Page 175 of Chandelier Enthralled
I should have approached him before dating his sister. Passion-wise, we’d done more than he could probably tolerate. I’d broken a code that was unspoken between close buddies—that a friend should never move in on a sister without permission.
I stalked back to my car feeling that familiar ache in my gut, a warning that told me I couldn’t prevent Willa from being hurt again.
It felt like hell on earth.
“As long as he treats her right!” I yelled, hoping the universe would heed my warning.
Ineeded space to think things through.
Just before lunchtime, with a dulled appetite, I had left the house to get some fresh air. Walking had always helped me sort the chaos in my mind. This stroll was helping a little.
With thoughts of Greyson, a smile formed on my lips, and I was consumed by an overwhelming wave of emotion, warmth flooding through me. My face flushed as memories of our intimacy resurfaced, bringing with them the electric charge of our undeniable chemistry. Every shared moment between us was etched into myconsciousness, leaving me breathless. I yearned for more time with him. The connection we shared was unlike anything I had ever known, and it was fast becomingobsessive.
Greyson opening up to me about being Celeste Starling’s son lingered in my mind like a treasured memory. His revelation was profound—one that would forever shift my perception of Hollywood and its hidden truths.
Celeste had been mesmerizing both on and off the screen. I had always thought of her story as being a tragedy. A woman able to turn on the glamour and light up a room, but behind the scenes she was riddled with insecurities and allegedly abused by those seeking to monetize her talent.
I imagined Greyson had felt helpless to protect her when he was a boy, and as he grew older, the lore around her probably haunted him.
More than this, it washisstory, too. His life, and it felt too precious to disrupt.No, there’d be no running with this revelation for my own benefit. No releasing this out into the world. Celeste deserved to rest in peace. Greyson deserved the anonymity he craved.
Strolling along the streets of Beverly Hills offered a different kind of experience, a stark contrast to the frenetic pulse of New York.
Here, the houses stood as silent giants, the sidewalks empty of people, only flashy cars zooming by. It was as if the city had been crafted for solitude, its opulence swallowed by the vast stretches of cement. It was both rough and beautiful.
I turned and headed back to Cameron’s place.
I missed Greyson, which was strange, because I was usually so happy with my own company. My helping to solve Amelia’s murder had created a bond between us like no other. I was glad I’d been able to help put an end to that nightmare of a situation.
I jolted to a stop.
There was a long, black limousine parked outside Cameron’s gate, the polished exterior reflecting the blinding daylight.
Something felt wrong.
As I approached the entryway, it was impossible to see who was inside the limo. The windows were like obsidian, impenetrable, hiding whatever secrets lurked within.
A chauffeur emerged wearing a formal cap, his black suit and tie flawless.
I hurried to the gate.
The driver approached me, his cold gaze locking onto mine. “Ms. Cole?”
Not answering was the safest response.
“This is for you,” he said, his voice low. The words sounded more like a command than a suggestion.
He ambled back to the limo and swung open the rear passenger door, revealing the dim interior. Black leather seats lined the shadows, the space inviting yet suffocating in its mystery.
Then, from across the street, a young woman appeared in a business suit and began walking quickly towards me.
I turned to face the driver. “Who do you work for?”
“I work for you,” he said.
I punched in the code and the gate began to open, but the woman would reach me before I could bolt through.
The chauffeur remained calm. “You’re not expecting me, Ms. Cole?”
