~CHAPTER TWENTY SIX~
By the time the jet touches down in the US, I already know Hardin is tracking every second of my movement.
A driver waits at the terminal, crisp suit, no smile, just a quiet “Mrs. Scott, this way.”
The ride to the house feels like a slow descent back into a world where my pulse is never my own.
When I step through the door, the lights are low, the air thick with the scent of smoke and aged liquor.
Hardin lounges on the couch like a king in exile, shirt unbuttoned, cigarette between his fingers, glass of whiskey resting on his knee. His eyes lift to me in a way that pins me exactly where I stand.
The chauffeur drags my small luggage upstairs.
Hardin doesn’t move.
He watches me the entire time, like he’s waiting for the house to empty before he decides which ver
