7: The Cold Light Of The Day
1444 Words
Rebekkah’s POV.
The living room was full of people who didn’t belong there. Men in windbreakers with “POLICE” printed on their backs moved around, their heavy boots scuffing the floor. Technicians were busy dusting the coffee table...the one my mother used to love...for prints. I sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, my body shaking under a thick wool blanket.
Michael was right there beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing in small circles. It was supposed to be a comfort, but it felt like a cage. Every time his palm moved, I felt a fresh surge of guilt.
I kept my eyes on the carpet, trying to focus on a small coffee stain, but my brain was a mess. Every time I blinked, I felt Derek’s mouth on mine. I felt the heat of his skin and the way he’d held me in the dark. It had felt so real. So necessary. But now, with the morning light coming through the windows, it felt like a massive mistake. A fever dream I had to bury deep if I wanted to survive my actual life. Derek was just a ghost from a trip to Barcelona. Michael was my real life. He was the man I was going to marry.
“So, Sergeant Kane,” a detective said. He was sitting in a chair opposite us, flipping through a small notebook. He looked tired, like he’d seen too many crime scenes this week. “You’re saying you got to Miss Grant within thirty seconds of the power going out?”
I held my breath. My nails dug into my palms. Thirty seconds. In those thirty seconds, I hadn't been a CEO. I hadn't been a billionaire. I had been a woman who wanted to be ruined by the man standing by the fireplace.
Derek didn't even blink. He stood there, his face looking like it was carved out of stone. No emotion. No memory. “That’s correct,” he said. His voice was flat, totally clinical. “I moved to the foyer, secured the asset, and handled the first threat at the base of the stairs. After that, we moved to the upper floor to keep the high ground.”
Secured the asset. He called me an asset. Like I was a laptop or a briefcase full of money. It stung, even though I knew I needed him to be distant.
“And you, Mr. Vane?” The detective turned to Michael. “You got here when?”
“Forty minutes later,” Michael said. He sounded angry, his voice tight and defensive. “The security firm had to bypass a jammed signal to reach my phone. I came as fast as I could. I broke three speed limits getting here.”
Michael’s hand tightened on my shoulder. I could feel him looking at Derek. He wasn't looking at him with thanks. He was looking at him with a weird, sharp suspicion.
“The story checks out,” the detective said, closing his notebook and standing up. “We’ll have more questions once we identify the guys downstairs. For now, Miss Grant, you should listen to your fiancé. This house isn't a safe place for you right now.”
The police started moving toward the kitchen to pack up their gear. Michael leaned in close to my ear, his breath smelling like the three cups of coffee he’d clearly had on the way over.
“Are you sure he’s telling the truth, Rebekah?” Michael whispered. “About how fast he reached you? He looks… I don't know. He looks different this morning. Like he’s hiding something.”
I felt a wave of nausea. I had to fix this. I had to prove to Michael...and mostly to myself...that Derek meant nothing. That he was just a guy I paid to stand in a corner.
“He’s a bodyguard, Michael,” I said. My voice came out loud and sharp. I stood up, letting the blanket slide off my shoulders and pile onto the floor. I looked up at Derek. He was watching me, his eyes dead and unreadable.
“He’s paid to look like a hero,” I continued, my voice getting colder. “It’s part of the act.”
Derek’s eyes met mine for a second. I saw a tiny flash of something in them...a memory of how I’d groaned his name in the dark...and I intentionally shut it down. I made my expression as blank as a boardroom report.
“Actually, Derek,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’m not happy. You were slow on the perimeter check. If you’d been doing your job properly, those men wouldn't have even made it to the front door. I pay for results, not for someone to stand around while my house gets shot up. I expect a lot better if you’re staying on this job.”
The room went totally quiet. Even the technicians stopped moving for a second. Michael looked a bit surprised by how mean I was being, but he didn't say anything to stop me. He actually looked a bit satisfied.
I waited for Derek to say something. I wanted him to get mad. I wanted him to defend himself so I could keep fighting with him. But he didn't. He just tightened his jaw. His shoulders went back, and he gave me a short, stiff nod.
“Understood, Ms. Grant,” he said. His voice was hollow. It didn't have any of that warmth from the night before. “It won't happen again.”
He looked at me like I was just a client. Just a signature on a check. The professional mask was back, and it was thick. But for a tiny moment, I saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes. He saw exactly what I was doing. He felt me pushing him away, and he was letting me go without a fight.
“Good,” I said, turning my back on him. I grabbed my purse from the side table. “Michael, let’s go to the St. Regis. I can’t stay in this place another minute. It feels like a tomb.”
I walked toward the door, my heels clicking loudly on the hard floor. I didn't look back at him. I kept my head high, acting like the untouchable woman the world thought I was. But inside, I felt sick. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand.
I had my life back. I had my fiancé. I was safe.
But as I stepped out into the morning air, I felt like I was the one who had just lost everything.
Michael led me to the car, his hand firm on my waist. He opened the door for me, his face full of that worried, protective look he always wore. “You did the right thing, babe,” he said as he slid into the driver's seat. “You can’t let these guys get too comfortable. They work for us.”
“I know,” I said, staring out the side window.
I saw Derek come out of the house. He was carrying my small suitcase. He didn't look at the car. He didn't look at me. He just put the bag in the trunk of the follow-car and stood there, waiting for us to pull away. He looked solitary. He looked like someone who had survived a war only to be told he wasn't wanted.
“Rebekah?” Michael asked, touching my hand. “You okay? You’re shaking.”
“Just cold,” I lied.
I looked at Michael, trying to see the man I loved. I tried to remember why I’d said yes when he asked me to marry him. He was kind. He was rich. He was safe. But as he started the engine, all I could think about was the way the air felt when Derek was in the room.
The car moved down the driveway, and I watched Derek in the side mirror until we turned the corner and he disappeared. I leaned my head back against the leather seat and closed my eyes.
I told myself I’d forget the kiss by lunch. I told myself I’d forget his hands by dinner. But as we drove toward the hotel, I knew I was lying to myself. I’d just started a fire I had no idea how to put out.
- Writer
