Her words hit harder than they should have because they meant more than she realized.
Because for weeks now it had been me.
I carried Lily to bed when she fell asleep on the couch, I rocked her when she woke up crying at three in the morning, I recited contract clauses like bedtime stories until her little eyelids drooped. Me who had somehow, impossibly, become the man she trusted to catch her.
My chest squeezed as I looked down at Lily and at Paige.
I love you. I love your daughter and wish she was mine. Marry me.
I snapped out of my head when she stepped close enough to touch, her fingertips brushing the back of my hand. “Show me how you did it,” she whispered. “Make her walk again.”
I swallowed hard and set Lily back on her tiny feet. And as she toddled toward me, toward us, Paige laughed. And the bright, disbelieving sound of her voice shot straight into my heart.
Every time Lily took a step, my heart did something painful and stupid. Every time Paige’s hand slid a little closer to mine, something inside me ached.
Because in that living room, with her daughter stumbling toward us, I knew our relationship was labeled fake under a contract, but despite all that… she trusted me.
As long as she did, I’d do anything for her.
Even erase Jack and Olivia from her life.
The room smelled of concrete, lit by a single bare bulb that cast harsh shadows across the metal desk and two foldable chairs.
It looked like an interrogation room. Which, I supposed, was perfect.
I sat in one of the chairs, back straight, hands folded on the desk in front of me. I had promised Paige that I would take care of her and Lily.
No matter what.
And I wanted to keep my word even though I had to cross a few lines without the law.
I nodded once, and the door opened.
Cillian filled the doorway. He was six-foot-four of pure muscle and menace wrapped in a dark shirt, covered in tattoos that disappeared beneath his collar. An old scar on his lips.
His hand was wrapped around Olivia’s upper arm, guiding her into the room with a bored look on his face. She had a cloth bag over her head so she couldn’t identify the location.
“Sit,” Cillian said, his deep voice making the word sound almost pleasant. Almost.
He pushed her into the chair across from me and yanked the cloth away. Olivia’s dark hair was disheveled, her yoga clothes were rumpled from being grabbed after her Pilates class. Her eyes were wild with fear until they landed on me.
Then fear turned to anger.
“Get me out of this right now!” she screamed, lunging against the zip ties binding her wrists. “This is insane! This is?—”
No one moved as I just watched her, letting the silence stretch until her shouting turned into heavy breathing.
“If you don’t let me go now, I’ll start screaming,” she hissed. “This is kidnapping, and I will call the cops?—”
I sighed and slid a file across the desk. It landed with a thud that made her jump, and I watched the color drain from her face as I flipped it open.
“Paige’s jewelry,” I said, tapping the first inventory sheet. “Three pieces, worth approximately fifteen thousand dollars. Her Cartier watch which was a gift from her grandmother. Two designer dresses, still with the tags on and twelve hundred dollars in cash from the lockbox in her closet.” I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Should I continue?”
Olivia’s jaw worked, but no sound came out.
Paige had mentioned things were missing and how she’d get them back after the divorce, but her gift from her grandmother had mysteriously appeared, courtesy of me.
“I wouldn’t call the police if I were you,” I said calmly. “Grand larceny tends to carry a sentence of three to five years in this state.”
