Chapter 35
Olivia
Iwrenched open Count Montego’s heavy front door and stepped into the howling storm. The wind lashed against my face, icy rain slicing through the night, stinging my skin. My hair whipped wildly as I squinted into the whiteout, desperately searching for any trace of Roman.
The trees around me looked like cowering beasts, their skeletal branches bowing under the relentless fury of the blizzard.
“Olivia!”
Emily’s shrill voice cut through my despair.
“Get inside at once!”
She seized my hand, yanking me back through the doorway before slamming it shut against the storm’s violent howl.
“You’ll catch a chill, and then what? Falling ill won’t bring them back any faster.”
I exhaled shakily, my chest tight. “I’m just so scared. It’s been nearly a month. They said they’d be back in two or three weeks.”
I rubbed my aching jaw, the dull throb a cruel reminder of sleepless nights spent clenching my teeth, overcome with worry, and the past week had been a nightmare.
My mind churned through worst-case scenarios—Roman, Malik, and Marcellious lying in a pool of their own blood, swords impaling their bodies, their faces frozen in agony.
During the long, hollow hours of the night, my thoughts spiraled into darkness, refusing to be reasoned with. I prayed that they had made it safely up the hill and were delayed, but no matter how I tried to convince myself, I couldn’t shake the images of them broken, defeated, and alone.
Then morning would come, and the first rays of dawn would cut through the curtains, dragging me back to the real world. But the fear never left me.
Emily squeezed my hand. “I know, sister mine. I’m scared, too. But we mustn’t put ourselves in harm’s way because we are distressed. Come with me.”
Count Montego’s Wales estate was less a manor and more a fortress.
The sprawling house loomed over the storm-swept landscape, its stone walls standing like a sentinel against the howling winds.
Towering wrought-iron gates enclosed the grounds—an impenetrable barrier, strong enough to withstand even the most determined army.
And yet, despite its formidable defenses, I couldn’t shake the feeling that nowhere was truly safe. Not while they were still out there.
The estate itself was a labyrinthine masterpiece of gray stone and thick timbers, crowned with four towers, each capped with turrets bearing fluttering pennants. From the outside, it looked like it had been pulled from the pages of a fantasy tale, but inside, it was no less magical.
Each room was cavernous, vast, and steeped in old-world grandeur. More than once, I had found myself lost while wandering its endless corridors, passing beneath towering archways and through hidden alcoves that whispered of centuries past.
Emily led me to a room known simply as Noir—an opulent sanctuary amid the storm.
A high, elaborately carved tray ceiling loomed above us, stark white against the rich fleur-de-lis wallpaper in shades of gold.
Ornate ebony archways framed each doorway, and the grand fireplace, where flames crackled, cast golden light over the room.
The furniture was as regal as the space itself—high-backed chairs and a gilded sofa, their ebony frames draped in sumptuous gold floral velvet.
Floor-to-ceiling arched windows lined the far wall, dressed in thick velvet curtains patterned in deep, curling blooms. The plush wool rug beneath our feet, soft and intricate, bloomed with blush and deep blue hues, muffling our steps as we crossed the room.
The entire space felt like something out of a fairy tale—warm, grand, and timeless.
“Sit,” Emily commanded, pointing to the sofa.
I obeyed.
She settled beside me, turning to face me, her fingers wrapping tightly around mine.
“I can’t just wait here anymore, Emily,” I blurted, gripping her hands like a lifeline. “I need to start searching for them. I have to do something.”
Her expression darkened. “Absolutely not. Have you looked outside?”
The blizzard howled against the windowpanes, ice pelting the glass in relentless bursts. The wind screeched around the eaves, rattling the house with its fury.
“Of course, I see it. I was just out there in that blasted storm, remember?”
Emily rolled her eyes before lightly knocking the side of my head with her knuckles. “I only asked because you’ve lost your good sense.”
She fixed me with a reproving glare; lips pressed into a thin line, then suddenly winced, her hand flying to her abdomen.
An alarm surged through me. “What is it? What’s happening?”
Emily held up a finger, sucking in a breath as she panted.
Then, her voice came strained, breathless.
“Contractions.”
“Do you think the baby is coming?”
“No!” Emily waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine. I keep having contractions, but they’re small and far apart—days apart.”
Relief settled in my chest. “Oh. Those are Braxton-Hicks. It’s your body prepping for the birth.”
Emily huffed a weak laugh. “More like an ominous warning. They hurt.” She shifted, pressing a hand to her stomach before shaking her head. “But back to your concerns… Talk to Count Montego. I saw him heading upstairs a few minutes ago. Maybe he can help.”
I exhaled, staring up at the tray ceiling. Count Montego had tremendous resources. If anyone could provide answers or assistance, it was him.
Before I could respond, Rosie wandered into the room, her tiny frame swathed in a long-sleeved, ankle-length gown. She twisted back and forth on her feet, pouting.
“Will somebody play with me? I’m bored.”
Emily smiled and pushed herself to her feet. “Of course, Rosie. Let’s find one of your wooden puzzles and put it together. Olivia has to find Count Montego.”
Rosie perked up. “He’s upstairs. I heard him in his room.”
“Then that’s where I’ll go.” I ruffled Rosie’s curls as I passed, tapping her nose lightly.
I ascended the grand staircase, a marvel of craftsmanship like the rest of the estate.
Carved entirely from stone, the railing was adorned with intricate archways, each interspersed with slender columns.
Small panels of sculpted human heads and hands lined the sides, eerie yet mesmerizing in their detail.
Beneath my feet, a red, blue, and gold wool runner muffled my steps, its design intricate and regal.
At the top, I strode down the dimly lit hallway toward Count Montego’s bedroom. The door stood wide open.
Empty.
Frowning, I continued toward his study.
I hesitated at the gilded doorknob, then turned it, pushing the heavy door open.
Count Montego let out a loud grunt as he thrust between the legs of one of his maids.
I froze. Oh, god. My hand flew to my mouth.
The maid let out a startled squeal.
“Don’t move, dear,” Count Montego murmured to her, still balls deep inside.
His long-sleeved shirt clung to his torso, but he wore no breeches, leaving me with an up-close and personal view of his very bare, very rounded ass. The muscles in his legs and backside belied his age—taut, toned, disturbingly youthful.
“What can I help you with, Olivia?” he said—as if we weren’t in the most ungodly situation imaginable.
Heat flooded my face. I whirled toward the door. “I’m so sorry! It can wait!”
“Don’t be sorry. My fault—I should have locked the door,” he grunted, entirely unfazed, clearly intent on keeping the momentum of his… tryst.
The maid let out a soft moan.
Kill me.
“No, no, I should have knocked! My apologies!” I stammered, my entire body screaming at me to run, yet my feet remained rooted to the damn carpet.
“No apologies needed,” he groaned, very much occupied. “We’ll be through in a moment, and I’ll come find you.”
A strangled sound escaped me. “Sure thing! Okay then! I’ll be downstairs!”
With that stellar exit, I bolted, nearly tripping as I fled the hall.
At the corridor’s end, I caught sight of yet another carved panel depicting nude figures in highly suggestive positions. It hit me then—those carvings were everywhere in this estate.
That should have been a clue.
By the time I reached Noir, my pulse was still racing. “Where’s Rosie?” I blurted, desperate to erase the last two minutes from existence.
Emily sat on the sofa, staring out the window at the unforgiving snowstorm. “She just left to help the cook in the kitchen. She’s such a curious child, always eager to learn.” She frowned. “What’s the matter? You look as pale as a ghost.”
I flopped down next to her. “Oh, God, Emily. I just found Count Montego in his study, screwing one of his maids!”
Emily gasped. “You’re kidding!”
“I wish I were. I’ll never unsee what I saw. I mean, I knew he had sex sometimes—he was at Costa’s sex party—but knowing it and seeing it are two separate things.” I fisted my eyes as if that could erase the memory.
“He’s a good-looking man,” Emily said.
I met her gaze.
“But he’s so old,” we both said simultaneously.
“They both seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.”
Emily made a face.
Heavy footsteps approached, and I turned just in time to see Count Montego stride into the room, now immaculately dressed once more, as if nothing had happened.
“I’m so sorry, Olivia. I should have locked the door,” he apologized, settling into the armchair across from us.
I waved my hands frantically. “No, no, no! I shouldn’t have barged in. It’s all my fault. Let’s… forget this ever happened.”
Please, let’s move on.
His hands clasped together as he leaned slightly forward. “Entirely my fault, Olivia. It shan’t happen again.”
His smile, however, lacked any real remorse.
I exhaled. “Fine. Apology accepted.”
He studied me, amused, as if enjoying my discomfort, but I refused to satisfy him.
I straightened. “I am concerned about the three men out there somewhere—our two husbands and Malik.”
Emily nodded, worry creasing her brow. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about them too.”
Montego stroked his jaw with those long, elegant fingers, his expression thoughtful.
I tried very hard not to picture where those hands had just been.