Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I can feel the terror building in my chest, making it hard to breathe. My hands are trembling as I bring them up to my mouth to stifle the cry that threatens to escape. I can’t let him hear my fear, but my body betrays me, shaking uncontrollably with each shallow breath.
Saint doesn’t move for a moment, but then he reaches out slowly, deliberately, and places his hand on the laptop. I watch, frozen, as he gently shuts it, the click reverberating in the deadly quiet of the room. It feels final, like a door slamming shut on any hope I had of getting out of here unnoticed.
He begins to turn around, his movements agonizingly slow, like he’s savoring every second before he faces me. My heartbeat continues to thunder in my ears as I take another step back, inching deeper into my bedroom. When his eyes finally land on me, they don’t meet mine right away. Instead, they fix on my suitcase. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he processes what that suitcase means. His hands curl into fists at his sides as he shakes his head slowly, deliberately.
“You’re leaving?” he says, his voice low and controlled, but I can hear the undercurrent of something darker simmering just beneath the surface. His tone isn’t one of curiosity. It’s an accusation, filled with disbelief and something far more dire.
His gaze is pressing down on me, but I can’t look him in the eye. I try to force the words out, but they come out as a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my heart. “You aren’t a detective.”
The accusation hangs in the air between us, heavy and charged with the realization of everything I’ve uncovered. For a moment, Saint doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to deny it, doesn’t attempt to explain. Instead, he lifts his eyes from the suitcase to my face, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches on, thick and suffocating, and the longer it goes on, the more terrified I become. I would rather he yell at me, berate me, anything but this cold, quiet stare.
His eyes bore into mine, piercing through the distance between us like those of a predator assessing its prey. His face remains expressionless, his body unnervingly still, but there’s something in the way he looks at me that chills me to the bone. It’s the kind of quiet that feels more piercing than any words could be, like he’s calculating his next move, deciding what to do with me now that the truth is out.
I try to take another step back, but my legs feel like they’ve turned to lead, unmovable. I’m trapped, and we both know it. I don’t know what to say, or how I could defuse the tension. No clever words come to me. The silence between us is louder than my scream, louder than any sound I’ve ever heard.
And then, “Why did you look me up?” He takes a small step toward me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”
My throat is dry, and I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “You lied to me.” I’m embarrassed by the audible fear when I speak. “You lied about everything. I needed to know.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. He takes another step toward me, and I instinctively take a step back, my back pressing up against the doorframe. I can feel the cold wood against my skin, and the realization that I’m cornered sends a fresh wave of panic through me.
“You needed to know?” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “And what exactly did you think you were going to find?” He takes another step forward, closing the distance between us, his presence looming over me like a shadow. “Did you think knowing the truth would change anything?”
I shake my head, my breath quick and shallow.
“What are you going to do about it? Tell your husband?”
My mind is screaming at me to run, to do something—anything—but my body won’t cooperate. I’m frozen in place, trapped in this moment, with no way out. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let him see just how scared I am.
“Are you . . .” I swallow hard, the fear making it difficult to speak out loud. My voice trembles as I force out the question that’s been clawing at the back of my throat since the moment I saw him standing there. “Are you going to hurt me?”
He shakes his head immediately, his expression one of almost offended disbelief. “What? No.” He answers me as though the question itself is ridiculous, as if I’ve completely misunderstood the situation. How could he possibly think my reaction right now is ridiculous? How can he not see how terrifying this is for me? I’m standing in the middle of a nightmare, and the man I thought I knew is a complete stranger. I have no idea who he is. None.