Chapter 14

{Hailey’s POV}

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been lying there when I heard it. A voice. “Pull the candlestick.”I was on my feet instantly, whirling to put my back to the wall. On instinct, I grabbed the keys I’d left on the nightstand, in case I needed a weapon. I scanned the room for the person who’d spoken, and came up empty.

“Pull the candlestick on the fireplace, Heiress. Unless you want me stuck back here?” Annoyance replaced my initial fight-or-flight response. I narrowed my eyes at the stone fireplace at the back of my room. Sure enough, there was a candelabra on the mantel.

“Pretty sure this qualifies as stalking,” I told the fireplace-or, more accurately, the boy on the other side of it. Still, I couldn’t not pull the candlestick. Who could resist something like that? I wrapped my hand around the base of the candelabra. I was met with resistance, and another suggestion came from behind the fireplace.

“Don’t just pull forward. Angle it down.”

I did as I was instructed. The candelabra rotated, and then I heard a click, and the back of the fireplace separated from its floor, by just an inch. A moment later, I saw fingertips in the gap, and I watched as the back of the fireplace was lifted and disappeared behind the mantel.

Now at the back of the fireplace, there was an opening. Marcus stepped through. He straightened, then returned the candle to its upright position, and the

He was here, in my room, flirting for a reason.

“Everyone is going to want something from you soon, Heiress.” Marcus smiled. “The question is: How many of us want something you’re willing to give?”

Even just the sound of his voice, the way he phrased things—I could feel myself wanting to lean toward him.

This was ridiculous.

“Stop calling me Heiress,” I shot back. “And if you turn

“That’s the thing, Mystery Girl. I don’t think I’m turning

anything into a riddle. I don’t think I have to. You are a riddle, a puzzle, a game—my grandfather’s last.”

He was looking at me so intently now, I didn’t dare look

away. “Why do you think this house has so many secret passages? Why are there so many keys that don’t work in any of the locks? Every desk my grandfather ever bought has secret compartments.

There’s an organ in the theater, and if you play a specific sequence of notes, it unlocks a hidden drawer. Every Saturday morning, from the time I was a kid until the night my grandfather died. He sat my brothers and me down and gave us a riddle, a puzzle, an impossible challenge—something to solve. And then he died. And then…” Marcus took a step toward me. “There was you.”

Me.

“Julian thinks you’re some master manipulator. My aunt is convinced you must have Lachlan blood. But I think you’re the old man’s final riddle—one last puzzle to be solved.” He took another step, bringing the two of us that much closer. “He chose you for a reason, Hailey. You’re special, and I think he wanted us—wanted me—to figure out.”

My pulse quickened, but I held my ground. I wasn’t some mystery to be cracked open. I wasn’t a game, no matter how poetic Marcus made it sound.

I tilted my head, searching his eyes for the angle. “So what is this, then?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. “You break into my room through a secret passage just to play boy detective? Or are you hoping I’ll melt under your brooding charm?”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “I think you’ve already figured out I don’t need charm to get what I want.”

Arrogant bastard.

“And what is it you want?” I shot back.

He took another step closer, his voice dropping to something softer, more dangerous. “The truth. About you. About this house. About what George was planning before he died.” He paused. “But I won’t lie—every time I’m near you, I start wanting things I probably shouldn’t.”

I swallowed hard, the space between us suddenly too tight, too electric. I could smell the faintest trace of his cologne—something woody and clean, like cedar and midnight.

“Why me?” I whispered before I could stop myself. “Why would your grandfather leave all this… to me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Marcus admitted, and there was something sincere in that answer that made me hate him less. “But if there’s one thing I do know about my grandfather, it’s that he didn’t make moves without purpose. Not in business. Not in the family. Not in death.”

A long silence settled between us. Not awkward. Not tense. Just full of things neither of us was willing to say yet.

Then, to my surprise, Marcus leaned back against the cold marble mantel like he hadn’t just climbed out of my fireplace.

“Do you want to see the rest of the passage?” he asked casually, like he was offering me a soda instead of the key to the mansion’s secrets.

I narrowed my eyes. “There’s more?”

“Of course, there’s more. This house is basically a damn labyrinth.” He glanced back at the dark crawlspace behind him. “This passage connects to the east wing library, a couple of the offices, and the old wine cellar. There’s even one that leads behind the family portrait hall—creepy, but functional.”

He looked at me with a glint of challenge. “Come on. You know you’re curious.”

I should’ve said no.

Instead, I grabbed a flashlight from the drawer, ignored the small voice in my head calling me reckless, and stepped into the secret passage behind Marcus.

It was narrower than I expected, the walls stone and cool, the floor uneven. As we walked, our footsteps echoed in the dark, close and almost intimate.

“You ever wonder why George built all of this?” I asked.

“All the time,” Marcus murmured. “He once told us, ‘Secrets are safest when hidden in plain sight. But the most dangerous ones are buried just beneath the floorboards.’”

Cryptic. Classic George Lachlan.

We stopped in front of a wooden panel embedded in the stone. Marcus pressed his palm to it, twisted something I couldn’t see, and the wall slid open just enough to peek into another room.

The library.

Rows and rows of books, towering ladders, and moonlight cutting across the space in silver-blue strips. It was empty. Peaceful.

“Sometimes I come here when I need quiet,” Marcus said. “When the family noise gets too loud.”

I looked at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. “You mean when Julian’s being an ass?”

That earned me a smirk. “Among other things.”

Another beat passed.

Then Marcus said something I didn’t expect.

“You know, I thought you were a joke when I first heard your name. Hailey Vale. A stripper heiress with a smart mouth and no clue what she was walking into.”

I arched a brow. “Thanks?”

“But you’re not a joke,” he added. “You’re surviving. That’s harder than anyone in this house realizes.”

I wasn’t sure what shocked me more—that Marcus Lachlan could be kind, or that I wanted to believe him.

“Don’t fall for me,” I said quietly.

Marcus chuckled. “I don’t fall.”

He reached for the panel again, sliding it shut, sealing us back in the dark.

“But you… You make me think maybe I should.”

And just like that, the air thickened again—this time with the kind of tension that had nothing to do with family secrets and everything to do with him standing way too close, his eyes burning through the dim like he could see everything I was trying to hide.

The truth was, I didn’t trust him. But for some reason, I didn’t want him to leave either.

“Let’s go back,” I said.

Marcus hesitated, then nodded, and together, we moved through the shadows, the mansion whispering all around us.

If the walls could talk, they’d still be screaming.

But now?

I was finally starting to listen.