The Will

Settling I

Gunnar POV

Dinner had been excellent.

Not surprising.

Mr. Ashwood believed bad food was an insult to success.

The problem was nobody had actually eaten much.

Ayla pushed vegetables around her plate.

Dally looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Lily spent most of the meal staring into space, occasionally jotting notes into that little notebook of hers.

Conversation never really got off the ground.

Hard to make small talk after finding out your host had been murdered.

Especially when one of the people at the table had allegedly done it.

After dessert, an older man in a black suit introduced himself as Mr. Bennett, the estate's butler.

"I've prepared rooms for each of you in the east wing."

Prepared. Not assigned. Interesting choice of words.

He led us through a maze of hallways lined with oil paintings and antique furniture. The house felt different at night. Bigger. Quieter. The kind of quiet that made you lower your voice without knowing why.

I kept an eye on which direction everyone else went.

Not because I cared. Not exactly. I just wanted to make sure nobody had gotten the presidential suite while I ended up in a glorified guest room.

Mr. Ashwood appreciated excellence. He rewarded loyalty. He noticed potential.

I knew where I stood with him. Or where I'd thought I stood.

Mr. Bennett opened a set of double doors.

"Your room, Mr. Hastings."

Not bad. Not bad at all. The room was larger than the one in my apartment. Dark wood furniture. A king-sized bed. Fireplace. A small sitting area. French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the lake.

There was a bottle of eighteen-year Scotch on the sideboard.

Mr. Ashwood remembered my favorite.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Maybe things weren't as uncertain as they felt. Maybe this was still what I'd thought it was: A test. An opportunity. One final lesson from the man who had taught me everything.

Mr. Bennett handed me an old brass key. "Breakfast is served at seven. The estate grounds are yours to explore"

After he left, I unpacked my overnight bag, hung my suit jacket in the closet, and loosened my tie.

I should have gone to bed. Instead, I found myself thinking about the girl.

Ayla.

The grief on her face downstairs hadn't looked performative. It had looked personal. And there was something familiar about her. Something I couldn't quite place.

Dark eyes with little flecks of gold. Olive skin. Long brown hair. I'd seen her before.

Hadn't I?

Then it hit me. Not her. Pictures of her.

Years ago, I'd walked into Mr. Ashwood's office without knocking. He'd been out at lunch. There had been a folder sitting open on his desk. No label. Just one word written across the tab.

CHILD.

I hadn't meant to look. At least, that was what I'd told myself afterward. There had been school photos. Report cards. Birthday snapshots.

A little girl missing her front teeth. A teenager in a graduation cap.

The same eyes. The same face.

I'd never brought it up.

Mr. Ashwood valued discretion. And honestly, I'd assumed there had to be an explanation. A scholarship recipient, like the psychotic blonde he'd invited, perhaps.

I glanced at the clock. Far oo early to go to sleep.

Besides, if Ayla had some connection to Mr. Ashwood, I wanted to know what it was.

Not because of the inheritance. Not entirely. Information was valuable. And boy, she sure is beautiful. I left my room and headed down the hall.

Finding Ayla suddenly felt more important than getting some sleep.