Chapter 15
BLAIR
Iwake up sore in the best way, with every muscle humming with the memory of him.
The sheets are tangled at the foot of the bed, and the atmosphere in the room feels heavy with the scent of sex.
There’s a deep, needy ache between my thighs that makes me press them together just to feel it again.
My skin feels marked, the phantom sensation of his mouth on my breasts and tongue between my legs lingers, even though I never fully saw his face.
The sleep mask is folded neatly on the nightstand, as if he placed it there with care after I passed out from exhaustion and pleasure.
He’s gone. But this time, something inside me has shifted. The emptiness in the room no longer feels like absence; instead, it feels like a challenge. And I think I’m done waiting. Done playing this game of shadows and half-truths.
I need to see him. I need to talk to him. I need to know who this man is who has completely upended my life.
I dress quickly in a soft sweater and leggings, my hands shaking slightly with nerves and determination.
The house is quiet as I move downstairs, every creak of the floorboards making my pulse jump.
I start in the kitchen, then move through the living room, checking doors and closets, even peering behind furniture like a fool.
It’s a dance I’ve done before. One I feel more determined to solve than ever, this time.
But again, there’s nothing. No sign of him.
Frustration spikes through me, making me feel on edge and unsettled.
My legs move of their own accord, and I end up in the library.
Somehow it feels comforting in here. More welcoming and familiar.
The room is dim and cool, and I browse the shelves for a while, trailing my fingers along the spines, trying to calm my racing thoughts and hoping for an answer.
What am I even doing? Chasing a man who hides behind a mask? A man who very clearly owns this house and has been watching me for who knows how long?
I pull a book from the shelf and sink into the large leather couch by the window, pulling my knees up to my chest. The ocean crashes outside, steady and indifferent, and I have to fight the urge to close my eyes, trying to think of what I’d even say if I ever find him.
Who are you? Why me? What do you want from me?
Time slips away, and I don’t mean to fall asleep, but the exhaustion from the night before pulls me under. When I stir again, the light in the room has changed, slanting lower through the tall windows. My neck is stiff. I blink, disoriented, and start to sit up.
And that’s when I hear it…a soft click behind one of the bookshelves.
I freeze.
A section of the wall, which now I can see looks like a false panel disguised among the shelves, swings open silently. A tall figure steps out from the hidden space beyond. He has broad shoulders and is wearing dark clothing and, of course, the mask.
It’s him.
He doesn’t see me at first. He’s turning to close the panel when his gaze sweeps across the room and lands on me curled on the couch, wide-eyed and staring like I’ve seen a ghost.
For a long, suspended moment, neither of us moves.
Then I stand up slowly, my heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
And suddenly, something about the size of him, the presence of the man, all clicks into place.
The meetings my father held at our mansion, the ones he’d use me as bait, floating around the edges, eavesdropping on conversations.
Even with the mask, I think I know this man. He was at those meetings, never for long, and always looking intensely brooding and dangerous. I’m almost certain it’s Nash Everett.
“You,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I know who you are.”
He goes completely still. The mask hides his expression, but I see the way his shoulders tense, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.
I take a step forward, refusing to back down. “I know this is your house. I know it’s you…watching me….touching me while I sleep…fucking me. I know who you are…my father’s old partner. The one he betrayed.”
He doesn’t speak. He just stands there, masked and silent, like a shadow given form.
I lift my chin, even though my legs are shaking. “So say something. Stop hiding behind that mask and talk to me. Tell me why you’re doing this. Tell me what you want from me.”
The air between us feels electric, charged with everything we’ve done in the dark and everything we’ve never said in the light. He takes one slow step toward me, then another, until he’s close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
His voice, when it finally comes, is low and rough behind the black mask. “You shouldn’t be in here, Blair.”
But he doesn’t tell me to leave.