Page 97 of Shattered By Grace

Chapter Forty-Four

For the past hour, Victoria kept herself busy by cleaning the kitchen, washing the dishes, and putting them away. She’d had to open nearly every cabinet to figure out where everything went, but at least it kept her hands occupied.

Eventually, she made her way upstairs to Tristan’s room. As she smoothed out the bedding, memories of the night before flashed through her mind.

Take me back. Please.

She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to focus on something else.

The view.

Walking over to the window, she let her gaze drift over the rain-soaked city, the steady downpour soothing the storm raging in her thoughts. For a few minutes, she just stood there, letting the sound of the rain ground her. But reality pulled her back when her eyes landed on the pile of discarded, damp clothes from earlier.

With a sigh, she picked them up, heading toward the bathroom.

The moment she stepped into the bathroom, the scent of rich, spiced cider from his body wash surrounded her.

It hit her like a shock to the system. He hadn’t touched her this morning. Not once. But he hadn’t needed to.

He’d held her captive with nothing but his eyes, and his low, commanding, and utterly devastating voice. She’d followed every instruction, her body obeying him as if he were the one guiding her hands. And all the while, he had been doing the same. The memory sent a slow, burning heat curling low in her stomach, her thighs pressing together at the phantom sensation of his voice in her ear.

Truly, where’s the time machine?

Shaking herself free from the memory, she grabbed the discarded clothes, walked out of the bedroom, and placed them in a pile by the door before heading off in search of the laundry room.

Pausing at the banister, she glanced over the open view, the lush greens visible through the massive windows.

I could truly see myself here.

The thought unsettled her, lingering longer than it should have.

Turning back to the hallway, she eyed the four closed doors. One by one, she checked them.

Bathroom. Bedroom. Bedroom.

The last door wouldn’t budge.

Locked.

Her fingers hesitated on the handle.

Hmm. Wonder what’s behind door number three.

Whatever it was, Tristan clearly didn’t want anyone inside. Shaking off her curiosity, she moved past the mystery door and opened the last one, another large bedroom with an attached bath, nearly identical to Tristan’s, minus the towering windows and breathtaking view.

Retracing her steps to the top of the stairs, she scooped up the clothes outside Tristan’s room and headed down, making her way toward the gym.

She passed it, continuing down the hall, and finally found the laundry room.

Top-of-the-line washer and dryer. A deep sink. A sleek counter for folding.So this is what it’s like to have money.

She dropped her clothes into the hamper, only to notice a load still sitting in the washer, waiting to be switched over. With a sigh, she reached in, pulling out the cold, damp clothes.

Might as well make myself useful.

As she transferred them to the dryer, she searched for a dryer sheet. That’s when she spotted it—a jar tucked on the shelf, filled with folded slips of paper. Curious, she pulled it down, unable to resist the urge to take a closer look. Opening the lid, she unfolded one of the tiny papers.

A name. A number.

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