Mag-log inHe leans forward, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, deeply unsettling whisper as he stares directly into my green contact lenses. "In fact... you don't have to be a maid at all, Candy. I can make all of this manual labor disappear with a single phone call. If you can just agree to be my pri
"Look, Naomi, if Dennise catches you in here, she’s going to—" The distinct, heavy sound of the deadbolt locking echoes through the quiet kitchen. My entire body goes completely rigid. My instincts scream at me, a cold shock of adrenaline instantly shooting straight to my fingertips. That isn't th
I smooth down the front of my oversized, scratchy maid uniform, my fingers tracing the small bruise on my chest from where Caroline's finger violently ripped my dress open at the cemetery yesterday. My skin still feels raw from the humiliation, my eyes are burning from crying all night over Owen, a
The striking, facial structure. Sydney is an absolute, undeniable replica of the woman in the vintage photograph—Tobias’s mother. The almost psychotic protectiveness Tobias has shown toward Sydney from the very first moment he met her. The massive financial safety nets he threw under her, the fact
Before I can even open my mouth to apologize for breaking into his house, Tobias speaks. His voice is incredibly quiet, completely devoid of its usual sharp authority, yet it carries a heavy, haunting weight that pins me right to the carpet. "For years..." he murmurs, his finger continuing its slow
I stand frozen on the gravel path, the engine of Sydney’s departing car roaring in my ears. I watch the taillights of her vehicle bounce over the cemetery threshold, disappearing completely from sight, and with every inch of distance she puts between us, my heart shatters into a million jagged, irre
I’m sitting at the massive dining table, feeling like a tiny, insignificant dot, when Owen comes into view. My heart does this annoying little leap at the sight of him, one that I try to control, and as he steadily approaches the table, I realize he’s actually going to sit down. Across from me.
"Are you kidding me? This is a joke, right?" I’m staring at the revised script pages in my hand, and honestly, if the ink weren't still wet, I’d think I’d accidentally picked up a piece of fanfiction. I look up at the scriptwriter and I can feel the vein in my temple starting to throb. "Arthur,
"Yeah." Deckard? Making tea? The Deckard I know wouldn't know how to boil water if his life depended on it, let alone research herbal blends for a recovering patient. He’s a consumer, not a caretaker. Maybe he really was in love with her? But that's out of the question if he's never touched her an
I work quickly, my focus narrowing down to the task. I’m wiping away the blood, trying to be as gentle as possible while my mind is screaming about Lydia and the lever. As I lean in to wrap the white bandage around his forearm, I realize how close we are. I can see the sweat beading on his forehea







