I grabbed my coat, shut off the lights, said goodbye to Celine, and stepped into the elevator.The doors slid closed with a soft finality, my reflection staring back at me, eyes bright, chin lifted, breath shallow.
This wasn’t desperation.
It was choice.
Outside, the air had cooled, dusk settling over the city in quiet shades of gray and blue.A sleek, dark Bentley pulled up without a sound, its presence as ominous as the man who had sent it.My breath hitched, anticipation warring with dread as I waited, waited for him to step out, to face me, to end this suffering.But it wasn’t Creed.
The driver, a man dressed impeccably in black, rounded the car and pulled open the rear door with a polite, measured nod.
Of course he wouldn’t make this easy.
I climbed in and was swallowed whole by the silence.The scent of leather and cedar wrapped around me, pulling me deeper into his world.The car pulled away from the curb, moving with a quiet grace, and I leaned back, trying to focus, to rehearse the apology I had pieced together in my mind.No more lies.No more defenses.Just the truth.I told myself I was ready to give it, whether he wanted it or not.
But then I noticed we weren’t heading toward the loft.The city lights began to fade, swallowed up by the creeping darkness of tree-lined roads and open fields.
I sat up straighter, unease sliding down my spine.“Excuse me,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.“Aren’t we going the wrong way?”
The driver’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable.“No, ma’am,” he replied smoothly, offering no further explanation.
My stomach clenched.
The Bentley veered off the main road, its tires whispering over the pavement as it passed through a set of massive wrought-iron gates.They opened without hesitation.Without question.As if my arrival had already been decided.
My throat went dry.
The road curved, winding deeper into an estate hidden within the Virginia countryside.The manor came into view, and I sucked in a breath.It was majestic and haunting all at once, its ivy-clad stone façade rising like something torn from the pages of a Gothic novel.The grandeur was undeniable, but it was the kind of beauty that unsettled as much as it awed, whispering secrets only the walls could know.
It didn’t feel lived in.It felt kept.
The car slowed to a stop, and before I could steady myself, the driver opened my door.
The wind carried a bite, but it was nothing compared to the weight in my chest as I stepped out, my heels clicking against the stone circular driveway.Each step toward the entrance felt measured, like the house itself was counting them.
A tall, slender black man with salt-and-pepper hair greeted me at the door, his bearing calm and composed.“Good evening,” he said with a slight bow of his head.“You must be Ms.Peyton.”
I nodded, barely finding my voice.“Yes.”
“I’m Ennis.Follow me.”
I hesitated, only a second, then obeyed.
Inside, the air smelled of aged wood and jasmine, the warmth of flickering chandeliers casting golden light against dark oak walls.It was beautiful—too beautiful—the kind of beauty meant to disarm.
Intentionally so.
“This is a lovely home,” I murmured, my voice barely steady.“Who lives here?”
Ennis turned, brow lifting.“Mr.Kirkland.”
My heart lurched.
This was Creed’s home?Not the loft, not the office, not the city.This.A house so grand, so carefully hidden, it felt like stepping into a world that existed outside of time.A place he had never mentioned—and had chosen now to bring me to.
Why here?
Ennis led me through a maze of hallways, the crackling warmth of a distant fire the only sound breaking the silence.
Every step felt deliberate.Evaluated.
