All Chapters of In His Sheets: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

3 MONTHS EARLIER - ADRIAN’S POV The change had been subtle at first, but I spent my life reading people’s microscopic shifts in body language, and Elizabeth was broadcasting a storm. The moment Julian Vance started showing up around the office more frequently, and the moment the sickening rumor spread through the staff quarters that she was involved with him—something in her changed. The quick, fiery glances she used to steal when she thought I wasn't looking were replaced by a hollow, haunted look. She flinched when doors closed too loudly. She lost weight, not a lot, but enough for me to notice. I sat at my desk in the west wing, staring at the closed door, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached. I picked up my phone and dialed a direct line. "Holt," a gravelly voice answered on the second ring. "Carter," I said, my baritone flat, cold, and devoid of patience. "I need a complete background pull on two people. Julian Vance, and the new staff member who works with Clara

Mara Pov The faint smell of dust and citrus cleaner in my old apartment felt strangely comforting. Moving my few belongings out of Julian's penthouse and back into my own space had taken less than an hour, but every minute had felt like walking a tightrope. I smoothed down the front of my light sweater, looking at myself in the small hallway mirror. Somehow, miraculously, Julian hadn't realized the server files I sent over were corrupted garbage. To him, I had fulfilled my end of our sick agreement. The confirmation notification had hit my phone at eight this morning: the full sum wired directly into my account, enough to clear my mother's remaining bills and secure our fresh start. My hands trembled as I grabbed my purse. The money was there. The path was clear. But my heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise. Adrian. I closed my eyes, his dark, steel-grey gaze flashing behind my eyelids. I was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him. But he knew everything now

The world returned in slow, agonizing waves. First came the sound—a heavy, rhythmic thrumming of rain beating against high glass windows. Then came the pain. A sharp, violent throbbing echoed behind my temples with every pulse of my heart, so deep and heavy that even keeping my eyes closed felt like an exhausting task. I groaned, my throat feeling as dry as sand as I forced my eyelids open. The light in the room was dim, filtered through heavy charcoal drapes. I blinked away the haze, trying to make sense of my surroundings. I wasn't in the damp, rotting concrete room anymore. There was no smell of rust, no sound of dripping water, and no iron cuffs cutting into my wrists. Instead, I was lying on a massive king-sized bed wrapped in crisp, high-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. How did I know that? Yeah I've done my fair share of housekeeping. The scent of fresh forest, amber, and expensive leather hung rich in the air. The room was expansive and distinctly masculine, f

Adrian Pov The small, desperate sound of her voice caught me right before my hand turned the brass handle. Don't go. Please... I don't want to be alone tonight. I closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, my jaw clenching so tight my teeth groaned under the pressure. Every protective, primal instinct inside me roared to turn around, drag her into my arms, and erase the pain carved into her face. But the cold, hard logic in my brain slammed the door shut. She was a liar. She had walked into my life under a fake name, carrying Julian Vance’s dirty work directly into my home. She had looked me in the eyes, let me put my hands all over her body, and still lied to my face when I gave her every chance to confess. I should have thrown her to the wolves the second Carter handed me her file. I couldn't even bring myself to say her real name out loud. Yet, I couldn't stop looking at her. I couldn't stop the dark, poisonous need to possess every single piece of her, even the broke

A few weeks bled together in a blur of gray mornings and endless torment of silence. Every single day began the exact same way: I would reach for my phone the second I opened my eyes, hoping to see a missed call, a single text, or any sign that Adrian was still alive and breathing in the same city. But the screen stayed dark. He had completely erased himself from my life. Joan was furious. Every time his name came up while she was cooking or clearing away the dishes in our small kitchen, her jaw would set into a hard line. "He's a coward, Mara," she snapped one evening, slamming a wooden spoon onto the counter. "A wealthy, arrogant coward. You were grieving your mother! He took advantage of you when you were completely broken, spent the night with you, and then dumped an address on a piece of paper and vanished. I don't care how much money he has—he's trash." I didn't defend him. I couldn't. The hollow ache in my chest had settled into something heavy and permanent. To mak