Chapter 6 Killian
I didn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt her—
I ran the shower hot and stood under the spray until it burned, but it didn't help. Nothing washed her away. My hand moved down my chest. I was already hard. I gripped it. Stroked once.
Then stopped.
What the hell am I doing?
I dropped my hand, braced it against the tile, and hung my head. I stood there until the water ran cold—until my body stopped demanding what I couldn't give it.
She wasn't mine. She was a girl locked in an attic, and I was supposed to marry her sister. If I couldn't keep my hands off her in my own head, I had no business being near her in real life.
I shut the water off, threw on jeans and a shirt, and headed out to find Cartier. Seeing the attic stairs stopped me cold. I could feel her pull. I wanted to kick that door in. I wanted to know if she was the "crazy" girl they described or something else entirely.
Someone calculating.
I was already leaning toward the latter.
Last night, I told her my name was Killian. Seconds later, she called me Mr. Hart. I never gave her that. She knew who I was before she asked. Everything about that encounter had been staged. Her sneaking into my room had a purpose.
I took a step toward the attic stairs. Then stopped.
Don't be a fool.
I turned and found Cartier in the guest house. His laptop was open, wires everywhere, and half-empty coffee cups scattered like evidence.
"You look like hell, Boss," he rumbled without looking up.
"Thank you." I leaned against the doorframe. "You said you ran a background check on these people."
"I did. Came up squeaky clean."
"Run it again. Go deeper. There's something off."
Cartier finally looked up.
"The girl in the attic," I said. "She isn't sick. And she's damn sure not mute. She's playing a part, Cartier. A good one. I think she's very smart. Calculated."
"So you talked to her."
"I did."
"What she look like?"
I didn't answer fast enough. His grin widened.
"That good, huh?"
"She is—" I stopped myself. "That's not the point."
"She has to be something serious if she got you poking holes in an arrangement you didn't even care about."
My jaw tightened. "I'm trying to figure out her angle. She wants something."
Cartier tilted his head. "You know this is a bad idea, right?"
"I know."
"And you're doing it anyway?"
I didn't answer.
"Killian? Are you in there?" Olivia's voice carried from the driveway.
I went out to meet her. She was waiting in a lemon-yellow sundress. Her face lit up when she saw me.
"We're heading to the club for lunch," she said, sliding her arm through mine. "I want you to meet some friends."
I accepted the invitation and took the chauffeured ride. I wanted to see who she really was and if I was misjudging her.
At the club, her friends were different than I expected. Calmer. More genuine. Harper, Daniel, Lila—they'd all come to her book signing and bonded over her poetry. They spoke about her work like it had touched something real in them.
Olivia smiled through it all, but something was off. Her responses were rehearsed. She changed the subject fast whenever the conversation strayed toward her work.
Then the waitress came.
"I'll have the citrus salad," Olivia said without looking at her. "And make sure the dressing is on the side this time. Last time it was too much."
The waitress nodded.
"And sparkling water. Not room temperature. Get it right if you want your little tip."
Your little tip.
I watched her face. She didn't blink. Didn't seem to realize she'd just spoken to another human being like she was dirt. Her friends exchanged a quick, uncomfortable glance. They'd noticed, too. Olivia turned back to the table, smiling like nothing had happened.
That was when I knew. Not just that she was fake. Not just that she was rude. But that she couldn't have written those poems.
The woman in the attic—the one who whispered about melancholy hearts and water that spoke to her—most likely had.
"So, Daniel," Olivia said, her hand sliding onto my thigh under the table, "tell me and my fiancé more about that waterfront property."
I shifted my leg, letting her hand fall away. Her smile tightened. Across the table, Daniel started talking.