Doris Elizabeth Corday

The bus ride back to the penthouse was quiet, yet my mind was anything but. Olivia's words echoed in my head, contrasting sharply with King's tense warnings. His voice had been so accusatory, as though he cared too much and not at all at the same time.

As the city blurred past the bus window, I tried to make sense of the tangled mess of my emotions.

King had left so abruptly back there, I didn't know what to make of it. And even after Olivia and I parted ways, she was still telling me I better come to her wedding with a date.

If I actually did arrive with Rob B. Illion, what would she make of it?

No... I wouldn't bring him even if he was the last man alive. And I was pretty sure he wouldn't come either.

When I finally arrived at the penthouse, Mr. Illion was sitting in the living room, waiting.

Of course.

His expression was neutral, his sharp eyes scanning me the moment I walked in.

"Have a good time?" he asked casually, like he didn't already know everything.

His calm tone ignited something raw in me. Paired with my confusion after Olivia and King's words, I couldn't stop the frustration bubbling up inside me. I dropped my bag onto the floor, the sound echoing loudly in the silence.

"How can you call that a day of freedom?" I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

Rob tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb," I shot back. "The security tailing me? What's up with that?"

He leaned back, completely unfazed by my outburst.

"It's for your safety."

"Safety?" I asked in a mock laugh. I stepped closer, unable to hold back the storm brewing inside me. "Safety from what? Because as far as I know, I'm looking at the most dangerous person in my life right now."

"You've hardly seen me at my worst, Miss Corday," he teased.

But I was too livid to play along.

"Oh really?" I asked with a sneer. "A psychopathic killer that makes other people get their hands dirty for him isn't the worst? Then maybe someone blackmailing a woman into living with him so you can indulge in his weird fantasies? I'm starting to wonder if Alistair isn't the guy who needs to be dealt with. Maybe I'm living with the real villain here."

The words hung in the air.

Mr. Illion's smirk faded as the shadows on his face darkened. He watched me with lowered lashes, his eyes unable to catch the light as he held my stare.

"You should get some rest," he said smoothly, like my accusation hadn't landed at all. "It's been a long day."

I glared at him, my fists clenched at my sides. I wanted to scream, to throw something, to force him to react like a normal human being. But I knew better. I turned on my heel and stormed off to my room, slamming the door behind me.

Once I was alone, the anger drained out of me, leaving only exhaustion and a nagging sense of regret.

I shouldn't have said those things... Not because they weren't true, but because they didn't change anything.

All I did was make this mission harder. I am supposed to get close to him. Yet why do I want to run every time?

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers brushing the choker around my neck. Its presence was a constant reminder of just how dangerous Mr. Illion really was. I lay back, staring at the ceiling. My mind raced, replaying my own words over and over.

Eventually, sleep found me, though it was far from peaceful. My dreams were restless, filled with memories of how Mom used to warn me about men with too much power.

***

The smell of breakfast woke me up the next morning. It was sweet and warm, a mix of vanilla and something buttery, completely at odds with the usual smell of eggs and toast.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of my chaotic dreams, and padded out of the room, curiosity pushing me toward the kitchen.

What I found made me stop in my tracks. Mr. Illion stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with an ease that looked almost... domestic. He was still wearing his usual crisp shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but the sight of him making something sweet wasn't something I'd seen before.

"You're making pancakes?" I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder, arching a brow.

"Good afternoon to you too."

I blinked, still struggling to process.

"You don't usually do sweet things."

"Maybe I'm feeling generous today," he said, as he slid another pancake onto a plate.

I made my way to the counter and busied myself with the coffee machine.

"Thanks..." I muttered awkwardly when he placed a plate in front of me. The pancakes were golden and perfect, the kind you'd see in a commercial.

He poured himself a glass of orange juice and leaned casually against the counter.

"I'll be leaving for a business trip today," he said, as though it were just another part of the morning routine. "I'll probably return next week some time."

I looked up from my coffee.

"Am I coming with you?"

"No," he said simply.

A strange pang of disappointment settled in my chest. I wasn't sure why. It wasn't like I wanted to spend more time with him, and yet, being left behind felt oddly isolating.

"Where are you going this time? Another resort?"

"A hotel near the beach," he replied. "It's just a short trip."

I hesitated for a moment.

"I want to come."

Mr. Illion's brow furrowed slightly, but there was no outright refusal.

"You want to come?" he repeated, as though testing the idea.

"Yes," I said firmly, convincing myself this is all to get information from him. "It's better than being stuck here, and I could use the change of scenery."

He studied me for a moment and I thought he might actually say no again.

"Fine," he said finally. "But if you're coming, you better pack right now."

"On it," I said quickly, not giving him a chance to change his mind.

Luckily, it wasn't like packing was very hard for me. I had the same clothes available as usual and only added my sarong and swimwear I acquired from our previous trip.

With the ugly designing sunglasses I had bought, I stared out the car window as we travelled. Mr. Illion and Secretary Coy sat together while discussing business as usual. All the while I tried not to think back on my little outburst from the night before.

The drive to the hotel was longer than our previous trip and by the time we arrived, the moon was high in the sky, casting silver light over the waves that crashed gently against the distant shore. The hotel itself was sleek and modern, its elegance fitting for someone like Mr. Illion.

We checked in without much conversation, and after a brief exchange of logistical details with security, we headed up to our suite. The room was as pristine as the hotel — white linens, marble floors, and a breathtaking view of the ocean.

"Get some rest," Mr. Illion said, gesturing toward a spare bedroom. "It was a lot of traveling today."

Before I could even reply, he turned and headed for his room.

It left me with the strangest feeling.

***

The next morning, Mr. Illion was gone before I even woke up. A brief note on the kitchen counter said, Meeting. Don't wander too far.

I spent most of the day alone, watching the world move outside the window while I wrestled with my thoughts. The hours dragged on, and I found myself pacing the suite, restless. I thought about going out to explore the hotel but wanted to wait instead.

I didn't see Mr. Illion at all that day. His absence was as heavy as his presence usually was. And the suite felt too big and too quiet.

Only later that night, did I hear the soft click of the door and the muffled rustle of his jacket as he moved around the suite. I wanted to confront him, to ask why he'd been gone so long, but I stayed in bed, my eyes heavy with sleep.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I'm acting like some forgotten wife.

The next morning, I wandered out of the bedroom with a stretch. Mr. Illion was on the balcony, framed by the morning light. His laptop glowed faintly in front of him, and he sipped from a glass of water, looking like he'd been awake for hours.

"Do you ever take a day off?" I asked, padding barefoot to the coffee maker.

He glanced up at me briefly.

"Today," he said simply, closing the laptop.

I raised a brow.

"Really? You're taking the day off? What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," he replied, leaning back in his chair, his gaze sweeping the horizon.

The idea of Mr. Illion doing anything that wasn't meticulously planned was foreign, but I wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"Then let's do something," I said, pouring myself a cup. "Something not business-related. For once."

He studied me over the rim of his water, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.

"Like what?"

I set my mug down and nodded toward the pool shimmering in the sunlight below.

"Like that. Get in the pool with me."

"I don't swim," he said flatly, his tone dismissive.

"Liar," I smirked. "You wouldn't have an indoor pool in your penthouse if you didn't enjoy swimming."

"I don't swim with others," he corrected without looking at me.

I rolled my eyes as I walked over.

"And you didn't eat food prepared by others either. Yet you made an exception for me. So, just make another exception," I teased.

"It would ruin the gloves," he said, flexing them in thought.

"Then take them off," I shot back, not letting up. "Unless they're glued to your hands, what's the big deal?"

The faintest flicker of something, anger maybe, crossed his face.

"I said no."

I exhaled sharply.

"You talk so much about control and power. But you can't even take off a pair of gloves? How do you expect to connect with anyone if you're always hiding? You want a family one day, don't you? Will you keep them on even in front of your kid?"

He rose to his feet slowly. The intensity in his gaze made my breath hitch, and for a moment, I thought I'd gone too far. He loomed over me, close enough that the heat of him was impossible to ignore.

"You don't know what you're asking," he said. "And as much as you think you know me, Miss Corday, you don't know anything."

"Maybe I don't," I admitted, refusing to back down. "But you can't live your entire life behind walls. If you want to settle down with someone, you'll have to give them more."

"And what if I don't have more to give?" His question was quiet, almost to himself.

The salty breeze whipped at my hair as I watched him.

"Then you'll lose them," I said, softer this time. "And maybe that's what you're really afraid of."

He looked away and my eyes widened.

"No..." I murmured. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

He stared at the horizon without commenting further and the strangest sense of guilt settled over me. It was a ridiculous feeling. Mr. Illion wasn't someone that deserved pity. His problems were all his own doing.

Yet I couldn't help it.

"I..." the words died as I shook my head.

I wasn't doing this for him. This was all to get closer so I could get the information I needed. Cheering him up was in my own benefit.

"I want ice cream," I announced.

He looked back with a raised brow, and I grinned.

"Come. Since my day of freedom got ruined by your security guards, I demand you take me for ice cream right now."

"I'll send Coy to—"

"No, it has to be you," I said, pointing a finger at him. "And you'll hold my hand! As part of your physical therapy nonsense. We better get you married soon," I huffed, already heading for the door. "I want my freedom once you get yours."

I looked back and hated how relieved I was to see the corner of his mouth turn up.

"As you wish, Miss Corday."

With a handful of security shadowing us at a respectful distance, we stepped out into the vibrant streets. I glanced down at his gloved fingers, signaling for him to hold my hand. He instead offered his arm, and I sighed as we linked elbows.

The streets were alive with warmth and noise. Children darted between tourists, market stalls overflowed with trinkets and bright fabrics, while seagulls squawked along with the nearby crash of waves.

"You'd look amazing in that," I said, pointing at a sunhat in a shop window, oversized and covered in neon-colored bows.

Mr. Illion followed my gaze, his smile returning slightly.

"You have terrible taste."

I nudged him with my elbow, smirking as I pointed to a rack of colorful beach shirts outside a boutique. One in particular had garish bright pineapples.

"Then how about one of those? You'd be the talk of every barbecue."

He glanced at the rack, his lip curling slightly.

"I don't do barbecues."

"Shocking," I said, feigning surprise. "What do you do, Mister Illion? Lurk in dark corners? Host secret meetings with ominous music playing in the background?"

His eyes flicked to me.

"Only on Mondays."

"Ha!" I laughed. "Was that a joke I heard?"

He kept his eyes ahead without laughing and my smile dropped.

"That... was a joke, right?"

"Mmm."

"Mmm? What 'mmm'?" I asked. "What does 'mmm' mean?"

Mr. Illion pulled me close just as a child ran past us, a popsicle in one hand and a sticky napkin in the other. I was pressed to his chest, feeling how fast his heart was beating.

What the hell?

Heat flooded my face as I pulled away and gathered my composure.

Our walk continued while I tried to shake the weird feeling of his chest off me. We passed a display of gaudy souvenirs, and I stopped, picking up a miniature figurine of a surfing mouse. I held it up for him to see.

"This screams you," I grinned. "Can't you just picture it on your desk?"

He stared at the mouse like it might attack him.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on," I said. "It's got... personality."

"Its face is rather... I think there is something wrong with the paint."

I chuckled at the way he genuinely looked concerned. My eyes squinted in the sunlight as I kept laughing. Mr. Illion stared at me much like he did the figurine which only made me laugh even more. Finally, I set the figurine back down and continued our walk.

"No need to judge it's face."

The sun dipped low as we strolled back toward the hotel, the streets quieter now, bathed in amber light. My ice cream had long since melted, leaving behind a sticky napkin in my hand. Mr. Illion walked beside me, his strides unhurried. For once, the tension between us seemed to have dissipated, leaving room for an uneasy sort of calm.

But the moment we stepped into the lobby, the air shifted.

Mr. Illion stopped so abruptly that I nearly bumped into him. His entire posture went rigid, his shoulders taut as if bracing for impact. I followed his gaze instinctively, my stomach twisting into knots before I even saw what he was looking at.

Or who.

I had never seen his face before. But I recognized the wavy silver blonde hair.

He stood in a perfectly tailored light gray suit as he talked to some associates before stopping mid conversation. As if he sensed us, he turned, and my mouth parted. Long light lashes framed a pair of light blue eyes that crinkled into a smile. He gave a quick wave in our direction, his silver watch catching the light.

To anyone else, he might have seemed approachable, even charming. But an unexplainable chill clawed through my body. Despite his handsome features and the youthful air to his smile, there was just something that threw me off.

The way the light caught his eye...

This feeling... It was enough to tell me who I was staring at.

Alistair Chase.

"Well, well." His voice was smooth, carrying easily across the room as he approached us. "My dear friend, Rob! Fancy running into you here."

Mr. Illion's hand brushed against mine — so subtle it might have seemed accidental. But I felt the unspoken warning in that touch: Stay close. Stay quiet.

"Alistair," Rob greeted, his voice as calm as a still lake, but I could feel the tension coiled beneath the surface. "Didn't realize you were here as well."

The silver man's smile deepened.

"Coincidence," he shrugged like he didn't mean it at all. "Did you receive my invitation?"

"I did."

"Oh, I do hope to see you at the gala," he sighed cheerfully. "I heard you're the life of the party!" His gaze darked so briefly it was gone before I could blink. "I'd hate for you to miss it."

"I'll have to see my schedule," Mr. Illion replied without missing a beat.

"Hmm," Alister hummed. Then, those blue eyes fixed on me, and I turned to stone. "And who is this little thing?"

My throat went dry.

He smiled at me, but it felt more dangerous than when Mr. Illion had a gun pointed at me.

"She's my fiancée," Mr. Illion said smoothly, breaking the silence.

My mouth dropped to the floor.