Page 43 of Secret Heir

I’m trapped. Not just in this house, but in this situation, in my own feelings, in a web of my own making.

I don’t know long I sit there on the floor of the library. It’s long enough that the fire burns down to embers and my tears dry on my cheeks, leaving tracks of salt.

Finally, I force myself to stand.

My legs are shaky, and there’s an ache between them that feels like proof of what we just did. What I wanted to happen, even though I shouldn’t have.

I straighten my clothes and try to smooth my hair. I look like exactly what I am—a woman who just had desperate, angry sex on the floor of a library.

The evidence is everywhere.

The scattered books.

The rug bunched up from our bodies.

My swollen lips and disheveled appearance.

I pick up the books mechanically and reshelf them without paying attention to order or author.

My hands are still trembling. I can still feel his grip on my hips, still taste him on my tongue, still hear the sound of my name when he came.

This doesn’t mean anything.

The lie echoes in my head, hollow and unconvincing.

When the library looks mostly normal again, or at least normal enough that no one will immediately know what happened here, I slip out into the hallway.

It’s late. The house is quiet. Most of the staff have gone home or retired to their quarters.

I make it halfway to the stairs before I see a guard standing near the front entrance, clearly on guard duty for the night.

He looks at me, and I see his eyes take in my appearance.

The mussed hair.

The slightly swollen lips.

His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or judgment. I can’t tell which.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Sokolov,” he says in his heavily accented English.

I freeze. “I’m not—I’m not Mrs. Sokolov.”

“My apologies.” He inclines his head slightly. “Goodnight, Miss Delano.”

But the damage is done. The name hangs in the air between us. Mrs. Sokolov. Like I belong here. Like I’m Maksim’s wife instead of his prisoner.

I hurry past him and up the stairs, my face burning.

When I reach my suite, the door is unlocked. Maksim must have left it that way when he stormed out earlier.

I slip inside and close it behind me, leaning against the wood for a moment while I try to collect myself.

Daniel’s door is closed, and I can hear his soft, even breathing from here.

He’s asleep. Safe.

Unaware of what his parents just did to each other downstairs.