Chapter 8- Lines and Trust

The next day, Genevieve woke up before dawn. Her heart was racing; she had a nightmare, but the details were blurry when she woke up. She tried going back to sleep, but she couldn't.

For a long moment, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The Holloway mansion was silent; the staff had not yet resumed. Genevieve made a mental note to send a message to the chief housekeeper later in the day to tell all the staff to resume the next week. She needed to hear the sound of the staff working every morning, she didn't like how quiet the mansion was.

She rose and wrapped a robe around herself and moved to the window. Outside, the day was only just beginning to brighten. The outside world looked calm. 

Harper’s words from the tearoom replayed in her mind.

'The Club always has two games running. The one they tell you and the one they don’t.'

Genevieve exhaled slowly. She had known from the first day that she met Celeste that she was dangerous. The president of the Widow’s Club could never afford to be anything else. But knowing something and feeling it in your chest were two very different things. She needed answers, but at the same time, she did not want to be used for the club's illegal activities.

She checked her phone. There were no new messages.

Genevieve headed to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Delilah arrived just by 8AM. She wore a well-tailored gray suit, her expression unreadable as usual, but Genevieve had begun to notice the subtleties, like the way Delilah’s eyes sharpened when she thought Genevieve wasn’t paying attention and the pauses before she answered certain questions.

“You look tired,” Delilah said, setting her tablet down on the kitchen island.

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep much.”

“That may be expected,” Delilah replied lightly. “Your life is accelerating more than you expected.”

Genevieve studied her reflection in the marble counter. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, a tension in her jaw she hadn’t noticed before. Acceleration was probably the word for it. 

“I met his daughter yesterday,” Genevieve said quietly.

Delilah’s fingers stilled for a fraction of a second. It was subtle. Almost possible to miss. But Genevieve caught it.

“Olandria,” Delilah said. “Yes. I saw the security logs.”

“You knew.” Genevieve said as she headed for the fridge to get water; it was more of a statement than a question.

“I know most things,” Delilah replied smoothly. “The encounter was… unexpected, but maybe it was needed; it will help speed up everything.”

“Speed up everything?” Genevieve turned to face her. “I hope the club is planning to tell me to use her for whatever game we have going on. She’s a child, Delilah, not a collateral.”

“No,” Delilah agreed. “She is an advantage. Or vulnerability. Depending on how you look at it.”

Genevieve felt a sharp pain twist inside her chest. “I am not going to use her.” Genevieve was open to the idea of using Dominic, but she could not bring herself to accept the idea of using an innocent child.

Delilah met her gaze steadily. “No one asked you to. Yet.”

The word lingered between them. Genevieve looked away first.

“Dominic will notice,” Genevieve stated. “He already suspects something. He will be more guarded if I decide to get close to his child.”

“Or more curious, if the child wants you and not the other way round. Children complicate men like him. They soften the edges while sharpening the instincts,” Delilah said.

Genevieve did not respond. She knew that arguing with Delilah would not yield any positive result.

There was a brief pause between them. Then Delilah stated, “Celeste wants a report.”

Genevieve’s spine stiffened. “About the gala? Or Halcyon?”

“Both.”

“And Olandria?”

Delilah’s lips pressed together briefly. “Especially Olandria.”

Genevieve nodded, though she felt uneasy in her stomach. “I’ll send something neutral.”

“That would be wise.”

She waited until Delilah left before drafting the report.

She kept it clean. Observational. No emotion. Dominic was distant but responsive. Security protocol was selected. Accidental encounter with his daughter- brief, no follow-up.

It felt like lying by omission, but she was learning that the Widow’s Club thrived on omissions. Truth was a substance they diluted carefully.

She hit send. Almost immediately, her phone vibrated.

Celeste: Good. Continue as planned. Do not grow sentimental.

Genevieve stared at the message as she thought of Olandria’s small hand in hers and the child’s voice saying, “Daddy doesn’t like new people.”

Genevieve locked the encrypted phone and set it aside.

Later that afternoon, an unexpected message arrived on her phone.

Dominic Rourke: My assistant tells me you finalized your protocol. I’ll review it personally. Come by Halcyon tomorrow. 6 p.m.

Her pulse quickened. She wanted to ask how he got her number, but she remembered that it was part of the details that she had to fill out when she was applying for the security protocol.

She typed back a simple response.

Genevieve Holloway: I’ll be there.

She wondered whether he already knew more about her than he let on. One thing she was sure of was that Dominic Rourke did nothing without a reason.

That evening, Genevieve returned to the files in Charles's study.

Charles’s name stared back at her from the Halcyon charity contributors. She cross-checked dates, donations, and foundations. The pattern was there, faint but unmistakable. Money moving in circles. Clean on the surface but dirty underneath.

Charles had told her everything, she had thought. About his work, his fears, and his enemies. Apparently, he had hidden something from her.

She leaned back into her chair, massaging her temples. The feeling of grief reappeared. Not just for the man she’d lost, but for the version of her marriage she believed in.

A soft knock came at the door and distracted her from her thoughts.

She adjusted on the chair. “Come in.” She knew that it was Delilah.

Delilah stepped inside, eyes immediately scanning the spread of documents. “Be careful,” she said lightly. “Curiosity has consequences.”

“So does ignorance.”

Delilah stared at her for a moment, then spoke more softly. “You are standing on a thin line, Genevieve. Between the Club and Dominic. Between what you were and what you are becoming. I know you are curious and you have a lot of questions, but if you hesitate to do what is right, the ground will give way.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you choose a side.”

Genevieve closed the folder. “What if I don’t trust both sides?”

Delilah’s expression softened, just slightly. “Then you are learning.”

---

The next day arrived too quickly.

By the time Genevieve stepped into Halcyon’s private elevator, her pulse quickened; she was nervous. She wore a tailored sleek black dress, and her hair was styled in a wavy pattern. She looked very simple but still very beautiful. She always looked beautiful in anything she wore; that was probably one of the reasons Charles married her.

The elevator opened directly into the hallway that led to Dominic’s private office.

When she stepped into his office with his secretary, he was standing by the windows, city lights reflected on the glass in front of him. No jacket. Sleeves rolled up. The sight of him like this sent an unwanted flutter through her chest. Dominic was the kind of man that any woman would want to have in her bed, not just because of his wealth and influence but also because of how handsome and tempting he looked, and Genevieve wasn't oblivious to any of these things. Blood was almost creeping into her cheeks when his voice interrupted her thoughts.

“You’re early today,” he said without turning.

“I wanted to make a better impression than last time,” she replied evenly.

He turned to face her, his gaze assessing her; for a moment she thought she saw something shift in his sharp eyes. “Sit,” he said briefly.

They went through the protocol details. His questions were sharp. He noticed everything. 

At one point, his gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. “My daughter said she met you.”

Genevieve responded, her voice steady. “Briefly. It was an accident.”

He studied her. “She doesn’t usually talk to strangers.”

“Really?” Genevieve asked. “I apologized for bumping into her, and I gave her my card in case she needed a friend to play with. That was all.”

Something unreadable passed through his eyes, but he didn't say anything. His eyes returned back to the papers in front of him. Silence settled between them, so intense that Genevieve felt like the walls were closing in on her.

As she stood to leave after they had concluded the final details of the security protocol, he spoke. “You’re different from what I expected, Mrs. Holloway.”

She met his gaze. “So are you.”