Chapter 3: Carter Quill’s Game

Everyone in Silver Hollow knows Carter Quill—he’s the guy who turns every bar into his own personal frat party. Barely in his early twenties, he parties hard and acts like he owns the place.

You can spot Carter from a mile away—the expensive laugh, the crew of hangers-on, the phone glued to his hand. His family’s name is on half the buildings downtown. Small towns have long memories, and Carter’s family tree has deep roots.

We met once at a friend’s dinner. He raised his brows, his gaze lingering on my face the entire time.

He had that smug confidence, like he’d already decided how the night would end. I avoided his eyes, focused on my wine glass, but I could feel the weight of his stare the whole meal.

After dinner, Carter’s assistant handed me a hotel room key card with a smile.

She wore an apologetic grin, as if she did this all the time—Carter’s girl Friday, running errands that made my stomach turn. The key card felt cold in my palm, like a dare. I pushed it back, keeping my voice even: "No, thank you."

I pushed it back without hesitation, directly refusing.

But Carter seemed to take this as me playing hard to get.

He was used to getting his way, and I guess he thought every no was really a yes in disguise. It made my skin crawl.

For three months, he waited outside my office every day at closing time, holding a bouquet and making a spectacle of himself.

Every afternoon, I’d spot that cherry-red Camaro gleaming in the parking lot, the smell of gasoline and cheap cologne lingering in the air. He’d camp out in the parking lot, leaning against his cherry-red Camaro, the kind of flowers you’d see at a high school prom in hand. He’d smile, wave, even call out my name loud enough for the whole building to hear. The secretaries started whispering by the coffee machine, and I could feel their eyes on me every time I walked to the copier. I started wearing baggy sweaters and kept my hair up, trying to make myself invisible.

I had someone pass him a message, politely saying I was already married and asking him not to bother me.

But he only became more brazen, even asking to poach me as his personal assistant.

He cornered me by the elevator one evening, voice low and oily, offering a job I didn’t want at a salary that made my head spin. He grinned, like he was sure I’d say yes eventually.

Gossip is a terrible thing. If this continued, I wouldn’t even be able to keep my job.

Silver Hollow runs on whispers. I could already hear the rumors curling around the break room—about favors, about who I really belonged to. My boss started acting weird. I started dreading Mondays.

Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but say, "Carter’s family owns a string of mines, and he’s rumored to have some shady connections. Only you can keep him in check."

The words tasted bitter, but they were true. Derek’s name still meant something in this world—a shield I hadn’t realized I missed until now.