Chapter 9

~ LENA ~

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. Good morning, Miss. Hayes.”

The maid that got the door greeted us warmly. She smiled at me in a way that immediately made me feel safe and welcome. Like I belonged there.

“Good morning, Rosa,” Julian replied as he stepped inside.

“Hi, Rosa,” I said, following him in and returning her smile.

Up close, she looked to be in her fifties, Latina, with kind eyes and streaks of grey woven through her dark hair, pulled neatly into a low bun that matched her uniform.

There was something about her presence that felt safe. Motherly.

The door closed behind us, and looking up, I froze. The picture-perfect setting of a grand foyer with warm lighting, curved twin staircases on either side and a massive chandelier in the middle stole the breath right out of my lungs.

I wasn’t sure what I’d expected Nathan Blackwood’s home to look like, but this by far surpassed any image I’d built in my mind.

I stood there a second too long, taking it all in, until I realized I was staring. Quickly, I straightened, schooling my expression.

Another maid approached us from the hallway.

“Good morning, Mr. Julian.”

“Good morning, Mirela,” Julian replied easily.

“Welcome, Miss. Hayes,” she greeted me politely, looking perfectly composed.

“Good morning,” I replied.

She was much younger than Rosa—early thirties, maybe. She acted polite but her expression was neutral and she seemed a bit distant. Nothing like Rosa.

Julian turned to Rosa. “Is Dahlia here yet?”

“Yes.” Rosa answered immediately. “She stepped outside just now to take an important call.”

Julian nodded. “And the wedding planner?”

“Not yet,” Rosa said. “She should be here shortly.”

“Alright,” he answered. Then casually, “Rosa, Mirela—could you both organize some refreshments for the ladies in the living room while we call Elise to find out what’s keeping her?”

“Of course, Mr. Julian,” Rosa replied without hesitation.

Mirela hesitated only briefly before nodding. “Yes, sir.”

They headed toward the kitchen together, their footsteps fading until the house became quiet.

I was still asking myself if I’d imagined Mirela’s cold stare at me as she left when Julian turned to me, his voice dropping to a discreet murmur.

“Come. Quickly. Let me show you around the important parts of the house.”

The word ‘quickly’ made my heart pick up speed. I followed him quietly through the house as he carefully pointed out rooms in passing. The main living room, the dinning area, Nathan’s home office downstairs.

I tried to memorize everything, afraid that if I missed anything it could give me away.

Upstairs, he showed me Nathan’s bedroom.

It was large, spacious, clean and masculine with minimal furniture. It had his scent all over it. And the massive bed—

My eyes landed on it before I could stop myself.

On our wedding night…

The words hit me all over again. I swallowed, my heart racing, suddenly too aware of the room, of what it represented. Heat rushed to my cheeks as images formed in my mind—vivid and unwanted images of Nathan’s body on mine, naked.

I turned abruptly and met Julian’s eyes. He was watching me. The flush deepened, embarrassment forcing me to lower my gaze instantly as I wondered if my thoughts had betrayed me. Could he tell exactly where my mind had been?

I wasn’t sure because his expression gave nothing away.

“Julian?” I asked, desperate to redirect my thoughts. “Who’s the woman I saw upstairs as we arrived?”

Julian glanced at me with a slight frown. “Which woman?”

“The elderly one,” I explained. “In the blue dress. On the balcony.”

“Oh.” His frown cleared up. “That’s Deborah, Nathan’s stepmother.”

My stomach clenched. “Does she live here?”

“No. She lives in Palm Beach, Florida. She moved there after Nathan’s father died. She only flew in for the wedding.”

“Okay.” Relief washed over me. Somehow, even though we hadn’t been formally introduced yet, the thought of sharing a house with that woman gave me chills.

Julian read my mind. “Don’t worry. She won’t be staying long. Just a few days.”

We left the bedroom and headed back downstairs. Dahlia was already seated in the living room, waiting. She stood up the moment she saw us, flashing one of those her rare smiles at me.

“Kim,” she said, looking over my outfit from head to toe, no doubt admiring the product of her work. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you.” I smiled back gracefully and pecked her on the cheek like Kim would, one of the many things she’d taught me.

Just then, the doorbell rang. From the kitchen, Rosa hurried to the front door. She returned seconds later with the wedding planner, Elise, a smartly dressed woman holding a large garment bag with a tablet tucked under her arm.

“’Morning everyone. So sorry I’m late. I got held up in a little traffic.”

Elise was cheerful. It was easy to feel relaxed around her.

“I brought the dress,” she announced, lifting the garment bag slightly for me to see. “The minor adjustments you requested have been done. It will fit just perfectly now.”

My heart skipped. The dress. Oh, God.

“Perfect,” Dahlia said warmly.

Julian checked his watch. “Ladies, I’m afraid I have to go. I’ll see you guys later.”

He met my eyes briefly, his gaze steady, reassuring. Then he was gone.

“You should try it on before we get down to other things,” Elise urged, handing over the garment bag.

“Okay.” I accepted it with a wide smile, pretending to be excited to try it on.

Dahlia looked at me. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m fine.”

I took it upstairs, back to Nathan’s bedroom. My hands trembled as I unzipped the bag, carefully extracting the dress.

It was beautiful…breathtaking.

I held my breath as I slipped it on. The fabric slid down over my skin like it had been waiting for me. When I looked in the mirror, I froze in shock.

It fit perfectly. So perfect it felt like it was made with my exact measurements.

I stepped closer to the mirror. For one fragile second, everything else vanished. There were no lies, no contract, no fear. Just a bride—looking genuinely happy, genuinely in love.

But just like that, reality rushed back in, and I had to remind myself firmly that this was another woman’s wedding, not mine. This happiness—this moment—it didn’t belong to me.

“Nathan said you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

I jumped at the sudden voice of a woman behind me. Whipping around, I saw her standing by the slightly opened door.

She was around my age, maybe a little younger. Tall, slim and polished in a way that felt effortless. Like someone who had grown up all her life in a place like this and never had to learn how to belong.

She was smiling, but whatever warmth she was trying to project didn’t reach her eyes at all.

“I came to see for myself.”