Page 10 of The Widower
“Five minutes late.”
“I…” I looked at my phone—it read 7:01. Considering how far I’d had to walk through the mansion to get here, I was sure I was on time. “I got here exactly at seven,” I argued.
“Do I need to teach you how to read the time properly?”His voice dropped lower, rougher.
“I just checked my phone, I’m telling you—”
I didn’t get to finish.He stepped closer, forcing me to hold my breath from how near he was. The distance between us was barely an arm’s length.
And there it was again—that scent.God, that intoxicating cologne…
“Look behind you.” His tone wasn’t a request; it was a command.
“Colin, I already understand—”
“Am I gonna have to keep interrupting you every time you open your mouth?” he growled, narrowing his eyes, cutting me off yet again.
I obeyed.
“Now look at the wall in front of you.” His breath brushed against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
I did as he said—and there it was. A massive clock.
“What time does the clock on the wall say?”
“Seven-oh-five.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I’m late.” I nodded, lowering my head slightly.
“And what happens when you’re late?” His tone shifted—lighter now, almost amused.
“A warning.”
“I assume you know what happens after the second one, don’t you, Miss Isabelle?”
“Yes, Colin.” I gave up the argument. Knowing how obsessively precise he was, I probably should’ve synced my phone to one of the mansion’s many clocks.
“Excellent.”
I felt him move away, and moments later, he was gone—vanished from sight like he’d never been there.
I sat down at one of the kitchen chairs and buried my face in my hands. After a few silent seconds, I opened my eyes—and found a woman watching me with a warm, amused smile.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your moment.”
“No problem.” I stood, forcing a smile—something that wasn’t easy after the morning I’d had. “You work here, right?”
“Yes, dear. My name’s Helen. If you need anything, I’m always around to help. I should’ve introduced you to the rest of the staff yesterday, but I could tell you were overwhelmed.”
She was a woman in her fifties, with soft gray hair and kind eyes. Something about her smile instantly put me at ease—probably because most people in this house didn’t even seem to remember how to smile.
“Thank God! I finally found the famous Helen!” I blurted out before I could stop myself, and she chuckled. “Sorry,” I added quickly.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m guessing you’ve already met Colin.”
Her raised brows almost made me laugh—especially since, at that exact moment, I ran a hand through my hair, remembering his face. That ridiculously handsome yet perpetually grumpy face.
