Page 214 of Money Reigns
The second steps forward before I can speak. “Chase,” he says, extending his hand with a smirk that plays at his lips like he can’t quite help it. Dirt streaks his palms, under his nails. He’s the Wilder, no question—ready to get under my skin for the fun of it.
The last one nods once, quick, before offering his hand. “Dean.”
I study him a beat longer. Younger than the other two, but still older than Olivia. His kind of protectiveness isn’t about controlor bravado… it’s quieter. Older brother, not patriarch. Harder to place, and that makes him more dangerous.
Their clothes tell me as much as their eyes. Logan’s sweater is stamped with the Inn’s logo. Chase’s dirt-stained hands speak of hard labor, the kind that leaves a mark. Dean wears a firefighter’s shirt, under his flannel the name stitched over his heart. Solid. Trusted.
I clock it all, every detail filed away.
“Come inside,” John says finally, voice even but firm.
I step up onto the worn wooded patio following him in.
Inside, the air is warm, lived-in. The kind of house that wears its years proudly.
“Drop your bag by the door,” John says, not unkindly. “Coat can go in the closet.”
I do, then follow him toward the kitchen, taking everything in along the way.
The photos. Olivia everywhere. Big smile, crooked braids, arms slung around a redheaded girl I peg as Ella. School pictures. Family portraits. Snapshots in mismatched frames that somehow belong together.
My Olivia.
Raised in safety.
Comfort.
Warmth.
The kitchen table is crooked. The chairs creak when we sit.
And it doesn’t matter.
Because I smell them.
Peanut butter cookies.
Mypeanut butter cookies.
Fresh.
Hers.
Dean grabs the plate and sets it on the table before he sits; easy, like it’s nothing.
To me, it’severything.
He takes one. Bites it.
Fire licks irrationally at my throat.
John folds his hands, steady eyes on me. “Olivia hasn’t told us much, except she felt trapped. My Olivia has always been a strong girl, independent and kind. For her to feel trapped means something. So I’m going to ask you—whatwereyour intentions with Olivia?”
The wordtrappedtwists in my gut.
Logan leans in, voice cutting. “A man like you going after a girl like her, what was the motive, Beaumont?”
That bothers me more than I let show.A girl like her.
