5

Two hours later, I was still trying to wrap my head around what had happened.

Restlessness clung to me like a second skin, refusing to let go. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting Theron to appear out of nowhere his handsome mask slipping to reveal a far more sinister intent behind his so-called help.

His whispered words haunted me, curling through my mind like a ghostly echo, sending fresh chills down my spine. What did he want from me? Did he know who I truly was?

I shook the thought away, determined not to spiral. I wouldn’t let myself drown in fear, not now. I was surrounded by friends, sipping ridiculously expensive wine and savoring gourmet dishes I could never afford on my own. This cruise was a temporary taste of luxury, and I’d promised myself I wouldn't let memories of the past poison it.

Thankfully, Ansel had decided to keep his distance just in case there was even a hint of truth to the connection between me and Theron Lockhart. He wasn’t alone in his suspicion. Ever since Theron had called me his "date," I'd felt the weight of a hundred curious some downright jealous eyes watching my every move.

Women trailed after me like shadows, trying to decipher whether I had somehow snagged the attention of one of the most powerful men on board.

I had braced myself for the inevitable whispers, the vicious gossip, but surprisingly, nothing came. It took me a while to understand why—no one wanted to risk crossing Theron Lockhart.

"So, have you found your Prince Charming and thanked him yet?" Romilly teased with a sly grin, motioning to the waiter for another bottle of wine.

I stabbed a piece of steak with more force than necessary. "He's not my Prince Charming," I muttered, shoving the bite into my mouth.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, come on! What he did was epic!" She leaned in with a wicked grin. “And let’s not pretend it wasn’t insanely hot.”

I glanced at Boaz, but he was clearly immune to Romilly’s flair for theatrics. He just sighed and passed her a fresh glass of wine.

Romilly accepted it, her eyes narrowing in amusement. "Don’t even try to tell me your heart didn’t skip when he held you close and practically crushed Ansel with a look."

I gave her a withering glare. "He didn’t crush Ansel. And might I remind you that the guy who defended me is the same one who fired us and nearly destroyed my life?"

She shrugged and downed her wine. "If I were you, I’d have forgiven him the second he stepped in."

"It’s not that simple," I muttered, shadows from the past creeping in again.

Romilly leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "But what if he recognized you? What if he regrets what happened and now he’s trying to make things right?"

I scoffed. "And his first move in making amends is firing me?"

She winced. “Okay, good point.”

“I don’t want to think about Theron Lockhart or whatever game he’s playing,” I said, topping off my glass.

Romilly gave me a look that said she wanted to pry deeper, but eventually, she turned her attention back to Matteo, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

I focused on the wine, its rich flavor warming my chest. I had no idea how much I’d already drunk, but soon my bladder demanded release, forcing me to my feet and toward the restroom.

The buzz in my head made my steps feel lighter than they should have. When a wave hit the side of the ship, I stumbled and let out an involuntary giggle. Okay maybe I was slightly drunk.

It took me three tries to find the bathroom. By the time I slid into a stall, I was just barely holding it in. The relief of finally emptying my bladder brought a surprising wave of clarity.

What if I could start over? Wipe away the past like it never happened? What if someone like Theron Lockhart stood beside me not because of pity, but because he chose me?

The thought made me snort aloud.

Even without everything that had happened, Theron and I came from two very different worlds. Men like him didn’t notice women like me. And yet he had looked at me. He had helped me.

Was it because he knew?

I sighed and washed my hands, glancing at my reflection in the mirror. I wasn’t stunning, but I wasn’t invisible either. Long honey-blonde hair, soft blue eyes, a slightly perky nose, and curves I’d once worn with confidence. Before my world fell apart.

A foolish part of me wondered if Theron had noticed those things too. What if there wasn’t an ulterior motive? What if he helped me simply because he wanted to?

Shaking the thought away, I stepped into the corridor. One side of the hallway held polished railings; the other, rows of quiet cabins. The ship swayed again, and the dizziness from the wine didn’t help my coordination. I kept my gaze on my feet, concentrating on every step.

Then the yacht lurched again. My heel slipped, balance vanished and I was falling forward

Strong arms caught me from behind, wrapping tightly around my waist and lifting me back to my feet.

"Too much champagne, Amaris?"

I gritted my teeth, turned my head and there he was. Theron Lockhart. His green eyes gleamed, and that smirk—smug and devastating curled his lips.

My breath stuttered. Heat pulsed through me, pooling in all the wrong places. Damn it. I hated how my body responded to him.

Drawing a steadying breath, I shrugged out of his grip. "Thanks," I muttered, stepping back.

His grin only deepened. "You're welcome," he said, his gaze almost predatory.

I couldn’t stop myself from taking another step back. My eyes dropped to his chest his tie was gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone. The hint of smooth skin and muscle was infuriatingly distracting. When my gaze returned to his face, amusement danced in his expression. Was I some kind of joke to him?

I squared my shoulders. "Can I ask you something?"

His smirk didn’t waver. "Of course."

I cleared my throat. "Why did you help me?"

He shrugged and moved closer. "I despise the Alcotts. Putting that pompous ass Ansel in his place just felt... satisfying." Then he leaned in, lowering his voice. "But that wasn’t the only reason..."

My stomach tightened. "Another reason?" I asked, wary of his tone.

His smirk deepened. Did he know? Was he playing with me?

I was ready to flee but the ship chose that moment to lurch again. I yelped as my heels slipped, silently swearing I’d never go on a cruise again.

“Careful!” Theron’s voice rang out a second before his arms encircled me again.

I stumbled, and he caught me again holding me tightly, stabilizing us both.

"You okay?" he murmured, his voice a breath against my cheek.

Too aware of his body pressed to mine, I dared to lift my gaze. His face was close. Too close. His lips hovered just an inch from mine...

And then the unmistakable flash of a camera cut through the dim corridor.

Another flash. And another.

Someone was taking pictures.

Theron cursed under his breath and immediately let go. "Don't move," he growled. "I'll handle it."

But reason crashed down like a tidal wave.

Stay here? With him? If he did know who I was, staying near him was like flirting with fire. Panic surged through me. Even though part of me mourned the warmth of his arms, I knew I had to get away.

I spun around and ran, fleeing down the corridor without looking back.

I managed to avoid him until the cruise ended, but by then I was utterly drained. When I finally collapsed onto my bed, sleep took me almost instantly.

Bang bang bang.

“Ami! Ami, wake up!” Romilly’s voice cut through my dream like a knife. “You need to see this! Let me in!”

I groaned, wincing as sunlight stabbed through my eyelids. My body refused to move. My head felt fused to the pillow.

A glance at the clock 7:00 a.m.

Was she serious?

“Ami!” she shouted again. “It’s about Theron Lockhart!”

I groaned louder. “Why the hell would I care?”

“Open the damn door!”

Grumbling, I dragged myself out of bed and cracked the door open. Romilly burst in, waving a colorful tabloid like a weapon.

She slammed it onto my desk and jabbed a finger at the front page.

A photograph.

Theron Lockhart. And... me.

Caught in a close embrace, a split-second before what looked like a kiss.

“Shit,” I whispered, the blood draining from my face.

If Theron hadn’t figured out who I was, the reporters would. And when they did...

I was doomed.