All Chapters of Our Dirty Little Secret : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The chandeliers blurred. My father’s words sank their claws in deeper. I barely made it back to the room before my knees threatened to give out. Then I spotted him in the corner, phone pressed to his ear, and my stomach plummeted. I shoved through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares, and burst through the heavy double doors. Cool night air slapped my face as I stepped outside. “Ryder…Ryder!” Melissa's heels clicked sharply behind me. She caught my arm, her nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. "Where the hell do you think you’re going?" I yanked free, already heading for the valet. “Not now.” “We’re in the middle of our biggest night” she hissed. “My father was about to give a toast. Do you have any idea what this looks like?” I spun on her, the words exploding out before I could stop them, and for the first time in the three years we'd been playing this miserable game, I let the mask slip completely. “I don’t give a fuck about you, and your feeling, Melissa. I’m

DallasThe word fake hung in the air between us, and I waited for the relief to come.It didn't.Ryder watched me from his knees beside my chair, his face open in a way I'd never seen before-no mask, no polish, just him, raw and waiting. He'd told me everything, or what he thought was everything, and now he was looking at me like I held the next move.I set down my coffee cup. The ceramic clicked against the plate, too loud in the quiet kitchen."Melissa," I said.He blinked. "What?""Why Melissa? Out of every woman in this city, every daughter of every business partner your father could have picked-why her?"Ryder's jaw tightened, that tell I'd learned to read months ago. "I told you, her parents-""Are old business partners. I heard." I leaned forward, my elbows digging into the table. "But there are dozens of old business partners. There are politicians' daughters, celebrities, women with bigger names and better connections. So what is it about Melissa specifically? What does she h

I moved through the house as quietly as I could, gripping the gun so tight my knuckles ached. The night air raised fresh goosebumps across my bare skin. Every shadow was a threat. I checked the locks first. Everything was exactly as I’d left it, no signs of forced entry.Still, the knot in my gut wouldn’t ease.,I circled the house anyway. The garage, empty except for Dallas's beat-up Honda and my own cars. The garden, roses sleeping in the dark, no footprints in the soft earth beneath the windows. The gate at the end of the drive, locked, the camera above it blinking its slow red eye.Nothing. Everything quiet. Everything still.I told myself that meant something. Told myself my father was playing games, not making moves. But I'd spent twenty-nine years learning his patterns, and the one constant was this: he never threatened unless he was already two steps ahead.I returned to the bedroom, sliding back under the covers, pulling Dallas against me. She murmured something unintelligibl

“You’re not listening,” I growled, then dropped my voice, my gaze cutting toward the front door.“I said I’m not killing anyone.”My father leaned back against the car, adjusting his cufflinks like I had commented on the weather instead of refusing to commit murder.“I’ll get your fucking money back, but that’s where it ends. I’m a businessman, not your goddamn hitman.”“Businessman? That’s what we're calling it now?" He let out a sharp, mocking laugh that quickly dissolved into a harsh, wet cough. He doubled over slightly, one hand pressing against his chest as he fought for breath, his eyes still gleaming with cruel amusement even as his shoulders shook.“Don’t flatter yourself, son. You’re whatever I need you to be.”My brain nearly exploded. I was hanging on by the last fraying thread of control.He took a long drag from his cigar, then puffed out and cleared his throat.“This contractor is not some accountant who’ll roll over for a wire transfer. He’s very dangerous, Ryder. Ex-mi

Dallas"Hey, it's Ryder Callahan. Leave something worth hearing.”I pressed the button again and again, clutching my phone so tightly my knuckles ached. I’d already left three messages, each one more desperate than the last.I got up and headed to the window, peering out into the empty street, then back again.“Stop pacing,” Hazel muttered from the couch, eyes glued to the small canvas propped on the easel in front of her. A true-crime documentary droned in the background. “You’re making me dizzy.”I forced myself still, pressing my back against the wall and sliding down until my tailbone met the cold floor. For the past hour, maybe two, I’d been curled up with my knees to my chest, staring at the dark screen, hoping it could light up with his name.“Do you think he’s alright?” My voice dropped to a whisper.She glanced over, brush paused mid-stroke.“He’ll come back. He’s probably just busy.”“You don’t know that. He said he’d be back before midnight. It’s 2 a.m.”She set her brush d