Chapter 3 – The House That Isn’t Mine

INDIE

The drive felt endless.

Tristan didn’t speak once after we left the hospital. His hands stayed steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, jaw tight like he was holding something back. 

The city lights of Los Angeles slid past the windows in a blur of gold and white. 

I sat in the passenger seat, fingers curled into the thin fabric of the hospital-issued cardigan they had given me, and tried not to look at him too long.

This man was supposed to be my boyfriend.

According to Jesper, anyway.

The car finally slowed as we turned onto a private road that climbed higher into the hills. 

Tall gates opened without a sound. A modern mansion came into view—sharp lines, glass walls, warm light spilling out onto a wide stone driveway. It looked expensive. 

Nothing like the apartment I used to share with Jesper.

I knew that the second I stepped out of the car.

Tristan handed his keys to a man in a dark uniform who appeared out of nowhere. Then he glanced at me, just once.

“This way.”

His voice was low. He didn’t offer his hand. He didn’t wait to see if I was steady on my feet. He simply walked ahead, and I followed because I had nowhere else to go.

Inside, the house was quiet in a way that felt deliberate. High ceilings. Soft lighting. 

Everything in shades of black, gray, and deep green. It smelled faintly of clean wood and something expensive I couldn’t name. 

A woman in a neat black dress appeared almost immediately.

“Mr. Holt,” she said with a small nod. 

Her eyes flicked to me with polite curiosity.

“This is Indie,” Tristan said. He still wasn’t looking at me. 

“She’ll be staying in the east guest suite. Make sure she has everything she needs. Clothes, toiletries, whatever the hospital didn’t provide. And have the kitchen prepare something light.”

“Yes, sir.”

He finally turned his head toward me. “You should rest. The doctor said your body is still weak.”

I held his gaze. “Are you going to tell me who I am supposed to be here?”

Something tightened around his mouth. For a second, I thought he might actually answer. Instead, he looked away.

“Not tonight.”

He walked off without another word, leaving me standing in the middle of that massive entryway with the staff member watching me carefully, like I might break.

The east guest suite was larger than the entire apartment I used to live in. 

Floor-to-ceiling windows opened onto a dark view of the city below. The bed was perfectly made. 

The bathroom looked like it belonged in a magazine. A soft set of clothes had already been laid out by the time I finished showering—simple black lounge pants and a long-sleeved top that still had the tags on them.

I sat on the edge of the bed afterward, hair damp, heart restless.

This wasn’t my home.

This wasn’t my life.

And the man who owned this place clearly didn’t want me in it.

A soft knock came at the door. The same woman from earlier stepped in carrying a tray.

“Mr. Holt asked me to bring this up,” she said. “Is there anything else you need, Miss..?”

“Harlow… Indie Harlow.”

“Yes, Miss Harlow.”

I looked at her. “Does he always talk about people like they’re temporary?”

She paused, then gave a small, careful smile. “Mr. Holt prefers things to stay… uncomplicated.”

After she left, I forced myself to eat a little. The food was good, but it sat heavy in my stomach. 

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jesper’s calm face in the hospital. The way he had smiled when he called Liora his girlfriend. 

The way he had handed me over to Tristan like I was a problem he was done dealing with.

I needed answers.

And pretending to remember nothing was the only way I was going to get them.

I waited until the house grew quieter. The hallway lights had been dimmed. 

When I opened my door, the air felt cooler. I stepped out carefully, barefoot, and moved toward the direction Tristan had disappeared earlier.

Voices carried faintly from somewhere downstairs.

I followed the sound until I reached the edge of an open living area that looked out over the city. 

Tristan stood near the glass wall, phone pressed to his ear, back partially turned. His free hand was shoved into his pocket. 

Even from a distance, I could see the tension in his shoulders.

“…I don’t care what you told her,” he said, voice low and sharp. “You don’t get to drop this on me and walk away like it’s nothing.”

Silence. Then a cold laugh that held no humor.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Jesper… but don’t drag me into it.”

My breath caught.

He listened for another moment, jaw tightening.

“She’s not a toy you can pass around when you get bored. Fix your own mess.”

He ended the call without saying goodbye. For a second, he just stood there, staring out at the city lights like he wanted to put his fist through the glass. 

Then he turned.

And looked straight at me.

The air left my lungs.

Tristan’s eyes were dark, unreadable, fixed on me with an intensity that made my pulse jump. 

He didn’t look surprised. 

“How much did you hear?” he asked quietly.

I stayed where I was, one hand resting against the wall for balance. My heart w

as beating too fast, but I forced my expression to stay blank. 

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