Page 90 of Dark Billionaire Stalker
Instead, I open the drawer of the nightstand and slip the card inside, beneath a layer of unused stationery.
A secret. A door I haven't decided whether to open.
But the choice is mine.
For the first time since the gala, something in my life is entirely, completely mine.
I close the drawer and sit on the edge of the bed, my hand drifting unconsciously to my stomach.
It's nothing, I tell myself.Stress. Exhaustion. A delayed cycle from the upheaval of the past month.
But even as I think the words, I know I'm going to need to find out for certain.
Soon.
Chapter 22 - Gabriel
Something is wrong.
I know it the moment I walk through the door. The house feels different—charged with a tension I can't identify but can definitely sense. It's in the quality of the silence, the way the staff's eyes slide away from mine, the subtle wrongness that prickles at the back of my neck.
"Where is she?" I ask the housekeeper.
"In her room, sir. She returned from the market about two hours ago. Said she needed to rest."
Her room. Not my room, where she's slept every night since she moved in. Her room—the guest suite I assigned her as a formality, a polite fiction that neither of us has bothered to maintain.
Until now.
I climb the stairs slowly, turning possibilities over in my mind. Maybe she's just tired. Maybe she needed space—even I can understand that living with someone like me might be overwhelming. Maybe it's nothing.
But I don't believe in nothing. I believe in patterns, in signals, in the small details that reveal what people are trying to hide.
And something has shifted.
I knock on her door. A pause, then: "Come in."
She's sitting on the edge of the bed, still dressed in the clothes she wore to the market. Her face is pale, her eyes distant, her hands folded in her lap with unnatural stillness. She looks up when I enter, and I see something flicker across her expression—guilt? Fear? Something she smooths away before I can identify it.
"You're back early," she says.
"The meetings finished ahead of schedule." I lean against the doorframe, studying her. "Mrs. Bloom said you've been up here for hours. Are you feeling all right?"
"Just tired. The market was crowded."
"Did you find what you needed for the Harrison event?"
"Yes. Roses, lilies, the usual." She attempts a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Georgios sends his regards. He asked where I've been."
"And what did you tell him?"
"That I have a demanding new client."
The words should be light, teasing. Instead, they fall flat, weighted with something unsaid. I watch her face, searching for cracks in the mask she's wearing.
"Poppy." I push off from the doorframe and move closer. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
