Chapter7:TheHouseInTheHills
1137 Words
“I swear, if you sigh one more time, I’m going to throw you in the ocean,” Britney said, stretching across the bench with a mock groan.
Kelly smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
They sat outside a quiet seafood shack near the harbor, the sun slipping behind a veil of clouds. Olivia stirred her drink with a straw, watching Kelly.
“You’ve been off all day,” Olivia said. “More than usual.”
“I’m just tired,” Kelly mumbled.
“Right,” Britney drawled. “Tired from dodging Arthur Tom like a wanted fugitive.”
Kelly’s gaze dropped to her lap. She didn’t deny it.
“He saw you again, didn’t he?” Olivia asked.
Kelly nodded slowly. “Briefly.”
Britney raised a brow. “And?”
“He looked at me like I was a ghost he wanted to put back in the grave.”
“Well, you did haunt him for three years,” Britney said, shrugging.
“You’re not helping,” Olivia muttered.
Britney sipped her drink. “She doesn’t need help. She needs a drink.”
“No,” Kelly said instantly.
“Yes,” Olivia insisted. “You need a moment to breathe. Clear your head. Come on, just one.”
Kelly hesitated. Her chest felt tight with secrets. One drink wouldn’t fix anything… but it might quiet the ache for a while.
“Fine. One.”
---
The bar hadn’t changed.
Same chipped counters. Same dim lights. Same smell of sea salt and beer. Kelly stepped through the door and felt her heart tighten.
This was where it all began.
She sat near the back, alone, nursing her third glass of wine. The warmth in her chest was no longer comforting—it was numbing. Her vision blurred slightly. Her fingers fumbled when her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
She answered, slurring slightly. “Hello?”
“Miss Moore?” The voice was smooth. Male. Unfamiliar.
“Yes…” she mumbled.
There was a pause. “Mr. Arthur Tom will be there shortly. Please remain where you are.”
“What?” she blinked. “I didn’t—wait—who—?”
The line went dead.
She barely had time to think before the air shifted around her.
Arthur Tom walked in.
He was dressed in black, tall and lethal, the room parting for him like it had no choice. His eyes found her instantly—stormy, unreadable—and for a moment, he didn’t move.
And neither did she.
A thousand memories flickered behind his gaze. Her laugh. Her bare shoulders at dawn. The way she once touched his hand like it held answers.
She looked like the past he couldn’t bury.
But also like something he still wanted to possess.
He didn’t speak. Just approached slowly, his coat still damp from the outside air, his jaw tight with restraint. When he stopped beside her table, she looked up—glass still in hand, lips parted, eyes glossy with drink and confusion.
“You came,” she whispered, not entirely aware she’d said it aloud.
“I always do,” he said quietly.
Then he reached for her—gently, but firmly—and she let him take the glass from her hand.
“I’m not… drunk,” she muttered, even as she stumbled slightly.
Arthur caught her, one arm around her waist, his voice low in her ear. “You are. And this is the last place you should be.”
“I can take care of myself,” she protested softly.
His jaw ticked, and he looked at her like she’d just told the ocean to stay still.
“You’re coming with me.”
---
When Kelly woke, the first thing she felt was softness.
Cotton sheets. Warmth. Silence.
Her eyes fluttered open to pale ceiling beams and soft light spilling through gauzy curtains. She sat up slowly—head aching—only to realize she was wrapped in nothing but the sheets.
Her clothes were gone.
A fresh set of black slacks and a satin shirt lay folded neatly on the velvet chair nearby. No note. No clock. Just questions.
She dressed quickly, heart pounding. Her memories were a blur—his eyes, the weight of his aggressive, dominant tone—cold,composed, but commanding, like a man who’s done waiting fortruths:hand on her back, the way the night smelled like old longing.
---
The door creaked as she stepped out.
And there he was.
Arthur stood at the end of the hallway, tall and motionless, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other gripping a glass of water like he wanted it to shatter. His eyes locked onto hers—no warmth, no mercy. Just control.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice clipped.
Kelly swallowed. “I… where am I?”
“My house.”
Her brows drew together. “Why—?”
“You were drunk in public,” he cut in sharply. “Falling apart in the same place we met. I won’t let you humiliate yourself—or me—again.”
She flinched. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
He stepped forward, slow but unrelenting. “No, you didn’t. That’s the problem. You think disappearing for three years gives you the right to set boundaries now?”
Kelly folded her arms. “You had no right to bring me here.”
“I have every right,” Arthur snapped. “You made yourself my business the second you showed your face in Windmere.”
She held her ground. Barely. “Did you have to take my clothes too?”
“I didn’t touch you,” he growled. “I had staff prepare the room. You passed out like a child. I made sure you didn’t choke on your secrets.”
Her jaw clenched. “You think you can intimidate me into talking?”
His laugh was cold. Low. “I don’t need to intimidate you, Kelly. I need you cornered. And right now, you are.”
He took another step, closing the space between them.
“You’re going to tell me what happened. Why you left. Who you’re protecting. And you’re going to do it here. Under my roof. Under my terms.”
She tried to look away.
“Look at me,” he barked.
Her gaze snapped back to his. And this time, she didn’t just see anger—she saw hurt buried under layers of rage. Fury that had waited too long for closure.
“You don’t get to run this time,” he said, voice steel. “You ran once. I chased. Not again. You speak. I listen. And if I don’t like what I hear—” he paused, eyes narrowing—“I act.”
---
- Writer
