Chapter 72
Chapter 72:
She was not in the suffocating silk sheets of the Kensington Manor. She was in a room that smelled of cedar and rain, high above the city she intended to conquer.
For a moment, she lay perfectly still. Her body was a map of tension, her muscles coiled tight, waiting for the inevitable sound of Liam’s voice, the heavy tread of his footsteps, the accusation that she was breathing too loudly.
But there was only silence.
And then, the faint, rhythmic sound of metal against fruit. Shhh. Shhh. Shhh.
Skye threw off the heavy duvet and walked barefoot into the kitchen. The polished concrete floor was cool against her soles, grounding her.
Alistair Thorne was leaning against the granite island. He was wearing a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and marked by faint, white scars. He held a paring knife in one hand and a red apple in the other.
He didn’t look up when she entered. He just continued his work. The knife moved with surgical precision, peeling the skin of the apple in one long, continuous red ribbon. It defied gravity, hanging from the fruit, unbroken.
“Coffee,” Alistair said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in Skye’s chest. He nodded toward a ceramic mug on the counter. “Black. Two sugars. I assumed you needed the energy p>
Skye reached for the mug. Her hands were trembling slightly, a physiological hangover from the adrenaline of the club the night before. She wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic, letting the heat seep into her cold palms.
“How long have you been up?” she asked, her voice raspy.
“I don’t sleep much,” Alistair replied.
He finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, intelligent, and completely devoid of the judgment she was used to seeing in Liam’s gaze.
“The peeling… it helps me think p>
The ribbon of apple skin finally broke, falling onto the counter with a soft plop.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
𝖶𝖾𝗲𝘬ly 𝗋eleа𝘀e𝗌 o𝗇 𝗯𝗲.𝗰оm
The silence shattered.
Skye’s phone, sitting on the marble counter, began to dance violently. The screen lit up, flashing a name that made Skye’s stomach clench into a hard, painful knot.
Husband.
It wasn’t just a call. It was a demand. A leash being yanked.
Skye stared at the phone. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The vibrations seemed to travel up her arms, paralyzing her.
Alistair stopped cutting the apple. He didn’t move to touch the phone. He didn’t tell her to answer it. He just watched her, his gaze heavy and expectant.
He sliced a wedge of the naked apple and slid it across the counter toward her.
“Eat,” he commanded softly. “Ignore the noise p>
The phone stopped. Then, immediately, it started again.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
The persistence was violent. It was Liam in digital form—loud, interrupting, refusing to be ignored.
Skye downed the coffee. The liquid rippled in the cup. She looked at Alistair. He was calm, a stillness at the center of her chaotic life. He wasn’t going to save her from this. He was waiting to see if she would save herself.