Chapter 6: Lovers in the Lion’s Den

Back in the North Garden, I changed into comfortable clothes. Michael had remodeled the place to look exactly like the backyard in Maple Heights. He never let anyone else in, which made it easy for me to come and go.

The air was thick with the scent of wisteria, the grass soft underfoot. For a moment, I let myself relax, pretending I was back home.

I lounged with a jar of candied pecans, reading a romance novel.

The pecans were sweet and buttery, the book a guilty pleasure.

When the heroine stripped the hero and they fell into the roses, my eyes lit up.

I snickered, flipping the page eagerly.

“Reading that stuff again? You’re going to corrupt the kids.”

Michael took my book, looking a little helpless.

He shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. For a second, I saw the man I’d fallen for, before the lies and the blood.

I couldn’t be bothered with him, so I turned over and closed my eyes.

I’d spent two months here, mostly ignoring Michael. I worked hard enough as an assassin—why waste more words?

Silence was safer, and besides, I liked keeping him guessing.

He didn’t mind. He sat down beside me and massaged my legs. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you out for a walk.”

His hands were warm and gentle, kneading away the tension.

Tomorrow was his wedding day with Rachel. With the whole estate celebrating, he must have wanted to spare my feelings.

I pretended to sleep and stayed silent.

He leaned close and whispered, “Didn’t you always want to spend time in the backyard? I asked the doctor—they said it’s fine.”

That got my attention.

I cracked one eye open, studying his face. He looked nervous, almost hopeful.

I turned to look at him.

Wow, he’d really dressed up today—emerald suit jacket, crisp white shirt, looking handsome as ever. He knew exactly what I liked, coming here just to tempt me.

“At last, you’re willing to look at me.” Michael smiled.

His smile was soft, almost shy.

I shot back, “You’re high and mighty now. Why would you care about a girl from the sticks like me?”

My voice was light, but the words carried a sting.

Michael carried me into the wisteria-draped gazebo.

The petals brushed against my skin, the air thick with perfume.

I pounced on him with a howl. The frame creaked, the gauze wrapped us together.

We tumbled together, laughter and kisses tangling in the soft light.

In the heat of the moment, Michael held my legs still, not letting me move.

He pinned me gently, his eyes searching mine.

He asked, “Lena, Lena. Say you love me.”

“Love you, love you.” I went along and kissed him.

Maybe I said it too easily.

Michael leaned against the railing, looking at me with a strange expression.

His gaze was intense, almost desperate.

I lay comfortably on his lap. Not bad—about to run away tomorrow, but at least I got one last good time. I’d take all the nice things Michael gave me when I left.

I made a mental list of everything I’d take—books, clothes, memories. The rest could burn.

Suddenly, Michael said, “Lena, do you really love me?”

His voice was quiet, almost vulnerable.

I leaned over, kissed his lips, and mumbled, “Of course I love you.”

I hoped the lie would be enough.

Michael gripped my arm, eyes downcast. “Really? Who do you love?”

“Michael Sterling, of course.” I looked at him.

He laughed.

But the way he laughed was so cold, it killed the mood. I put on my clothes.

His laughter echoed in the empty garden, sharp and bitter.

Michael’s smile grew more deranged. “You love Michael Sterling? Lena, all this time, you’ve never even asked what my real name is.”

His words hit me like a slap.

We parted on bad terms.

The silence between us was thick, suffocating. I packed my things in the dead of night, determined never to look back.

I thought he was crazy—and not just a little.

Maybe we both were. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much.