Chapter 20
20
Cecely
I don’t know what sets me into motion, but suddenly, I’m running.
“Wait! Please, wait! I need your help!”
The men stop, albeit reluctantly, their bodies tense, as if they’re already half a step from bolting.
I gulp in a shaky breath, words tumbling out. “That woman—Agnes—she just stabbed Claudius in the neck with something. I—I don’t know if he’s okay.”
The taller man exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “We were warned about him, you know.” His tone is grim. “Told he was difficult. That if he didn’t like what he found today that we might not walk away.”
Their words hit me like a cold slap.
“What?” I demand, my stomach twisting. “Who said that?”
The shorter man shakes his head quickly, glancing back toward the gravesite as if expecting to Claudius to coming after them.
“If he’s knocked out, I say we run while we can.”
Panic spikes through me.
“You can’t.” My voice is urgent, my heart hammering. “There’s no way we can carry him by ourselves.”
The taller one mutters a curse, his hands balling into fists before finally throwing them up in surrender. “Fine. We’ll help.” Then his eyes darken. “But after that? We’re getting the hell off this island.”
“That’s fine. Hurry! I don’t want her doing anything else to him.”
The men exchange a few low, uneasy murmurs between themselves, but they follow me back toward Agnes and Claudius.
Agnes greets them as if she isn’t the reason Claudius is lying unconscious in the dirt. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she says smoothly.
The taller one nods. “No problem, ma’am.”
No hesitation. No challenge. Like they know better than to question her.
They crouch down, gripping Claudius by his arms and legs, groaning under his solid weight. He doesn’t stir. Not when they lift him. Not even when they start moving.
My stomach knots.
“What did you give him?” I ask, my voice low, sharp.
Agnes doesn’t even look at me. “Something to help him rest. Mr. Irons never rests enough.”
I grab her arm, yanking her to a stop. “Why did you do it?”
She exhales, as if I’m trying her patience. “You saw him. He wasn’t going to stop until he hurt himself. Or worse.”
I hold her gaze, my fingers tightening on her arm. “You knew Gabriel wasn’t in that casket.”
It’s not a question. It’s an accusation.
Something flickers across her face. A crack in the unshakable mask.
Then, in a quiet voice, she admits, “I knew that what Mr. Irons would find would destroy him.”
She shakes off my grip, stepping away with a sense of finality, then quickens her pace to catch up to the men.
I stand there, pulse pounding, watching her. Because the worst part is that I think she might be right.
My mind races as I follow them back to the house.
Does this mean Gabriel is alive? That’s the only thing that makes sense, right? But Claudius was so sure there would be a body in the casket. And yet… there was nothing.
A shudder works through me.
Where did the body go? And how long has it been missing?
The questions claw at me, but I push them aside as we step inside the house.
Agnes takes control, directing the men to carry Claudius up the stairs to his room. I follow closely, my pulse pounding, my mind still tangled in a loop of uncertainty.
I’ve never been to this part of the house before, not that it means much. I’ve only seen four rooms, tops.
But this wing?
It feels different.
Darker. Colder.
The walls seem to swallow the light, the air carrying a weight that settles heavy in my chest.
Agnes pushes open a door—one that looks similar to mine—before stepping aside so the men can enter. I trail after them, my gaze sweeping the space as they lay Claudius on the massive bed.
The first thing that strikes me is the bed itself.
A solid oak frame, thick and imposing, its red velvet canopy and curtains draped like something out of the 1500s. The rich fabric sways slightly as the men step back, their job done.
Everything in the room matches. Dark wood, deep reds, heavy furniture that feels ancient, weighted with history. It’s not just a bedroom. It’s a statement. A relic. A throne. And somehow, it suits him.
Agnes folds her hands neatly in front of her, her voice smooth, composed. “Thank you, gentlemen. You will be compensated for your time. The helicopter will arrive soon to take you home.”
The men murmur their thanks, clearly eager to be anywhere but here. They don’t linger, their footsteps fading quickly down the hall.
The moment they’re gone, Agnes turns to me.
“You may return to your room.”
I don’t move. “I don’t think so.”
One perfectly arched eyebrow lifts. “Are we going to have a problem?”
I meet her stare, refusing to back down.
“No, but you will when Claudius wakes up and realizes what you did to him.” I cross my arms, my stance firm. “I’m not leaving his side until he’s awake.”
A slow, knowing smile tugs at her lips.
“Dearie,” she says softly, almost pitying. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with. But I suppose you’ll find out soon enough.”
She doesn’t wait for a response. She simply turns and pulls the door shut behind her. A quiet click echoes through the room.
I exhale slowly, the weight of her words settling over me like a storm cloud. What the hell did she mean by that? And more importantly… What exactly am I about to find out?
Needing to move, to do something, I decide to explore his room.
A set of tall doors catches my eye, leading out to a balcony. I push them open, stepping outside, and immediately exhale as the cool air brushes against my skin. The sky is streaked with deep purples and soft oranges, the last remnants of daylight fading into the horizon. I can’t believe it’s nearly dusk.
The day has flown by, but not in a good way. It hasn’t been a blur of routine or forgettable moments. No, it’s disappeared beneath the weight of all the strange, unsettling things happening around this estate. With a last glance at the darkening sky, I step back inside.
My eyes flick to Claudius, still unmoving on the massive bed, his breathing steady.
I hesitate, then drift toward one of the closed doors. I push it open and step inside his closet. The air is thick with his scent, woodsy, clean, undeniably masculine with a hint of the cigars he likes to smoke. It wraps around me, and for reasons I can’t explain, my stomach tightens.
The door next to it opens into another closet to find it’s empty. The space is untouched, as if it’s been waiting for someone. As if it’s meant for a spouse. That realization sends a strange, lingering chill through me.
Shaking it off, I try another door and step into his bathroom.
Holy. Cow.
Marble floors. A massive glass shower. A tub big enough to practically swim in. The lighting is soft, golden, casting an almost ethereal glow over everything. It makes my bathroom look like a damn shack.
I let out a breath, shaking my head.
Who is Claudius Irons, really?
Because the more I see, the more I realize I know nothing about this man.
One last door leads to a private office. His scent lingers here, too, deep and unmistakable, but it’s woven with something else. The faint smell of firewood and ash, as if a fire once burned here often but hasn’t in a while.
I step further inside, my eyes drifting over the space. It’s minimal. Cold. No framed photos. No personal touches. Not even a calendar. Just a large desk with a sleek laptop resting on top.
Curious, I trail my fingers over the smooth wood, half-expecting to find something that might reveal more about him. But when I try the drawers, they slide open with ease…
Empty.
Every single one.
A strange unease creeps up my spine.
It doesn’t just feel organized. It feels erased.
Like whatever once lived in this room has been carefully, deliberately removed.
I leave the office, stepping back into the bedroom, where Claudius still lies unmoving, his breaths deep and steady.
A new dilemma arises.
Where the hell am I supposed to sleep?
The obvious choice is to make a pallet on the floor, but just imagining it makes my back ache. The hardwood gleams under the dim light. Beautiful but unforgiving.
I glance at the massive bed.
And then at Claudius.
Well… shit.
Of course, the logical choice would be to climb into that massive bed. The thought sends a rush of heat pooling low in my stomach. It’s just sleep. Nothing more. Before I can overthink it, I kick off my shoes and move toward the bed, rounding to the empty side.
The damn thing is so tall that I actually have to pull myself up, gripping the edge and pushing onto the impossibly soft mattress. What is this? A California King? It feels bigger than that. Like royalty slept here centuries ago, and no one ever bothered to downsize.
The space is so vast that even with Claudius unconscious beside me, it doesn’t even feel like I’m sharing a bed.
Which is good. More importantly, it’s safe.
Letting out a slow breath, I close my eyes, allowing the exhaustion of the day to wash over me.
Sleep comes instantly. And this time, I don’t fight it.
I don’t know what wakes me, but I jerk, my heart pounding as my mind scrambles to place where the hell I am.
The room is dark, silent. Except for the sound that comes next.
A low moan.
Not one of pain.
One of pleasure.
And then?—
“Cecely. Fuck.”
My breath catches.
Oh my god. Is he?—?
The next sound that fills the air confirms it. A deep, ragged exhale, the faint rustle of fabric, the unmistakable rhythm of movement.
Oh. My. God.
Heat rushes to my face, and suddenly, the massive bed doesn’t feel big enough. Hell, with all these layers of fluffy bedding, he probably doesn’t even know I’m right here. But I know. And now, I can’t un-hear it.
“Claudius, I’m in here.”
Silence. Then, the soft click of a lamp switching on. The warm glow spills over him, illuminating the sharp angles of his face and— ohhh .
His pants are undone.
But mercifully, the blankets keep me from seeing too much.
His gaze locks onto me, dark and unreadable. “What in the fuck are you doing in my bed?”
I push myself up, my pulse hammering. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
A slow smile tugs at his lips, but it’s not kind. It’s dark, knowing, laced with something dangerous.
“Oh really.” His voice is pure silk, deep and laced with amusement. “You wanted to keep me company, is that it?”
I swallow, aware of every inch of space—or lack thereof—between us. “Something like that.”
His smile widens, lazy but predatory, his head tilting slightly as if considering his next move.
“Then why don’t you be a good girl and come over here.”
I moisten my lips, suddenly hyperaware of how closely he’s watching me. Every move. Every breath. It feels like no matter what I say, it’ll be a trap.
I force myself to speak. “Why?”
Claudius doesn’t hesitate. His gaze drags over me, slow, deliberate.
Then, in that smooth, devastating voice, he says, “Because I want you to.”
Oh. My.
I should get the hell out of here.
I should go back to my room, pretend this moment never happened.
I should tell him no and shut this down before it even starts.
But you know what? Pregnancy hormones are no joke. For the past week, my body has been on fire, restless, needy. And now, here he is offering me exactly what I want. No hesitation. No games. Just waiting. Watching. Wanting.
My breath shudders out of me as I make my decision.
Slowly, deliberately, I crawl across the bed toward him. The closer I get, the heavier the air between us feels, thick with something dangerous. Something electric.
Claudius doesn’t move as I crawl toward him, but his eyes track my every movement.
By the time I reach him, the heat in my stomach has spread everywhere.
I stop just inches away, unsure if I want him to pull me the rest of the way or push me back.
He does neither.
Instead, his fingers ghost over my arm, barely a touch, but enough to send a ripple of awareness across my skin.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel and silk, low and full of something I can’t name.
A shiver works through me, but I don’t back away.
And when his fingers slip beneath my chin, tipping my face up, I don’t fight it.
I should.
I should say something, do something to stop this before it goes too far. But then his thumb drags along my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing me. Like he’s daring me.
“Tell me no,” he challenges. “And I’ll stop.”
I part my lips, pulse hammering.
The word no is right there. I should say it.
But I do something much, much worse.
I lean in, just enough so that my breath brushes against his.
Claudius doesn’t move. He just watches.
His fingers remain beneath my chin, his thumb still resting lightly against my bottom lip, as if he’s daring me to close the last bit of space between us.
I do.
The moment my lips graze his, he moves.
A low, satisfied sound rumbles from his chest as he closes the distance completely, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair.
His lips are demanding, like he’s been waiting for this since the last time we kissed. My heart slams against my ribs, my body melting into his touch as he deepens the kiss, his other hand finding my waist and pulling me fully onto his lap.
The heat between us is instant, consuming, but what sets my pulse racing isn’t just the way he kisses me?—
It’s the way he controls it.
Slow, purposeful, like he’s taking his time unraveling me. Like he wants me to feel every single second of this. I clutch his shoulders, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, torn between wanting more and completely losing myself.
His mouth trails from my lips to my jaw, to the sensitive skin just below my ear, where he whispers, “You should’ve said no, Cecely.”
A shiver runs through me. Because the worst part? I don’t regret it. Not even a little.
His words linger in the space between us, sinking into my skin like an undeniable truth. I should have said no. But I didn’t. And now I’m here, on his lap, his hands gripping my waist like he owns me.
A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips as his fingers trace lazy, deliberate patterns over the small of my back, sending shivers through me.
“No regrets, Cecely?” His voice is low, edged with amusement, but there’s something darker beneath it. Something hungry.
I open my mouth to answer, but the only sound that escapes is a sharp gasp as he shifts beneath me, his hands tightening, pulling me closer.
Oh. My. God.
A flush spreads down my neck, my body betraying me, responding to him faster than my mind can keep up.
His lips brush against my jaw, my throat, his breath warm, teasing, every touch calculated. I tilt my head back slightly, giving him silent permission and he takes it, his mouth trailing lower, his grip firm and unwavering. Everything about him is controlled, like he’s savoring every second.
But me? I feel like I’m unraveling.
A small, satisfied growl rumbles in his chest.
“You have no idea what you’ve started.” His voice is thicker now, rougher, filled with something dangerously close to need.
I swallow hard, my fingers still gripping his shirt, my body buzzing with anticipation. And as his lips claim mine again, I know I’m past the point of stopping.
I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s kissing me again. This time, it’s different. More than just a tease. More than just control. There’s hunger behind it now, like something inside him snapped. Like he’s done waiting. His hands grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. And oh my god.
There’s no mistaking what he wants now.
Heat floods through me, my body betraying me completely, because instead of pulling away I move closer, rocking against him until I feel a spark in my core.
A rough groan rumbles from his chest. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Cecely.”
His voice is ragged, his breath hot against my skin, but his grip on me stays firm, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
The worst part?
I don’t care.
I tell him, “Who’s playing games?”
I shift slightly, pressing against him just enough to pull a reaction from him, and I feel the way his body tenses. His fingers dig into my waist, tight, possessive, before he flips me onto my back.
The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp, but before I can react, he’s already above me, between my legs, his weight pressing me into the mattress.
The bed feels massive, yet somehow, it feels like there’s no space left between us.
His hand trails down my side, slow and deliberate, teasing, torturing.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my neck.
I gasp as his fingers graze bare skin, every touch setting me on fire.
“Then show me,” I whisper back, my voice unrecognizable.
His head snaps up, and for the first time tonight, I see something unguarded in his eyes. Something raw. Something dark. Then his lips crash into mine, and I stop thinking altogether.
I shudder as his teeth graze my skin, not quite biting, but just enough to make me gasp.
“You started this,” I manage to whisper, pulling him closer.
He chuckles. It’s a deep, wicked sound that sends a pulse of heat straight through me.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he rasps, “I was never the one in control.”
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my shorts, trailing fire in their wake, teasing, testing, making my breath catch in my throat. He’s in no rush. He’s savoring this, like he’s memorizing every reaction, every shiver, every soft sound that escapes me.
I clutch at his shoulders, feeling his strength beneath my fingers, the tension in his body as controlled as ever, but barely.
Like he’s one breath away from losing that control entirely.
“Claudius—” I don’t know if I’m about to beg him to keep going or to stop before I completely lose myself.
But he takes that decision out of my hands.
His lips claim mine again, hard and consuming, his grip tightening at my waist as he pulls me fully against him.
My head spins, every part of me locked in the feeling of his hands, his mouth, his heat. We kiss until we become frantic.
Nipping his earlobe, I say, “I want you to finish what you were doing when I woke up.”
“You want to watch me jerk off?”
I snort. “No. I want you to finish getting off…inside me.”
His lips curl into a wicked smirk. “Anything the lady desires.”
With practiced ease, he tugs down my shorts and panties, his hands sure, unhurried, like he's letting the anticipation build just to watch me squirm. He doesn’t even bother taking off his pants. No, he’s too focused. Too intent.
His hands find my thighs, spreading me open beneath him, and then— oh .
The moment he pushes inside, a sharp gasp escapes me.
Because this? This is different. Different from anything before. Different from Gabriel. And I know, in that instant, that I’m completely, utterly fucked.
His hands tighten at my waist, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot, teasing.
“Stay here. With me,” he murmurs as he moves, each slow, deliberate thrust searing something deep inside me.
His words settle over me, heavy, unexpected.
Not just a demand. A request. A claim.
And the most dangerous part?
I think I want to.
And so I do.
I let him take me, ruin me, consume me…until nothing else exists. Until all I can feel is him.
He moves with purpose, with possession, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as I have.
We lose ourselves in each other, over and over, until the only sounds in the room are our ragged breaths, whispered curses, and broken moans.
Until we both find release.
And then he does it again.
And again.
Until the sun creeps through the heavy curtains, casting soft golden light across the red velvet canopy.
Until my body is aching, boneless, satisfied in a way I didn’t know was possible.
Until I can’t tell where he starts and I end.
Until he’s all I can think about.
We stay wrapped in each other for days.
Somehow, food appears, left silently at the door, like some unspoken understanding exists between us and whoever lurks beyond these walls.
I don’t question it. I don’t question anything. Because right now, nothing else matters.
Not the casket.
Not the mystery.
Not even Gabriel.
Not the man trying to kill my sperm donor.
The only thing I focus on is Claudius and the way he makes me feel like I belong to him. Like I always have.