The gentle hum of his voice, one that had whispered with such pleasure just hours ago, tears me to shreds now. It seems so clear now: I was just a means to an end. When I could not deliver, he came looking for someone who could. I questioned everything I thought I knew about him. How could I have trusted a man who switches identities—from the dirt on his boots to the silk of his suit—faster than I can keep up.
On trembling legs, I push to my feet. It takes a moment to catch my breath. Once I do, I waste no time. Grabbing the same box I brought my things in here with just a few months ago, I pack my office with haste. I cannot be here. Not just here, at this bank, here in True Ridge. I cannot face Morgan or any of the Brant brothers. I cannot face Mr. Tomford or any of the other bullshit Mr. ‘Fords’ again.
Just as doubt begins to creep in, as attempt to convince myself this is not what it seems, his voice cuts in again. I wait forhim to say something, anything, to redeem himself. To save the moment, to save my heart from shattering in a million pieces.
“Figured if we sat down together, I might get a yes from someone with real decision-making power,” his voice is cold, the warmth I knew gone.
His words hit me as hard as a physical slap.Real decision-making power.I look down at my hands as they grip the box full of my things. They shake violently—this is not just a professional slight; it is absolutely personal. Morgan has been waiting for this moment from the start. A chance to sit down witha manwho can give him the answer he thinks I could not.
I drop the last thing I own in this office in the box with a resolute thud. I cannot be here. I won’t let any man, even one I was falling in love with, treat me with such disregard. My grandmother taught me how to be strong, how to be resilient. Maybe she should have taught me a little about love or understanding, but her lessons got me this far in life.
Whoever I was becoming for Morgan, that softer, needier woman, she is gone just as fast as I found her.
Morgan passes by my office, hesitating this time. He turns, his gaze sweeping the room, landing on me at last. He cocks his head as if confused but doesn’t seem to notice my turmoil. His gaze meets mine for just a moment. I expected guilt. A flinch of self-awareness of his betrayal. No, he winks at me. Smiles andwinks.It’s a look to saysee? I handled it—before he follows Mr. Tomford down the hall, walking off without a glance back.
Where he stood, I see my exit. That spot in any room, any situation, any corner I am backed in. I have always been able to take the exit once I see it. No looking back, no second guessing myself. I told Morgan I came here to figure my life out—he claimed finding him had done that for me.
We were both so wrong.
Waiting a few beats so I do not have to face him or Mr. Tomford, I rush from my office. It isn’t until I’m behind the wheel that I notice my tears. Morgan slowly became my refuge—now, the weight of having nowhere to turn hits me all at once. I’d tied my life into a single, neat package when things started going right. The pretty package has been shredded
“I gave it a shot here,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I tried at the bank, with Evie, with my cute cottage, with a charming man. I got it all so wrong. I will give it a shot somewhere else. I cannot let anyone see me being soft again. What would grandma say?”
Her voice fills my head. “Put your spine back in place; it’s the one thing you own that shouldn't be for sale.”
Straightening my spine, squaring my shoulders, I raise my chin. Her words echo in my head all the way to my place. Goddamn right. No one can steal my strength. Something made of such meddle cannot be broken. I won’t let whatever Morgan is up to break me. No one will have that satisfaction.
At my cottage, I hesitate in the room with the crumbling ceiling. It strikes me as sadly ironic. This place was never going to be a home. Not with a broken foundation. What am I but a woman with a foundation built on pride, self-preservation, and rushing towards the first exit I see? For the first time in my life, I wanted to build something, I wanted something for myself, to put down roots here by letting people in.
“Look where that got you,” I mumble to myself in the cold quiet.
Packing the cottage takes less than an hour, but I falter once I reach the walls. My chest tightens as I unhook the Degas print I hung two days ago—a mere shadow of the piece in Morgan’s office. I move to tuck it in a box, then stop. I shake my head and press the frame back onto its nail. No. I won’t be taking pieces of him with me
I could go talk to him. Ask what the hell his visit with Mr. Tomford was about. Plead with him for an explanation. It would take just one call. One text. One "we need to talk." That’s what a sensible person would do. I do not feel sensible. I feel stupid. Weak. I will be damned if I let him see me this way.
If I go to him, the way I have so many times now, I will be weak. I will let his touch or his kiss, or that look in his jade eyes that drew me in from the start work their magic. He will give me a sensible answer, even if it is one that will sting. Morgan will tell me he had to do whatever it took to get that deal for his brothers—even if it meant betraying me. I will not fall under his magic again-no thank you. I’d rather choke on my own stubbornness than open myself up to him or anyone else.
This cottage, with its slanting floorboards and the way the morning sun hit the breakfast nook, was supposed to be home. Morgan was becoming part of that. Circling the small space, I am torn to pieces but somehow holding myself together. Every empty shelf, every bare wall now taunt me with the life I had just started to build here.
Outside the cold winds howl, almost as if the town itself is shouting at me. Telling me what a mistake I made by coming here. Back in Silver Shores, at least I knew the score. At least the criminals, the cut-throat cynics showed their cards. They told me they were going to take what they could from me with none of the empty promises Morgan has made me.
I look toward the window, where darkening skies loom over the valley, dark and indifferent. Just as dark and indifferent as I am in this moment of letting go. My throat aches with the weight of everything unsaid, but my pride wins out. There is nothing worth saying to him, no need to give him a chance to weave his magic. I was nothing to him. Nothing but a stepping stone in his grand design. I toss my keys on the counter with asharpclackand pick up the last box. The cottage is as empty as I am now.
With the Range Rover packed full of my life, I realize how pathetic that life has been. No friends to go to, to talk sense to me before I do something stupid. Nothing I have ever done has left a mark or made a difference. Not the work I do at the bank, not the friendships I tried to form, and certainly not the relationships I believed I was building with Morgan.
My entire life fits in a few boxes. Morgan’s life is this town, that lodge he hopes to bring to life, his brothers. There was no room for me in that life. I was foolish to think I found a place in his life the way I fit that painting on my wall. I was wrong and I am big enough to admit when I am wrong.
Now that I see my exit, I take it—and I never look back.
Chapter Nine
Morgan
I was always unsure of my intuition, right up until this moment.
Something is wrong—so wrong it stops me cold
I am in the midst of working on the stone fireplace at the lodge when it hits. It comes out of nowhere, twisting my gut, making my chest ache. Something is wrong. I drop my tools to take a moment, pulling my phone out. Calling Maren, hoping she can calm me, I think about his morning.
