Chapter 10: Killian
They’re hurrying the wedding.
That was the only thought in my head as the hot water beat down my back, steam filling the shower until the world outside the glass disappeared. It had started at breakfast when Ava, the stepmother, cornered me with a list of "priority dates" and the claim that the venue had been booked for next month. Then Arthur brought it up at dinner, his voice booming as he clapped me on the shoulder.
"Killian! You’re practically family already," he’d barked. "We should just elope, right? Save the hassle?"
Then Olivia chimed in, echoing the lie about the venue. Next month. It had gone from meeting the in-laws and announcing an engagement to a wedding in less than thirty days. Bullshit.
Why were they so anxious? I kept replaying Ava’s voice in my head—the way she’d leaned in and lowered her voice. "The wedding will be worth it. Olivia is a prize. I hope you know that."
"I know," I’d replied, just to give her the answer she wanted.
"And once you're married—once the papers for Chloe are signed—everything will settle."
The papers?
I hadn’t asked for clarification. I’d just texted Cartier and told him to find out anything he could about Chloe and legal papers. I’d gone out for dinner alone just to get away from them—to keep myself from finding a reason to go see Chloe. By the time I returned, the sun was bleeding orange across the sky like an open wound. I waited until the house grew quiet, around 3 a.m., then grabbed the insulated bag Mary had prepared and headed upstairs.
The key still dangled from the lock. I pocketed it, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Chloe sat on the edge of her thin mattress in that worn nightgown, moonlight tracing every curve I couldn’t stop thinking about. Her bandaged hands rested in her lap. The room was clean again—no sign of last night’s destruction except the faint metallic scent of blood beneath lavender.
She didn’t smile when she saw me, but her shoulders softened. “You came back.”
“I said I would.”
“I waited up.” She patted the mattress. I sat close enough to feel her warmth. “You brought me something?”
“Shrimp and grits. Still warm.”
Her fingers brushed mine as she took the bag. The touch lingered. She inhaled deeply, eyes closing for a second. The small sound of pleasure she made hit me low in the gut.
“I haven’t had these in… a long time,” she whispered.
“Mary said they were your favorite.”
Her eyes flicked up, suddenly wary. “You met Mary?”
“This morning. After she brought you breakfast.” I kept my voice light. “She seems to be the only person in this house who actually cares about you.”
Chloe slid off the bed and put careful distance between us. “She didn’t tell me.”
I didn’t push. Instead, I watched her eat cross-legged on the floor, savoring every bite like it might vanish. My professional detachment was long gone. All I could think about was how those full lips would feel on something other than a spoon.
“Stop staring,” she said without looking up.
“I’m not staring.”
“You are.”
“I’m observing. There’s a difference.”
She glanced up, spoon halfway to her mouth, the faintest smirk playing on her lips. “Is that what you call it, Mr. Hart?”
When she finished, she set the container aside and looked at me across the small space. Her eyes were dark, unreadable. “Thank you.”
“For the food?”
“For coming back.”
