Shadows of Deceit (When Shadows Break #2)

Prologue

HARPER

Ijust needed to fake it.

This was my life now, and I’d become an expert at faking it every single day. For the past three months, I’d been whispering lies to myself, convincing myself it wasn’t real, all while smiling through the cracks as my life quietly splintered.

I stood on the snow-dusted deck, breath rising in pale clouds, staring at Anna and Jaxon's front door.

My gloved hand hovered inches from the weathered wood, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Warm golden light spilled through the frosted windowpanes, painting glowing rectangles across the boards.

From inside came Jaxon's low, contented rumble and Anna's lilting laughter, weaving together like a lullaby.

One I wasn't sure I wanted to hear right now.

My chest tightened with a longing so sharp it felt like ice spreading through my ribs.

I wanted that. Wanted it with a desperation that made my throat ache. A partner I could lean on when things got rough, a lover who appreciated me in ways no one else could. A friend who stayed, who chose me, who loved me more than anyone else and wanted to know every secret I carried.

Why couldn't I have that? The question burned like acid.

What was so fundamentally wrong with me that I was only ever the friend, never worth more than that?

I stared at the frosted glass panes, and something cracked inside me when the truth crystallized with brutal clarity—I had never been good enough for anyone.

Not for my parents who'd rather work than see me.

Not for the boyfriends who'd drifted away.

Not for Connor, who'd chosen Morgan's shallow attention over six years of history with me.

My hand recoiled from the door, my whole body pulling back like I could escape the thought if I just moved fast enough.

I swiped at my face, forcing the guilt and self-pity into a box I could lock away before Anna saw it.

Before she realized what a mess I was. Footsteps approached from inside, and I plastered on a smile I didn't feel.

Before I could knock, the door swung open.

Anna stood framed in light, her cheeks flushed pink from the February chill.

Loose strands of blonde hair curled around her temples, and she wore one of Jaxon's oversized flannels over soft leggings.

She looked settled. At home. As though this cabin, and his arms, were exactly where she belonged.

A hollow ache bloomed inside me, spreading through my chest like frost on glass.

Not jealousy—I could never begrudge Anna this happiness, not after everything she'd survived.

But something close to it. Something that whispered I wanted this too and made me question if wanting it meant I was selfish for feeling like I deserved a love like theirs when I clearly didn't.

“Harper! Come in, come in. You're frozen,” she beckoned, her voice warm like sunlight on my skin, mocking my cold heart as she motioned for me to enter the cabin.

Cabin was too rustic a word for this two-story masterpiece of log and stone.

Large, framed windows revealed the dark pines beyond, and a new massive stone hearth glowed through the entryway, promising heat and safety.

The air inside smelled of cedar, faint smoke, and something rich and savory simmering on the stove.

My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d skipped lunch. Again.

Anna had lived here with Jaxon for nearly five months, even before Jaxon had saved her from her psychotic ex.

Together, they'd become the embodiment of perfect devotion, always having entwined hands and shared glances that were charged with quiet desire.

Everything I'd once yearned for with Connor but never had because all he saw in me was a friend.

Connor. Six years of friendship, countless shared secrets, endless nights watching movies, the way his jaw tightened when I joked with another man.

Until a year ago when he decided to chase hollow dates with Morgan, oblivious to how she toyed with him.

It stung that he'd clung to hope for her longer than I'd clung to hope for us.

I handed Anna the red wine I'd splurged on, refusing to arrive empty-handed. My favorite jeans and a creamy beige sweater felt like armor today, yet as Connor's voice drifted from the kitchen, I felt naked.

“Are you coming in, or do you plan to freeze out here?” Anna's laughter was gentle but edged with knowing.

“Sorry. Just…cold.” I forced my feet forward leaving melting snow pooling at my boots on the polished hardwood floor.

The kitchen was a cocoon of warmth. Jaxon leaned against the countertop, a beer in hand.

He’d fully recovered from the injuries he sustained when saving Anna, showing no signs of pain as he shifted and smiled towards her as she reentered the room, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Yet none of that stopped my chest from tightening at the sight of Connor.

He leaned against the white granite island opposite Jaxon, his dark blue Henley stretching across his broad shoulders.

His brown hair curled at the collar, overdue for a trim.

I remembered teasing him about it in the past when he used to go too long between haircuts.

Long before Morgan came into his life and changed everything.

He turned his head slightly, meeting my gaze with a tight nod. No greeting, no words. A single drop of acknowledgement in an ocean of distance.

It burned more than I expected.

Anna slipped beneath Jaxon’s arm, and he kissed her temple like it was the most natural thing in the world and it made something inside of me splinter.

The four of us had shared weekly dinners since Anna's rescue.

This kitchen, which was perfect for two, now felt cramped with four bodies.

The island was crowded with cutting boards, wine glasses, and the heavy scent of garlic.

Four stools forced us so close, our shoulders brushed, yet Connor's absence of warmth made the air suffocating.

“Hey, guys,” I said, sliding onto the stool farthest from him. The metal bit through my jeans. I placed my palms on the granite, letting its chill anchor me.

“What have you been up to?” I asked, my voice too steady, too polite. A question meant for strangers. Not for the close friends I was supposed to have standing in this room.

Silence stretched and my throat tightened. Jaxon stared at Connor over his beer bottle’s rim, as though daring him to speak. Finally, Connor's clipped voice broke the quiet.

“I gotta go.”

He pushed off the island and slipped out, the door's thud echoing like a gunshot. I watched him vanish into the night air. His retreat felt like a verdict, and I stopped breathing to force myself not to cry in front of the others.

Jaxon's shoulders slumped slightly. “I'm sorry,” he said to the room, but we all knew it was meant for me before he kissed Anna's temple, then disappeared through the same door.

Anna stood by the stove, stirring pasta with a tense, slow focus. “He thinks breaking up with Morgan was the right thing, I promise,” she said without looking at me. “And it was. But Morgan…she won't leave him alone. Texts him. Shows up on Saturdays still.”

My fists curled against the granite beneath them. “She what?”

“Yeah.” Anna finally met my eyes, frustration darkening her blue irises. “She's messing with his head. He's…closed off.”

Closed off from me, I wanted to snap. But I stayed silent, the hurt twisting my stomach too much to speak.

Jaxon returned, cheeks pink from the cold and grabbed his beer. “Connor sends his apologies. He needed to check on the horses. Winter's been hard.”

I didn’t even bother to fake a smile. The horses were fine.

Connor just couldn't stand to be near me. I’d gotten used to the months of his icy distance every time I walked into a room after our fight at his house.

Ever since then, he had given me the cold shoulder, even though he wasn’t with Morgan anymore.

It was like he couldn’t apologize for how he reacted or try to make things right with me so that we could get back to where we used to be.

We ate in strained silence. Anna's fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken barely touched by my fork. The empty barstool beside me felt like a living thing. Anna asked about my boutique, so I offered the safe answer. That it was busy, just the usual seasonal slump. The lie tasted sour on my tongue.

I sipped wine for another hour, pretending this was ordinary. But the hollow space Connor left choked me until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I should go,” I finally said, carrying my plate to the sink. “Long day at the shop tomorrow.”

Anna hugged me at the door, holding on longer than usual. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

I nodded, voice brittle. “I know.”

I sank into my car's frigid seat, hands shaking as I started the engine. Frost clung to the windshield in a hazy fog. An hour's drive to my apartment awaited along with unpaid bills and a past-due notice.

I glanced up at the sun visor. An envelope with my landlord's name marked with a bold Final Notice was tucked between it and the ceiling. Sixty days to pay or leave because I was three months behind at the boutique with drained savings and maxed out credit cards.

Heat finally trickled from the vents as I pulled onto the road, and heavy snow began to fall. I drove away from the golden warmth of the cabin and the honeyed glance of a friend who no longer looked my way.

Three months I'd drowned in pride, never asking for help. Three months my closest friend had barely looked at me. Three months of faking that everything was fine while my world collapsed.

Morgan

Voicemail. Again.

Morgan stared at her phone with a sneer, Connor’s name fading on the dark screen.

The silence in her apartment pressed against her eardrums, broken only by the refrigerator’s hum and the wind rattling the windowpanes.

She dropped the phone on the glass coffee table with a clink that echoed throughout the room.

When they’d been together, he’d answered on the second ring every time—eager, thankful, ready to please. Now he refused her calls like he’d barred the door to his life.

She stood, her stilettos clicking sharply on the polished hardwood as she crossed the room.

One hand pressed to the cold glass of the window and her breath misted the pane.

She’d chosen this sterile apartment on purpose.

It was modern and anonymous, somewhere she could live without having photos or trophies of her life.

Her phone buzzed and she turned to look at the screen.

Connor

Stop calling. I meant what I said, we’re done.

Her jaw clenched so hard she tasted metal. She lifted the half-empty Cabernet from the side table and tipped it back, savoring the expensive red as it soothed her nerves.

Work had been a dead end for new targets or secrets to exploit. The town was too small; everyone knew everyone’s business. She flicked open her laptop and scrolled through town records, lease agreements and permits. Then she saw Harper Walsh’s account with Mr. Chen.

A slow, satisfied smile curved her lips.

She reached for her phone and dialed her father, Victor Ashford, her voice calm and collected. “I need Armand and Silas,” she said. “The original plan needs backup.”

He exploded, fury crackling through the line as threats flew from his booming voice. His daughter or not, she’d better deliver or face his wrath. She listened in cool silence, then replied evenly, “I understand. But I need insurance.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “But don’t make me regret trusting you.”

She hung up the phone and poured another glass of Cabernet. Outside, snow drifted past the window in soft white sheets. It was the perfect weather for plotting.

Her cousins Armand and Silas were ruthless and better yet, unseen in this town. They’d apply the pressure she couldn’t. And Harper Walsh, drowning in unpaid rent and sleepless worry? She’d make for the perfect backup plan.

Morgan tapped out a new document, her fingers crisp on the keyboard as she sketched her plan of financial ruin for Harper and psychological torment for Connor that would send him back into her arms before reaffirming her original plan, securing the route to Montana and then to Canada once and for all.

She drank deeply, savoring the cold satisfaction of her own resolve. Outside, the storm gathered strength, and inside, Morgan’s plan took shape—beautiful, terrible, inevitable.