Arthur changed the subject with all the grace of a fucking brick. “How’s your grandfather? Still fighting?”
“Every day.”
“Good stock,” Arthur nodded, as if praising livestock. “The wedding can’t come soon enough. Joining our families — that’s the legacy he wanted, isn’t it? His final wish.”
“Something like that.”
Olivia reached over and squeezed my hand, her touch cold and far too comfortable for me. “I’m so excited, Killian. Once we’re married, everything will settle. You’ll see.”
Once the papers for Chloe are signed.
The words echoed in my head. I excused myself as soon as I could, walking through the hallway lined with dead Landry portraits. The second I was alone, I pulled out my phone.
Father holds power of attorney on her. I texted Cartier.
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. My pulse hammered in my ears as I stared at the attic door above me.
Cartier’s reply came through a moment later:
I already know. Heading your way now. Everything I found will blow your fucking mind.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket, jaw tight.
I didn’t know what he’d uncovered yet, but one thing was crystal clear:
I wasn’t leaving Chloe in this house when I left.
Chapter 16: Chloe
I counted measured breaths to calm my nerves. To make me sit still.
In. Out. In. Out. One. Two. Three.
Today was the day. I thought I would wait until he was about to end his visit, but I had Killian where I needed him now. I thought about our conversation about my beloved mother. I thought about his face at the lake when they'd found me. The anger in his eyes. The fear.
He was afraid for me. Everything was going as planned.
I'd done my research on him. Months of it, hunched over my tablet in the dark, reading every article, every interview, every scrap of information I could find about Killian Hart. He funded a women's self-defense group. Donated to shelters. Sat on the board of a foundation that helped domestic abuse survivors.
On paper, he was a violent man of war. He'd spent seven years in the military, earned a Bronze Star for dragging a wounded interpreter through enemy fire, and later built a private security firm that the U.S. government contracted for off-the-books operations in places the public never heard about. He'd broken bones, pulled triggers, and watched men take their last breaths. But the violence was always pointed at men who deserved it.
He was the same type I'd read about in psychology journals: the "damsel in distress" type. Men who needed to be needed. Men who burned to rescue. He wasn’t weak, but he was soft-hearted toward the vulnerable. I'd planned to use that.
I pressed my forehead against the frosted glass and watched the sun climb over the estate. The driveway was crowded with cars. Somewhere downstairs, the family was gathering for breakfast. Daddy threw Sunday dinners to brag. To showcase. To remind everyone who he thought he was. I could picture it without seeing it—the long table, expensive china, people smiling too wide while they picked at food they didn’t cook, praising a man who had built his life on top of my mother’s bones.
He wanted to be seen as powerful. Established. Untouchable. When, in reality, he was a weak man who relied on women. He relied on my momma to drag him out of poverty and give his life meaning; he relied on the bitch he called a wife and his daughter to keep me in check.
Me? I would make him a billionaire.
I closed my eyes for a second. Feeling my anger and blood pressure surge, I wanted to break something.Not today, Chloe.Today might be your last day in this attic before you have to move to your other plan. I reminded myself to push my anger down. I couldn't afford to feel anything but focused. If I rushed, I made mistakes. If I made mistakes, I got hurt. Or worse—I got moved somewhere I couldn’t get back from.
So I waited.
By the time the door creaked open, my nerves felt like they’d been attached to hot wires.
“They’re all downstairs having breakfast,” Mary whispered, poking her head inside then rushing away. “They won’t notice you missing for a while.”
I didn’t move right away. I let five more seconds pass, just in case. Then I stood. I slipped out of the cracked door, shutting it behind me. I wouldn’t go back the way I came, just in case. My bare feet were silent on the wood. Down the narrow back hall. Past the servants’ stairwell. Through the corridor.
