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Chapter 3
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2026-01-27 12:41:29"Nothing you haven't seen before, right?"
Grace's mouth opened, but no words came out. Her brain had short-circuited. Aiden stood there completely naked, water droplets still clinging to his chest, his expression calm like this was the most normal thing in the world. She couldn't stop staring. Couldn't stop the heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. Then he reached out and held her face. Both hands. Gently cupping her jaw like she was something precious. His touch was warm, impossibly warm, and Grace felt something inside her melt. Like ice breaking apart under the sun. Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it. But before anything else could happen— KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK. The pounding on the door was aggressive, violent almost. Grace jumped back like she'd been electrocuted. "Thank God," she muttered under her breath, pressing a hand to her racing heart. Aiden exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. That was close. Not sure how I would have ended that. He grabbed the towel from the floor and wrapped it back around his waist, tying it tight this time. Then he walked to the door, his movements stiff with frustration. When he opened it, Mason was standing there. And he looked furious. His eyes immediately locked onto Aiden's half-naked body, then flicked past him into the room where Grace stood frozen near the bed. Mason's face twisted with something ugly. Jealousy. Pure, unfiltered jealousy. "What are you two doing in here?" His voice was sharp and accusatory. Aiden didn't answer. Mason stepped forward, trying to push past him. "I said, what are you doing? Come here—" Aiden grabbed his arm and shoved him back into the hallway. "Bring your voice down," he hissed, then stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him with a firm click. Grace stood there, stunned. What are they going to do? She tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against the wood. Her pulse was racing again, but this time it wasn't from attraction. It was from fear. From the sinking feeling that something terrible was about to be revealed. "Damnit, man!" Aiden's voice came through muffled but clear enough. "I'm warning you!" Mason's voice was louder, sharper. "She's my wife, okay? You don't try anything!" Grace's stomach twisted. "Try anything? Like what?" Aiden shot back. "Mason, please. You know I've been against your marriage from day one." There was a pause, then his voice dropped lower, colder. "What about Sophia, huh? Her best friend. The one you've been sleeping with for several years?" Grace's hand flew to her mouth. No. No, no, no. "You're not scared she'll find out?" Aiden continued. "It's going to break her heart." "No, no, this is perfect timing!" Mason said, and Grace could hear the smile in his voice. The excitement. "It's Christmas vacation! Sophia and I can finally be free. Open. Finally play our games the way we want!" Grace staggered backward, her legs suddenly weak. Mason, this is your anniversary gift to me? Her vision blurred. Her chest felt tight, like someone was squeezing her lungs. "This your game?" Aiden's voice again, disgusted now. "Yeah, exactly! And you're holding me back from them, okay?" There was a brief silence. Then Mason's phone buzzed. Grace heard him answer it. "Hey, mister." Sophia's voice. Smooth, sultry, dripping with desire. "Hey, babe. Where are you?" "Don't worry, I'll be back soon." "Come back and finish what you started." Her voice was a purr. "Okay, I'll come back to finish in just a second. You keep those handcuffs on." "Yes, sir." Grace's knees buckled. She grabbed the edge of the dresser to steady herself, but her hand was shaking too hard. The room spun. Her mind screamed. Handcuffs. Games. Sophia. Seven years. Seven years of lies. Mason ended the call. "What if Grace finds out?" Aiden asked, his voice low and dangerous. Mason laughed. Actually laughed. "I'll sweet-talk her like I always do. She can't leave me." The words hit Grace like a sledgehammer. So it's me. The joke is on me. Her legs gave out. She stumbled backward, her hand knocking into a glass sitting on the side table. It tipped. Fell. And shattered on the hardwood floor with a loud, sharp crash that echoed through the room. CRASH. The sound cut through the air like a gunshot. Grace froze, staring down at the broken glass scattered around her feet. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Her hands were trembling. She couldn't move. Couldn't think. All she could hear was Mason's voice playing over and over in her head. I'll sweet-talk her like I always do. She can't leave me. Outside, the voices stopped. Footsteps pounded toward the door. The door flew open. Aiden rushed in, his eyes wide with alarm. He looked at Grace, then at the shattered glass, then back at her face. She was pale. Shaking. Tears pooling in her eyes even though she was trying desperately to hold them back. "Grace—"
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The garden belonged to a house on the edge of the city that Emma had found and booked three months ago, before Grace had fully decided on the details, which was Emma knowing her well enough to act on the knowledge.It was the right kind of garden. Not a formal one — not the kind of garden designed to be looked at from a distance. The kind that had been loved into its shape, that had corners and levels and a particular quality of enclosure that made it feel, despite being outside, like a room.Twenty-three people.Grace had made the list herself, once, and had looked at it and had not added to it and had not removed from it. It was the right number. The people who had been in the rooms. The people whose presence across the past two years had meant something real. Not all of them had stayed throughout — some had come and gone and come back — but they had all, in their way, been part of it.Emma. Rachel. Lily. Floyd. Jennifer. Priya and Isabel, who had flown in and whom Grace had embrace
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She sat in the studio for a while after the call ended.The pencil was on the desk. The commission was finished. The studio held its particular night quiet around her, the city outside reduced to its minimal sounds — the occasional car, a door somewhere in the building below, the hum of the city's infrastructure that was always there and usually not heard.She looked at the phone.Mason in the medical wing. Stable. Alive.She turned the information over the way she turned everything now — not to arrive at a conclusion she had already chosen, just to see what it actually was. She had practised this across the months of the investigation and the trial, the discipline of looking at a thing directly rather than at the story she expected the thing to confirm.What she found, looking directly at it, was not what she might have expected to find.There was no satisfaction. She examined carefully for satisfaction and it was not there. She had imagined, at various points across the eighteen mon
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