Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Then I see his face in my mind.
Not the savage one.
The one from last night when I said I love you too and he looked at me like the world had shifted under his feet.
He didn’t lie to me.
He didn’t spin what he’d done into something noble.
He told me the truth and let me decide what to do with it.
And I decided.
If I open this door now—if I force it while he sleeps—I’m not choosing truth.
I’m choosing to violate his trust.
The beast let me into his heart. That doesn’t mean I get to steal the rest.
I close my eyes.
This isn’t the right time.
The words land inside me with surprising force.
I lower the ring and take a full step back from the door.
The pull doesn’t disappear. The temptation is still there. But I won’t succumb. Not yet, anyway.
I turn away and start back down the corridor.
I’m halfway back when something else catches my eye.
A seam.
Almost invisible in the wall paneling beside the stairs. Too clean to be natural. Too deliberate to ignore.
I stop and bring my phone light closer. It looks like a small hidden compartment.
My pulse kicks up again.
This is not the door.
This is not the forbidden room.
This is something else.
I press lightly.
Nothing.
I press a different point.
A soft release answers, and the panel shifts inward by half an inch.
I open it.
Inside are neatly stacked documents.
I pull the first one out and skim.
Entity names.
Numbers.
Transfers.
Legal structures.
For a second it means nothing.
Then I notice the date. It predates the night at the marina.
I flip to the next.
Then the next.
A chill spreads through me when I look lower on the page and see a name.
Nathaniel Vexley.
My mouth goes dry because I understand immediately what this means, and I also understand that I do not understand it enough.
Nathaniel knew.
Or at least Nathaniel was already positioned.
Already moving within the structure before Samson ever struck.
Which means Samson was telling the truth. He was used. Which means the lie ran deeper than the blow on the dock.
Which means—
“Delaney.”
His voice behind me is low enough that I feel it more than hear it.
I turn.
Samson stands several feet away at the mouth of the corridor.
Barefoot.
Shirtless.
Awake.
And looking better than anyone has a right to after getting out of bed.
He stares at me, and then at the open panel, and then at the ring still in my hand.
For one charged second, neither of us moves. And in that second, I know he sees everything. How close I am to the compartment. How far down the corridor I’ve gone. How close I must have stood to the locked door.
How easily I could have tried it.
Maybe did.
I expect anger. I expect him to haul me over his shoulder like he’s done so many times before and take me to his bed and punish me…and this time, I expect I won’t enjoy it nearly as much.
But I don’t see anger in his eyes.
I see only pain, as if he knows the moment has arrived, whether he wanted it to or not.
“What did you find?” he asks.
I hold up the document. “This was in place before that night.”
He takes a step closer and takes the page.
He says nothing.
I’ve learned enough about him to know that silence is rarely empty with Samson. This one feels brutal.
“My brother,” he says at last, “doesn’t step into something he doesn’t understand.”
I nod slowly.
“He didn’t just fix it after.”
Another step. He’s close enough now that I can feel the heat coming off him.
“No,” he says, almost to himself.
“He knew,” I say. “And you didn’t.” I glance at the ring still in my hand. “You told me not to go near that door.”
His jaw flexes. “Yes.”
“I almost tried it.”
A long pause. Then, “I know.”
That shouldn’t hit me the way it does, but it does. Because it means he looked at me just now and knew exactly how close I came to crossing that line.
And the truth is that I didn’t.
I lift his hand. Place the ring back into it. Fold his fingers over it. “I meant what I said,” I tell him. “I choose you. I love you.”
A muscle works in his jaw. “Even now?”
I think of the door.
The lock.
The way the ring fit without fitting.
The file.
Nathaniel’s name.
This entire place whispering in locks and keys.
I think of my father. Of the man who made me and never crossed the threshold into my life in any way that counted.
I think of the beast in front of me, who did cross into me, who broke everything, who let me see what he was and still looked at me like my choice mattered.
“Especially now,” I say.
Something moves through his face then, and he reaches for me.
Not roughly.
Not gently either.
He draws me against him, and I go. His chin settles against my hair. For one suspended moment, I imagine a normal life for us. For two people who love each other.