Page 129 of This Life of Mine

Val sighs. “Fine. But can we at least talk about the utensil? Was it as big as I imagine it to be? You know thewoodenspoon that is?”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, I’m so not talking about that.”

She smiles smugly, “I bet your oven was nice and warm too.”

“Val!” I groan.

“Oh…I bet there was a lot of groaning too…from the full warm oven,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

I swat her on the shoulder and giggle. Val is loving this game.

“Okay…I’m done now. Walking away,” she utters while she picks up a rag to wipe the counter.

I don’t argue. Because some things don’t need explaining.

The annoying thing is, she’s right. Usually, she would have already gotten the entire recap by now. The highlights. The lowlights. The commentary track.

Instead, I’ve given her almost nothing. Which is strange.

Historically, I treat dating like a post-game press conference. But Alex feels different. Talking about him that way feels wrong somehow. Too personal. Too private. The realization catches me off guard.

Maybe because all the other men were temporary. And gradually, I stopped wanting Alex to be.

Chapter forty

The Wraith

The Allister estate sits behind iron gates and old money.

The property sprawls across several meticulously maintained acres, tucked away from the remainder of the world behind stone walls, towering oaks, and the kind of privacy only wealth can buy.

The mansion itself rises from the center of the grounds like a monument to generational success. Three stories of limestone and glass. Expansive balconies. Decorative columns. Perfect symmetry.

Every inch of it is designed to communicate the same message. Power.

The landscaping is immaculate. Hedges trimmed with geometric precision. Flowerbeds bursting with carefully selected seasonal color. Not a weed or a stray branch in sight. Even the gravel lining the pathways looks arranged by hand.

Even in daylight, the soft landscape lighting illuminates the grounds in warm pools of gold, highlighting fountains,sculptures, and gardens that probably cost more than most people make in a year.

The place is beautiful. In the same way a museum is beautiful. Expensive and completely devoid of warmth.

Nothing about the estate feels lived in. It feels maintained. Preserved. Like the Allister’s spent decades polishing the image of a perfect family while carefully sweeping everything ugly beneath the surface.

People see places like this and assume safety. I see something else. I see secrets hidden behind expensive walls. I see a family that built a fortress around its reputation. And like every fortress, it has weaknesses.

The side gate opens where Reese said it would.

“You’re welcome,” Reese says through my earpiece.

I smirk. “Remind me why I keep you around.”

“Because without me you’d get caught fucker.”

“Fair.”

The gate clicks shut behind me. Then I’m moving.

I stay off the pathways, slipping through the shadows cast by decorative sculptures and manicured hedges. Wealth loves excess. Even in broad daylight, it leaves just enough cover for someone who knows where to look.