Page 114 of A Vicious Love

The Bellemere estate was lit softly, all pale stone and climbing summer flowers, pretending it had never sold a daughter to settle dead people’s debt. Her heels clicked against the path. I watched every step.

“Those heels are deadly,” I said.

She glanced down, then gave a faint smile. “I had to look the part.”

“For who?”

Her smile faltered.

“To stand beside you.”

My chest tightened so hard I nearly stopped walking. To stand beside you. I thought about every event and smile she had worn because my darkness needed something soft beside it to make strangers less afraid.

I had let her think she needed to survive me in prettier shoes. Sometimes mistakes hit you all at once. My luck the world got clearer when I was drunk. At the door, she turned toward me. For once, she looked less afraid.

“Good night, Sienna.”

Not goodbye. That mattered.

“Good night, Jamison.”

She went inside. The door closed. I stood there for another second, staring at it like a fucking idiot.

I went back to the car. The driver pulled away once I was inside.

I might see her next week.

When she got back from whatever family rooms swallowed her between now and then, the review could be done. Damius could have moved her. Weston could have a formal approach. St. Cross could be preparing a ring. Or Celeste could be standing at my side while Sienna was sent somewhere else.

She might never stand beside me again. The emotion that brought up was ugly.

I leaned back against the seat and stared out at Harlan.

I cared.

I really fucking cared.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JAMISON

Iwould rather take a bullet than become the kind of man who built a house like Marcel’s. The house sat above the western Harlan cliffs, tucked behind black gates and old trees. The harbour visible beyond the lower gardens. Glass doors opening onto terraces designed for summer evenings and Emmie’s need to watch storms roll in over the ocean.

Her need.

That was the problem.

Every inch of the place had been built around her.

The kitchen had lower shelves because she hated asking staff to reach things. The reading room faced east because morning sun made her less restless. The downstairs sitting room had soft cream sofas deep enough for her to curl into Marcel’s side while he handled calls. The marble bath upstairs had a built-in ledge for her candles, oils, and the ridiculous collection of little jars she kept buying because somebody on Veil promised they would make her skin glow.

Her skin already glowed.

Marcel bought them anyway.

Then there was the garden.

Fuck me.