A year of moments stacked between Xanthy and me, each one building this picture-perfect image of love.
And still, Carrington lingered at the back of my mind, replacing every moment I had with the woman beside me.
His eyes in the haunted maze.
His strong hands were gripping me through the prison bars.
I shoved the thoughts down and let Xanthy lean into me, so they could all see the perfect couple on display.
“Shiloh, this is Darren,” she introduced a tall man in a gray suit.
We shook hands as expected. His grip was firm and testing. I gave mine back stronger. His eyes flickered before nodding in approval. I smiled the way I’d seen men in her world smile, all perfectly polished and unbothered. I listened to the man yap about golf. At least it was a mindless act that kept the other women away.
For a little while, this façade worked until I heard it.
A laugh.
Low, sharp, and edged.
A booming sound that was cutting across the music like a dull blade. The kind of sound that didn’t belong in polite company, but dared the room to challenge it.
Who the fuck was this?
My head snapped toward the doors. A man had just stepped into the reception. Late and well past the actual stupid walking, talking, and “I dos.”
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his suit was a shade too slick for my liking. He wore black as if this were a funeral, an insult to the couple.
His hair was combed back, and his smile was wide, like a cat toying with their prey. His eyes roamed the hall with a practiced ease.
The way he carried himself, like everyone already knew him, and like no one here could touch him, set my teeth on edge.
Beside me, Xanthy froze.
Her hand slipped from mine. Her shoulders went stiff, and all the light in her face dimmed in an instant. I frowned, staring down at my girlfriend and seeing pained memories practically flash through her eyes.
She didn’t say his name, but she didn’t need to. The way she shrank into herself told me more than words.
This had to be Tyler.
I’d only ever known him in fragments. Her quiet voice during late nights, telling me about the boy who’d broken her down, the shadow he’d cast over her teenage years and into her early college ones.
I’d never seen his face, only heard his name.
She opened up little by little, speaking about the bones that healed, but the internal scars on her mind hadn’t.
She told me that this man was why she became a therapist. She wanted to help other women who had suffered from abuse.
It had her family questioning her, never understanding why she’d admit to what they saw as weakness, but it was one of the reasons I came to feel for Alexandra Harding…because of her strength.
Standing here, watching the smug tilt of her past’s smile, and the cold hunger in his eyes as they swept the crowd, I knew exactly the kind of man he was.
Ego radiated off him. And darkness did, too.
He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t even looked her way yet, but I could feel his hold on her—a ghost, as heavy as any chains.
I slipped my arm around her waist, drawing her closer until her hip pressed into mine. “You alright, Baby?” I murmured, low enough for only her to hear. “I’m here.”
She nodded too quickly. “Fine.”
