointing with a crooked finger. “He’s been coming every morning since summer. Thinks he owns the place.”
I smiled despite myself.
“And the female?”
“That’s Evelyn. She lets him think he’s in charge, but we both know better.”
She winked, the expression so familiar it punched the air from my lungs.
For a while, we just watched them in silence. I fed her small bites of the soft lunch the nurses brought: mashed potatoes and gravy, her favorite when she could still cook it herself. She chewed slowly, eyes distant, then bright again.
“My Joe disappeared on me once,” she said suddenly, voice soft.
“Went off to Korea thinking he was protecting me by not saying goodbye to me properly. Came back missing half his left arm and all of his laugh for a long time.” She squeezed my hand.
“Don’t let your man make the same mistake, Chrissy-girl.
If he’s fighting something big, he needs to know you’re still in his corner. ”
I hadn’t thought about Grandpa Joe’s war injury in a long time, but Granny mentioning it made my throat tight.
I swallowed hard, tears pricking.
“He lied to me, Granny, in the worst possible ways.”
She hummed, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead like I was eight again.
“People lie when they’re scared they’ll lose what matters most. Doesn’t make it right. Just makes it human.”
I helped her with her afternoon meds, adjusted the faded quilt I’d brought her last Christmas, and brushed her hair until it gleamed silver in the weak light.
When she dozed off mid-hum of some old hymn she couldn’t remember the words to anymore, I tucked the blanket higher under her chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering because these lucid days were slipping away faster than I could count.
All the while, my worry gnawed deeper. Lucia was in danger. Ben and Henry were off the grid, and I had no idea when they were coming back. The ransacked lodge loomed in my mind like a violent question mark, and Vivian’s deadline ticked ever closer. Christmas Eve was just two days away, now.
When I finally kissed Granny goodbye and drove home as dusk fell, I whispered it into the empty car like a plea:
“Where the hell are you, Ben? We’re running out of time.”
The words echoed in the empty car, swallowed by the hum of the engine and the slap of wipers against light drizzle.
I was scared — bone-deep scared — that Lucia was hurt somewhere, hiding from a man who’d finally snapped.
Scared that Ben and Henry had handled it in a way that couldn’t be undone.
Scared that Ben had read my note at the lodge, seen how worried I was, and still chosen silence because he’d decided I was better off without him.
Most of all, I was scared that by Christmas Eve, Vivian would win, and the man who’d written eight pages of raw truth would lose the only home he had left.
Ben
December 22, 7:30 PM
When I woke the next day to the realization that I’d slept on Henry’s couch for more than twenty hours straight, I pushed to my feet, biting back a groan as my side flared. The room tilted for a second. Henry’s hand shot out, steadying me with a grip like iron.
“Take it slow, son,” he said. “You took a knife to the ribs, and then some asshole donkey-kicked you in said wound and busted it open, forcing me to stitch you up for the second time in the space of a week.”
“I noticed,” I grunted. “Helps me remember I’m still alive. Why the fuck did you let me sleep for so long when you know we’re running out of time on the marriage clause?”
Henry shot me a stern look.
“You’re exhausted and wounded, and you needed it, ticking clock or not. Try not to undo my stitching on the way out the door, okay?”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue as he disappeared into the kitchen. The old me would’ve ripped the bandages off and stormed out to the car out of sheer spite. The current me — self-destructive, yes, but not completely idiotic — moved with care, doing my best not to strain the stitches.
Henry was in the kitchen when I shuffled in behind him, brewing coffee that smelled strong enough to strip paint. Lucia sat at the small table, her arm bandaged and her face pale, but she was awake. Her dark eyes met mine, soft with something that looked a lot like gratitude.
“Tesoro,” she murmured, reaching out a trembling hand. I took it carefully. “Grazie. For coming. For… everything.”
I squeezed gently.
“You’re family.”
Henry cleared his throat, sliding a mug toward me. When Lucia excused herself to rest, he pulled me aside in the hallway.
“She’s staying here,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Permanently. I’m done waiting for the world to stop trying to take her from me.”
The admission hung between us, decades of quiet longing finally spoken aloud. I clapped a hand on his shoulder, the closest we ever got to overt affection.
“Good,” I said. “She deserves that. You both do.”
He nodded once, eyes suspiciously bright.
“Now go get your own family fixed, kid, preferably before the clock runs out.”
Outside, the air was knife-cold. My breath puffed white in front of me as I slid behind the wheel of the black SUV and sat there for a second, hands on the steering wheel, forehead resting against the cold leather for a long moment while I caught my breath.
Chrissy had left. Lucia was safe. Vivian was coming. I twisted the key in the ignition and pointed the car toward the lodge, the engine growling like something feral in the dark.