Intruder

My fingers glide over the book's cover, my stomach fluttering with excitement. I've always wanted a copy of Pride and Prejudice. Oh, how I love romance.

We grew up in Barbados, my sister Keisha and I, watching our parents share the kind of love that felt almost unreal—deep, unwavering, the kind you only read about. They were inseparable, so much so that when Mama passed, Papa followed just three months later. It was the most tragic moment of our lives and not long after, I had to leave everything behind and join Keisha in New York.

From my teenage years, I dreamed of love. The grand-sweeping kind. I imagined all the ways my prince charming might find me. The classic accidental collision, a breath-stealing moment of eye contact, reaching for the same book, or stepping into the same taxi at the exact same time, just like Papa and Mama. But never once did my fantasies involve being saved from a dragon's nest.

Moreover, we've been through too much to end up in a dragon situation. 

Life has been brutal since the death of our parents. Love, for me, was supposed to be a choice, a beautiful one and not a desperate escape. But here I am, about to marry a man old enough to be my father. A tragedy I'll have to endure—for Keisha's medicine, for my tuition.

A deep voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

It comes from behind the massive bookshelf.

The book slips from my hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud. A chill runs down my spine. For a moment, I forget to breathe.

Keisha is going to kill me. No staff except Keisha and Mr Jeffery goes this far into the house and she told me he was out. Mr Liam lives in his house and rarely visits because of his business schedule. Mr Gregory and Dr Mary are out so who could it be?

She can't lose this job—not because of me. She's worked for the Harrolds for seven years, paying our bills until I started med school and she fell ill. The Harrolds are old money, wealthy for generations, their empire spanning petroleum, wine, gemstones, and industries I can't even begin to count.

Dr. Mary Harrold, a renowned surgeon, and her husband, Gregory, have two sons. Liam and Kendrick. Liam, the eldest, runs their businesses. Kendrick, the rebellious younger son who could have walked straight out of a novel was rumoured to have died in a car crash after a drunken night. His girlfriend had left him at the scene, helpless and the rest they say is history.

Keisha never believed it.

She says he is still alive, living in this very mansion with his parents. She hasn't seen him since the accident two years ago, but was suddenly made to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement shortly after the accident. While they downsized many of their workers, she was assigned to prepare special meals for someone, someone who wasn't Dr. Mary or Gregory—after which she would return to her quarters and come back at specific times for subsequent meals or to clean specific places. She warned me never to breathe a word about it.

But it couldn't be him. Kendrick never came to this part of the house. At least that's what I was told.

I was only supposed to sneak in, and take a picture of a few notes from the Encyclopedia of Medical Imaging Keisha had stumbled upon while cleaning the library. She didn't want to sneak it out, so she dressed me in her uniform, handed me cleaning supplies, and sent me in.

If there's only one door,  how did someone end up on the other side of the shelf?

"I saw you moving minutes ago, and suddenly, you're a statue?" the voice says again. "You'll have to move eventually when security gets here."

My body jerks back to life at the word security.

"Please, sir," I blurt out. "My sister, Keisha, works here. I'm not an intruder."

"Tell that to security."

"Please—"

"Don't move." His tone sharpens, as if he knows I'm about to make a run for his direction.

Then I hear it, the sound of his phone dialing.

My heart pounds so violently I promise one could hear it echo through the library.

I don't think. I just act. I sprint towards the voice, desperate to stop him.

And then I see him.

Heat prickles at the back of my neck. Broad shoulders relaxed, his gaze scanning me.

I grip the edge of the bookshelf, steadying myself. He shouldn't look this good. It's unfair, really, how his presence shifts the air, turning my resolve into something fragile.

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

The voice on the other end of the line speaks.

"Ken, are you okay?"

Ken, short for Kendrick?

My hands turn clammy. My head spins.

He doesn't break eye contact. After what feels like forever, he responds.

"Yes, I am. Call me when you get back." He ends the call.

I collapse onto the floor, my veil slipping loose around my neck.

Kendrick.

The scar. The wheelchair.

Kendrick Harrold is alive.

And he's still staring at me, as if waiting for an explanation or something deeper.

Despite the scar, the new hair cut which almost made him unrecognizable and his current state, he still had the same presence they talked about. I've only ever seen him in magazines and news articles, but in the four years I've lived on the Harrolds' property, this is the first time I've seen him up close.

"Do you always zone out like this?" His voice is calm, almost amused. "Or has the sight of me in a wheelchair stolen your ability to speak?"

"Sir," I say, rising to my feet and bowing my head.

"You read?"

Something about the way he says it rubs me the wrong way. It doesn't sound like curiosity—it sounds like an insult. The smitten feeling I had just moments ago curdles into irritation.

"I was cleaning," I lie.

"You might have fooled me if I hadn't watched you scroll through certain chapters—sniffing and blushing after every inhale."

My stomach twists.

"How long were you there? And how did you even get in?"

He tilts his head slightly. "This is new. A staff interrogating me."

Realising my mistake, I slap a hand over my mouth.

"I—Forgive me, sir. I'll be on my way. I promise never to come in here again, and I never saw anyone." I quickly pull my veil over my hair, ready to leave.

"Wait. Stay."

I shake my head. "I can't, sir. My sister will get into trouble."

"I'm Kendrick—at least, that's what I'm told. And no, she won't." He pauses. "It's good to see someone other than my doctor, father, mother, Liam, and Jeffery."

Told? My breath hitches. Did he lose his memory?

As much as I want to know, I've already been here too long. Keisha will start worrying.

"Sir, I really have to go."

"Okay." He exhales, studying me for a moment. "What's your name?"

I hesitate. But then I see it—the silent plea in his eyes. And against my better judgment, I give in.

"Rose."

He nods as if turning the name over in his mind, testing its weight.

"Can I ask a favour?"

I nod, eager to end this conversation before I get myself into even deeper trouble.

"Can you meet me here at the same time tomorrow?"

I freeze.

This is impossible. Reckless. A part of me wants to know everything—what really happened after the accident, why the world thinks he's dead. Why he never comes out. But agreeing to this would be walking straight into a lion's den.

"Please, Rose." He says my name so softly, so alluringly, that I barely hear myself respond.

"Okay."

His lips curve slightly, as if he knows he's won. "Bye, Rose. You never saw me."

I nod once before bolting out of the library, my heart pounding.

Now, I carry a secret no one can ever know.

Not even Keisha.

And Lord knows, I am not stepping foot in that library tomorrow.

"You took too long in there," Keisha says the moment she sees me.

"I'm sorry."

We hurry to her quarters, but my mind is stuck on a single thought.

The image of a man literally, the entire world believes to be dead.