Chapter 4
731 Words
The door clicks shut behind me, and for the first time all night the crowd noise dies.
Silence.
Blessed, suspicious silence.
Only one car waits at the curb a sleek black thing that probably costs more than my entire hometown.
I hesitate. Surely the groom rides with the bride. Isn’t that how weddings work?
The driver opens the back door anyway. “Mrs. Hale?”
It takes me a second to remember that technically that’s me.
“Uh… where’s Alex?” I ask, sliding into buttery leather that smells like money and gasoline.
“Mr. Hale instructed me to take you home,” the driver says. He checks the rear view, polite but curious. “I assume he went back to the office based on the call he had before we left.”
Office. On his wedding night. Of course. “Oh,” I say, stretching the vowel until it’s practically a song. “Thaaank youuu…?”
He catches the hint and grins. “James.”
“Right. Thanks, James.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Hale.”
“Please, just Clair..My brain fumbles.
Claire is a banned word. “ Blaire. Yess…
Just Blaire is fine.”
I am so bad at crime.
“Okay, Mrs. Blaire.” He chuckles, merging onto the quiet highway.
“We’ll work on that ‘Mrs.’ part as time goes on.”
I sink lower in the seat, cheeks burning. Only three hours in and I’m already leaking secrets.
Excellent start, Claire.
Really professional.
How am I going to survive this ???
⸻
Somewhere between the city lights and the endless trees, my eyelids betray me. The car hums like a lullaby.
“We’ve arrived,” James says gently.
I blink awake and nearly choke on the view.
⸻
I knew Alex was rich. But this is rich rich.
The driveway curves like a private runway toward a mansion that could eat my mother’s entire neighborhood for breakfast. White stone walls gleam under moonlight. Windows too many to count glitter like they’re winking at me.
And a waterfall.
An actual waterfall gushes down a rock face beside the front entrance, lit from below so it glows silver and gold. Because apparently a regular fountain would’ve been too humble.
“Wow,” I breathe.
James hides a smile. “The staff will be asleep. I trust you can find your way to the master suite?”
“Absolutely,” I lie. “Thank you, James. Call it a night.”
“Good evening, Mrs.” He stops himself, maybe remembering my near slip. “ Blaire.”
The car glides away, leaving me alone with a house the size of an airport.
⸻
How hard can it be? I tell myself.
Five minutes later, I’m pretty sure I’ve walked in three circles and accidentally discovered a wine cellar, a library big enough for Hogwarts, and a hallway full of doors that all look exactly the same.
I start marking them with tiny scratches from my thumbnail like a deranged Hansel and Gretel.
Still lost.
Could this day be worse?
Don’t answer that, universe.
At last, a room that feels right huge, minimal, absurdly perfect. Every “guest room” here is basically a master suite, so I decide it’s mine by squatters’ rights.
A note on the dresser reads: Your belongings will arrive tomorrow.
Right. My belongings. The ones I forgot to pack because I was too busy marrying a stranger.
The wedding dress has to go. The pins have turned my scalp into a pincushion, the makeup itches like betrayal.
I spot a crisp white shirt draped across the bed. Maybe a maid left it before clocking out. Fine.
The bathtub is big enough to hold a small orchestra. I sink into hot water until my skin prunes and my brain won’t stop replaying every bad decision that led here.
Hours or minutes later, I pull on the shirt and a pair of briefs I find folded nearby. The shirt is enormous; I knot the hem, but it still swallows me like a kid wearing her dad’s laundry.
Nobody will know.
Right?
The mattress is cloud soft. I barely register the pillow before sleep drags me under.
⸻
A sound snaps me awake.
Not a dream. Not the waterfall.
A soft click, somewhere near the door followed by footsteps.
I sit up, heart hammering.
I’m not alone.
- Writer
