He crossed the room toward the couch, crouched beside it, and started rummaging through the case. The sound of papers shifting filled the silence.
“Here it is,” he said finally, pulling out a black binder before straightening to his full height. “Sorry if I startled you.”
I forced a smile, though my pulse hadn’t quite settled. “It’s fine.”
Still, something about the moment made my skin prickle—the way he kept glancing around the room, or how his laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes. But I shoved the thought aside almost instantly. I was the one lying, after all. The one keeping secrets. Of course, everything felt off—you couldn’t stand on a week’s worth of lies and expect the world not to shift.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, forcing a steadier tone. “See you at dinner?” I asked.
He nodded once, flashing that easy grin. “Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.”
Then he closed the door behind him, and the silence that followed felt heavier than before—pressing against my ribs until I could hardly breathe.
For a long moment, I just stood there, listening—to the hum of the refrigerator, to George’s nails clicking across the floor—but something in the air feltoff.
George wandered to his bowl, and even the rhythmic crunch of kibble put me on edge. I exhaled slowly, trying to shake the tension from my spine.You’re overreacting. He just needed files.
I turned toward the bathroom—but stopped short.
My purse sat open on the kitchen counter, and a prickle of unease crept up my spine. I stepped closer, seeing my wallet on top, my ID angled awkwardly, only halfway tucked in.
The air went thin in that instant.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
I didn’t think. I just moved—pushing out the door before I even knew where I was going. My feet hit the steps, then the dirt path, my breath became ragged before I even got to the trail.
I wasn’t sure if I was trying to find Dean or stop Mason before he found him—but either way, I had to run.
The business center came into view a few minutes later. I hurried up the steps, yanking the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. My eyes swept the room—desks, chairs, scattered papers—searching for any sign of them.
The smell of stale coffee and printer ink lingered in the air, proof they’d been there not long ago.
“Dammit,” I whispered.
My pulse thundered as I sprinted out the door. Every step landed hard, each one echoing the same frantic thought—He saw my ID. He knows who I am.
By the time the lodge came into view, my lungs were burning. Staff were already busy on the deck, preparing for the evening’s festivities. The dance floor gleamed under the late morning sun. I slowed, keeping close to the deck as I circled around back. Myshoes made too much noise as I climbed the steps and slipped through the side entrance.
Inside, the lobby was quiet—too quiet. Only a few workers moved about, setting fresh centerpieces as they talked in low voices.
Then I heard it.
A sharp clipped conversation—coming from the kitchen.
I stayed close to the wall, edging farther inside––the voices sharpening with every step I took.
“Her name is Emily Garland,” I heard Mason say, his voice tight and clipped. “Dean, I saw her ID with my own eyes.”
My heart stuttered. My back pressed to the wall as my pulse clawed up my throat.
“Slow down,” Dean said. His tone even, but I could hear the restraint in it—“What are you talking about?”
“I’msayingshe’s not who she says she is,” Mason snapped. “You met her on that trip, right? The one where you were supposed to meet the buyers?”
Dean’s voice hardened. “You’re reaching.”
“I’m not reaching. I’mlooking out for you!” Mason shot back. “We’re in the middle of a multi-million-dollar deal here, and this woman just—justappears.You ever stop to think maybe she’s here for other reasons?”
