Chapter 1 Kara #2
No, not anymore. Because this creaking, leaking, barely standing cottage was my new sanctuary. Even if it was falling apart, and even if I had to learn how to fix every broken, splintering piece of it with my own two hands, it was my fresh start.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus back on the cabinet, tapping the hinge into place with a little more confidence than before, and this time there was no wood splintering.
“There we go,” I said with a small smile, stepping back and folding my arms as I examined my work. The cabinet door hung a little less crooked than before—progress, technically. “See? We’re thriving.”
And as if on cue, a loud crack echoed from somewhere above me.
“Well... we’re working on thriving,” I amended.
Just when I was ready to celebrate my small success, the door flew open with a powerful gust of wind, sending my nerves snapping as I jumped. I hurried over and grabbed it, fighting against the wind as it howled through the cottage, my heart racing until I finally managed to shove it closed.
I sucked in a long breath, then let it out slowly, trying to steady myself.
Because until that moment and the stupid goddamned jump scare, I had almost convinced myself I wasn’t a complete wreck.
That I could start over and move forward.
But as if it wanted to remind me it was still there, the fear came rushing back anyway.
I pressed my back against the door and slowly slid down to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as I stared across the uneven planks stretching out in front of me, reminding myself that I was far away from that place. Far away from him.
Zavier isn’t here, I told myself over and over again.
There were no voices drifting through thin walls, no music bleeding up from below.
No clatter of chips, no murmured bets, no snaps of cards hitting tables.
No eyes watching me, tracking me, calculating what I was worth and how much more they could take.
No hands reaching for me because they knew they could...
No. I was free from Zavier, and even our contract couldn’t drag me back to him. Not from this town, at least.
My fingers curled tightly into the fabric of my dress as I sat there, trying to remember what it felt like to truly relax. But I couldn’t. Years of tension didn’t simply disappear because you crossed an ocean and ended up somewhere you were never supposed to be.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy when I stole that pearl and chose to run just a few weeks ago.
The memory crept in anyway, pulling me back to the night I chose my own path.
The low, smoky haze of the gambling floor, the heavy scent of liquor and sweat, and the careless laughter of men who thought they owned everything around them.
Shark shifters with too much confidence and not nearly enough sense, making their way into Zavier’s underground dens, their behavior getting sloppier with every drink I poured.
That was the night my plan finally began to unfold.
I served them for a few weeks afterward—a little extra liquor here, a generous refill there—each drink poured with just enough charm to seem harmless.
I smiled when I needed to, laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, and leaned in just enough to keep their attention exactly where I wanted it.
Then, in the next moment, I became part of the background again, easy to overlook.
And while they drank and bragged and let their guards slip piece by piece, I listened.
And those fucking morons never realized how much they were giving away.
That’s how I learned about Crescent Cove and about how access to this town worked.
And then, like the universe was handing me a way out, one of the sharks tossed the very pearl I now wore around my neck into the pot, treating it like it was nothing more than a meaningless trinket.
It had almost been laughably easy—a perfectly timed stumble, a drink tipping from my hand, gin and tonic spilling across the table as chaos erupted around me.
I moved fast then, all wide-eyed apologies and feigned concern as I played my part, wiping down the cards and cleaning up the mess.
My fingers brushed the pot for only a second longer than necessary, but it was enough to swap the necklace without anyone noticing.
They were all too drunk to notice, and it was gone before anyone even thought to look for it, along with a nice bundle of cash I swapped out with counterfeit bills.
The slap I earned from Zavier later had been hard enough to split my lip, his way of making sure everyone witnessed my punishment for the ruined deck of cards I had “caused” with my clumsiness.
I could still taste the blood, still feel the sting blooming across my cheek as I kept my head down and my mouth shut, swallowing it all like I always did, because I knew I was so close to freedom.
I could take the pain and embarrassment now, I thought then, because leaving that hellhole was finally becoming a reality.
Remembering how far I had come helped settle the fear. It didn’t erase it, but it pushed it back into the corner where I always kept it. I rose to my feet with a determined exhale, dusting my hands against the skirt of my dress as if that alone could brush off the chaos of the last hour.
What I couldn’t brush off was the growing ache in my stomach as I realized I hadn’t eaten all day, my body too focused on the repairs. I’d been living off microwavable dinners, and when I checked the freezer, I found it completely empty, which meant I had to head back down the cliff and into town.
And town meant people. People meant wearing my mask, my carefully practiced poker face, as I moved through the main street like I belonged there, like I was just another resident going about normal things, giving no one a reason to look too closely.
“You can do people Kara,” I told myself, rolling my shoulders back. “You’ve done people before. You are excellent at people.”
And that was true. Technically. I had been very good at people. At reading them, at pleasing them, at becoming whatever version of myself they needed to keep things in my life smooth and, most of all, safe. Well, as safe as I could be given my prior circumstances.
But now that I had finally stopped moving from my constant go-go-go attitude toward the rebuild, not only was my stomach grumbling, but every single one of my muscles groaned too.
Since I was already heading into town because, unfortunately, food was a basic human need, I remembered hearing about a massage parlor.
“Suctions and Serenity Spa,” I think it was called.
Apparently the owner was some sort of octopus creature who didn’t just work out knots and sore muscles, he took your stress with him when he touched you.
Like he suctioned it right out of you and left nothing but calm behind, which honestly made the name feel a little too perfect.
I was curious how it worked, and with everything I was carrying—physically, emotionally, and mentally—a reset sounded like exactly what I needed. And really, what better way to blend in than supporting a local business?
My hand closed around the doorknob, and I hesitated for just a moment, drawing in a deep breath before pulling it open. The wind immediately caught it, swinging the door wider before slamming it shut behind me with a force that made me jump.
“Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “So it seems even the cottage agrees I need a trip to town.”
When I got back, me and this cottage were going to need to have a serious talk about who was in control here and who owned who, but right now, it seemed I was committing to this adventure down the cliff.
The air outside hit me instantly, whipping through my hair and sending golden brown strands flying in every direction until I hastily pulled it back.
I already felt like a mess, I didn’t need to look like one too.
Even if the owner was an octopus, I had a feeling he’d be able to sense exactly how much of a disaster I was anyway. No need to advertise it.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself and started down the path, careful with my footing because, of course, I had chosen to wear heels.
They weren’t my best pair, so I didn’t mind if they got dirty, but moving forward, I definitely needed to invest in better footwear if walking up and down this cliffside path was going to be my norm.
Sure, it would ruin my vintage aesthetic, but so would me tumbling my ass down this path.
“Food,” I reminded myself quietly as I walked, my voice nearly lost to the wind. Then, after a beat, “And a massage, because you’ve earned it.”
I picked up my pace, not entirely sure if it was my stomach leading the way or the deep, aching pull in my muscles, but either way, I kept moving.
Head up. Shoulders back. One step at a time.