the space between them like an inv

d as Celeste's words

last person who tri

ound the folder, as if it were a shiel

k, her gaze drilling into Liana with

fused to

ction-denial, amusement, anything-but he simply l

y, he

ng dramatic

she knew more than she let on. She crossed her arms, her bl

to Liana. "Did he tell you a

accepting the job. Killian Vaughn was notoriousl

writer before her, th

last writer

ad. "No one knows. Is

m felt

im to refute the claim. But Vaughn didn't r

ply wa

nnerving than anyth

was an answe

s calm,. "Celeste,

"Of course. I wouldn't want to

d out, the faint scent of expens

t with an ee

easing the breath she hadn

n, her pulse still racing

vaguely irritated. "Celeste Laurent," h

s. "And who exactly

then sighed.

"Fiancée? Didn't take y

g the cuffs of his black dress shirt. "It was...

ear

hift in his tone. He wa

i

he wouldn't. .If he wanted to keep his secret

ick folder. "You said eve

t reading. We'll

walked out, leaving he

t, his ver

room that night, staring

t, the kind of silence t

tened-and now, she was locked inside a billionaire's estate, ta

ered if she should

that needed answers-was alre

, it was

thplace. Education. Ea

nt, the more the deta

o childhood records

tarted with private capital-

nts. No siblings. No relatives

onships, excep

s too

st a man guard

n who had era

question

ouldn't

the ceiling, the weight of the

out this fel

self. Her bare feet barely made a sound against the ha

he sanitized version o

to see th

ss-strategic security c

h of it c

by an off

r door

reached

lightly on

ope

kened as she s

or-to-ceiling windows overlooking the vast, moonlit estate

tention was the safe h

its kic

tive journalist. She knew how to find

gers grazing the edges.

-a stack of o

ed-then pic

e dulled by years of handling. It had once been a pristine memory, but now it

olled-as if he had already learned to mask his emotions. He wore a sharp black suit, tailored despite his still-growing frame. His hair, sligh

ncertain. Like they should have been doing something e

d another man-t

owerful men wore, the silk tie perfectly knotted, the cufflinks gleam

his

een burned out

ched. Not

rn

jagged black hole where his features should have been. The burn marks s

ted to simply remove the man. Th

ulder-a grip that seemed too firm, possessive-and the expensive signet ring

re you

a fr

rway, arms crossed. His

h

om, his presence suddenly i

voice was calm, but the

efusing to look guilt

ed to the phot

ift she barely saw it

ng the picture into his pocket. "Som

hard. "Who was

dn't

he turn

y private affa

osed to write

, but it

the version

his gaze, u

sn't s

n't just some self

ething beneat

ing to find ou

it kil