Chapter Five

* Lawrence *

The next morning, the phone rang just past ten. I was still in bed, half-sober from sleep and half-sick from the night before. Dianne had left behind a trail of chaos, sheets tangled like regrets, a half-empty wine bottle on the counter, and a silence that rang louder than any argument we never finished.

I stared at the ceiling a moment longer before I reached for the phone.

"Dianne?"

"Hey." Her voice was softer than usual, but not soft enough to be vulnerable. Still clipped. Still Dianne. "I need to talk to you."

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Is this about last night? Because—"

"No," she cut in, quickly. "It's not about us. It's... it's about my family."

That got my attention.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, letting the sea breeze creep through the half-open window. "Alright. Talk."

There was a beat of silence. When she spoke again, her voice had shifted, lower, rawer, like she had scraped the polish off just for this moment. "My mother tried to take pills last night."

My heart sank.

"Shit. Is she?"

For a while I didn't know what to say, I hadn't expected that she would tell me about it. I heard rumors about her family, but I didn't say anything until she opened up about it.

"She's okay. She's... recovering. But it's because of my father." Dianne's father and my dad are business partners.

Her words spilled faster now, tumbling out like she'd been holding them in too long. "He's been seeing someone. Some woman from around there. Not just seeing. He's been spending weekends with her. At the resort."

I blinked, the weight of her words slowly settling in. "The Magnolia resort?"

"Yes. There." She took a breath, shaky this time. "My mother found out. She confronted him. He didn't deny it."

I stood, pacing now. The floor felt colder. "Dianne, I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"I'm not calling for sympathy, Lawrence," she snapped, then quickly softened again. "I'm calling because I need your help. I need to know who she is."

I paused. "What do you mean?"

"I don't have a name. Not a real one. Just that she works at the resort. One of the cleaners, I think. My dad has a fake name saved on his phone. No photos. But I know she's there. I just—" her voice faltered. "I need to see her. I need to understand what made my father throw away everything for her."

I sat down again, slowly. My mind was already scanning faces. Staff. Rotations. Cleaning crews. I'd seen plenty of them. Smiling politely, invisible by habit. But none that jumped out, yet.

"You don't have to do anything drastic," Dianne continued. "Just... ask around. Quietly. Discreetly. You're the owner's son, people will talk to you."

I hesitated. "You sure you want to know?"

"I have to," she whispered. "My mom's broken, Lawrence. She's sitting in her room staring at a wall like something's been carved out of her. I've never seen her like this. And I, I just want to fix it."

Her voice cracked then. Barely. But it was enough.

"Alright," I said. "I'll find her."

"Thank you."

She hung up, just like that. No pleasantries. No lingering flirtation. Just cold, sharp desperation.

I stared at the phone for a moment. Then the ceiling again. Then the wine bottle. My thoughts began to race. I pulled on a shirt and went straight to the security office.

The Magnolia had more eyes than it needed. Motion-triggered cameras in every hallway, entry point, and parking slot. And while privacy laws were a constant whisper in the background, no one really challenged what the Dankworths did on their own property.

I sat behind the console, scanning footage from the past few weekends. I didn't know what I was looking for until I found it.

Late Friday evening. Dianne's father's SUV, Mr. Donte Pitman pulling into the private bay. He got out alone.

But fifteen minutes later, a woman exited the west staff door. Not a guest. Uniformed. Cleaner.

She looked both ways like she shouldn't be there, and then slipped into his arms.

I leaned in. She tilted her head toward the light. Her face came into view for a few seconds. Big brown eyes. Pale lips. Hair knotted up in a messy bun. I hit pause. A beauty regardless of age and her uniform.

Amanda Kramer. My breath caught.

I'd seen her before. Not long ago. She looked at me once like I was the villain in her story. Like I had walked in on something I wasn't meant to witness.

I sat back. Fuck.

Of all people. Dianne didn't know.

Not yet. But I did.

I found her just before noon, near the east corridor with her cart, loading fresh linens into a room. Sunlight traced the lines of her back. She paused when she noticed me, every part of her going still.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Sir." It stung.

I stepped closer, careful. "Amanda, right?"

Her throat bobbed. "Yes."

"I'm Lawrence Dankworth."

"I know who you are." Of course she did.

Silence lingered between us. The hallway emptied. Only the hush of wind and the sound of water trickling from the garden fountain filled the space.

I watched her clutch the linens tighter. "Do you have a moment?"

"If it's about the room complaints—"

"It's not," I said. "It's personal."

She hesitated. "I'm working."

"I won't take long."

She looked past me. Then back. A quiet war playing out in her eyes. Finally, she nodded. "Ten minutes, Mister Dankworth."

We stepped out onto the terrace. It was quiet, just palms rustling and distant waves crashing.

"Are you single, Miss Kramer?"

Her lips parted. And before she could even answer I opened my mouth to add something.

"He's Dianne's father," I gritted my teeth starting the feeling of hatred in my veins.

Amanda flinched.

I exhaled. "She doesn't know it's you. But she will. She asked me to help her find out."

Amanda turned her face, the color draining. "Are you going to?"

"I already said I would."

A long pause.

"I didn't ask for this," she said softly. "He pursued me. Told me he was lonely. That he was leaving her. I believed him."

"Why stay?"

"I tried to leave," she whispered. "But I mattered to him. Or maybe I just needed to matter to someone."

I didn't speak.

"Dianne's mother tried to overdose," I said finally.

Amanda closed her eyes. "God."

"She's alive," I added. "Barely."

Amanda gripped the edge of the planter like the ground might tilt beneath her.

"I never meant to hurt anyone," she said. "I didn't know it would go this far."

"Then why not walk away?"

Her voice dropped. "Because I'm, I am pregnant."

The world stood still. My eyes move to her flat stomach that it was almost impossible to believe on what she said. She looked at me then. No apology. No excuse. Just the truth.

"I haven't told him," she said. "I'm leaving. I want out. I don't want anything from him. Not anymore."

I swallowed. "Dianne's still going to find out Amanda."

"I know." Her jaw tightened. "But not from you Mister Dankworth. Please. Let me be the one to tell the truth."

I couldn't promise that I held my tongue and nodded.

She turned and walked back inside, vanishing down the corridor like a secret slipping back into shadow.

And I stood there, holding too many truths in hands too unsteady to carry them.

Goddamn it, Dianne! Goddamn woman! Why does she have to work under the Dankworth family?