Page 13

BLAISE

A ll is going to plan. The blasts were loud and smoky but didn’t cause much damage, just as my brothers and I planned.

During the attack, I took charge, directing the men on where to go and what to do.

To be honest, I was a little surprised at how little direction Hampton and Ronan gave.

They were surprised by the attack, which they shouldn’t have been considering the regular harassment they’ve been getting from my brothers.

They also seemed unsure as to what to do tactically beyond ordering us to “kill them all.” It appears the Keans have gotten fat and lazy.

But I rose to the occasion, just as planned, and in the early dawn of this morning, Ronan sought me out. For a moment, I was worried he’d caught on to who I am. But that concern was for naught as he shook my hand and offered me a leadership position within the inner sanctum.

I maintained a stoic expression expected of someone receiving a promotion to head of security. Inside, satisfaction burns bright. Everything went according to plan and the Keans suspect nothing.

Ronan had barely left me when Jenna barreled into me, wrapping her arms around me like she’d never let go.

As usual, I was filled with warmth from her love and guilt at my plans to crush her heart.

Up until that moment, I was proud of how I’d been able to do my job without her distracting me.

Mostly. Did I check on the cottage throughout the night to make sure it was safe?

Yes. But I didn’t check on her personally.

I didn’t make her and her mother move to another location like I’d have preferred.

Her raw, honest fear for me and relief that I was okay made my heart squeeze tight.

But then she started talking about the Keans like they’re fucking saints and who’d want to kill them.

It’s almost as if she doesn’t know they were the ones who killed my parents.

It’s inconceivable. She’s the one who made it possible for Ronan to carry out their plan to destroy us.

Over the next few days, I’m hyper focused on my new job.

I’ve analyzed the attack and used it to reorganize schedules and change security details.

The best part is that I’m in even deeper with Ronan and Hampton.

I know enough about the house and security that I could have my brothers crawl up Ronan and Hampton’s asses.

This afternoon, I stand at Ronan's shoulder, watching him review security footage from the night of the attack. His perfectly pressed suit and manicured nails paint the picture of privilege. Everything was handed to him on a silver platter, including my family's legacy.

"Look here." He points to the screen. "The timing was too precise. These weren't amateurs."

"No, sir." I keep my voice neutral despite the urge to strangle him with his own expensive tie.

He runs a hand through his styled blonde hair. "Hampton wants increased patrols. I need you to coordinate with the team leads."

"Already on it." I maintain my professional mask.

It's easier with him than with Jenna. No internal struggle, no conflicting emotions. Just pure, crystalline hatred and imagining how sweet the revenge will be when he realizes he’s been beaten by his own game.

The fantasy has sustained me through years of exile.

Ronan adjusts his tie in the reflection of the window. "Good work so far. You've proven yourself valuable."

"Thank you, sir." My hand fists, and I flex it to hide my true feelings and intentions.

He turns, green eyes sharp. "I still haven’t figured out where I know you from.”

My pulse quickens, but my expression remains carved from stone. Let him look. He sees what he wants to see. Another loyal soldier in his arsenal, not the son of the family he destroyed.

"I must have that kind of face," I say with a shrug.

He laughs, the sound grating against my ears. "Maybe that's it."

This evening, I’m off, and I should be at Phoenix’s place, meeting with my brothers.

Instead, I stand at Jenna's door, a bottle of wine in hand, giving myself a talk about keeping my heart in a steel trap and focusing on learning all I can about why Jenna betrayed my family.

As I knock, I work to shake off the nerves at seeing Mrs. Hart again.

Her mother worked for my family for fifteen years before the fire.

If anyone could recognize me, it would be her.

Jenna opens the door, radiant in a simple dress. "You came." She stretches up to kiss my cheek.

“I said I would.” Her scent envelopes me, and I think my heart has already lost the battle and I haven’t even stepped inside yet.

The cottage is small but well-kept, filled with potted plants and herbs that perfume the air.

Photos line the walls—none from before the fire, I notice.

It occurs to me that I’ve never been in the cottage.

It was here when I was growing up on the estate, but I’d never been in it.

I’d never bothered to know the staff or how they lived.

I try to ignore the idea that it makes me just as big of an asshole as Ronan.

A woman sits in an armchair by the window, thin and pale but with Jenna's same kind eyes.

"Mom, this is Blaise." Jenna's hand finds mine.

I hold my breath as her mother looks up at me. I think I see recognition flicker across her face for a moment, but then it's gone, and I think my paranoia is getting to me.

She smiles warmly. "It's lovely to meet you. Jenna talks about you constantly."

Relief floods through me. Of course she doesn't recognize me. I was just a scrawny teenager then, and my coloring takes after my mother's side. Still, I know I need to keep my responses careful, measured.

"The pleasure's mine, Mrs. Hart." I present the wine. "I hope red is okay."

"Perfect." She gestures to the small dining table. "Please, sit. Jenna's been cooking all afternoon. I swear, if she were to ever give up gardening, she could be a master chef."

I can see and hear the love she has for Jenna, who blushes at her mother’s praise. “I’ll never give up gardening. I love it too much.”

The table is set with mismatched plates.

Jenna chatters about her garden as she serves each plate with a healthy portion of lasagna.

Her enthusiasm is infectious and for a moment, I’m caught up in it.

All this feels so warm and normal. Like I could belong in this warm little cottage with these kind women.

"I hope you like it," Jenna says as we sit to eat. "The herbs are from my garden."

I take a bite of the cheesy, tomatoey pasta and close my eyes. The flavors explode on my tongue. It reminds me of my mother’s lasagna she’d make for my and my brother’s birthday. Other than that, she rarely cooked, but when it was our birthday, she did it all. Dinner and cake.

"This is incredible." The words slip out before I can stop them, completely genuine.

“It’s an old family recipe,” Jenna says, pleased by my reaction.

“Actually, I got it from someone I worked for… before,” Mrs. Hart says.

Everything inside me goes cold. Is this my mother’s recipe? Anger I don’t understand surges through me. Like how dare they take and enjoy my mother’s recipe after what they did.

“I told him about the fire… the Ifrinns.”

I take a gulp of my wine.

“Mrs. Ifrinn was such a lovely woman.”

I do all I can to shake away the anger and pain. “That’s the family that was here before?”

“Yes.”

“And she cooked?” I act like it’s odd since the family would have had servants.

“Not often. For her sons’ birthdays. It was a tradition. And they loved it.” Mrs. Hart’s voice is sweet and wistful. It makes my chest ache for those days.

“What happened to the sons?” I ask.

“No one knows,” Jenna chimes in.

“I like to think they’re off living their best lives somewhere, but Jenna is right.

No one knows. I think most people believe they died, but there’s no evidence of that.

” Mrs. Hart wipes a tear. Is she grieving for my family?

I glance at Jenna, wondering how she feels about her mother showing such emotion toward the family she helped destroy.

Jenna gives her mother a wan smile and squeezes her hand. “They’d be grown up now, wouldn’t they?”

Mrs. Hart perks up. “Yes, they would. I wonder if they’d marry?”

I think about Flint and Lucy with their son, Flynn. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Oh, I don’t know. They were handsome boys. Had their pick of the girls, and they enjoyed it. Except Ash.”

I watch Mrs. Hart intently, finding it strangely odd to hear her talk about my family.

“What about him?” I prod her.

“He had a lovely girlfriend. Meghan, I think was her name. Poor thing died in the fire.”

Jenna squeezes her mom’s hand again. “We’ve been so fortunate to have the Keans' generosity in letting us stay after that tragedy.”

For a moment I was feeling warm and nostalgic, but it’s that statement that brings me back to reality and my mission.

I grip my fork tighter, forcing myself to smile and nod as they praise the family that murdered my parents.

“Yes, the Keans have been good to us,” Mrs. Hart agrees.

"More wine?" Jenna asks, touching my arm.

"Please." I hope I’m smiling, but it could be a grimace.

After dinner, Jenna clears the dishes as she encourages me to talk to her mother who’s slowly moved back to a chair in the small living area.

I join her, studying her as memories come back to me.

I remember her working in our garden and how my mother used to love to talk to her and learn about the plants and flowers.

Does she know that her daughter helped kill my mother?

"Mom, did you take your evening medication?" Jenna's voice carries an edge of worry.

"Just before dinner, sweetheart." Mrs. Hart's smile is tired but genuine. She catches me watching them. "She fusses too much."

"I do not." Jenna arranges her mother's pillows, checking her temperature with the back of her hand. The gesture is so natural, so filled with love. I can see her doing that with her children. For a moment, I imagine it, Jenna’s smile and infectious laugh as she corrals a group of children.

I rub a hand over my chest to get rid of the odd sensation burning there.

This isn't what I expected when I planned my revenge. I thought I'd find co-conspirators, people who knowingly helped destroy my family. Instead, I'm watching a daughter desperately trying to hold onto her only remaining parent.

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. I know the terror and grief of losing family. And now I’m planning to inflict that same pain on Jenna.

Mrs. Hart's breathing grows labored, and Jenna immediately reaches for the oxygen tank beside the chair.

"I'm fine," Mrs. Hart insists, but her pallor says otherwise.

Jenna meets my gaze, vulnerability raw on her face. Guilt, my now default feeling around Jenna, rises for being the bastard plotting to break her heart while she deals with this.

Again, I feel like there’s a war going on inside me. I can’t reconcile this warm, loving woman with the one who helped the Keans take everything away from us. And because I can’t, I feel like the fucking monster in this situation.

“I have to admit, I felt a bit of déjà vu the other day with all that commotion,” Mrs. Hart says.

Jenna sits next to me, her hand squeezing mine, and I hate myself for how natural it feels.

“It was a lot of bark, but no bite,” I say.

“Why?” Mrs. Hart shakes her head. “What was the point? Do you know who's behind it?”

“No. But it’s all under control.”

“Ronan gave Blaise a promotion.” Jenna beams at me like she’s proud of me. Again, it does all sorts of things to my insides that I don’t like.

“Congratulations,” Mrs. Hart says.

"You must have been so scared." Jenna’s hand tightens around mine.

"I was more worried about everyone else." The half-truth slips out before I can stop it. I did worry about her being too close when the bombs went off. But if Ronan or any of his men got caught up in one of the blasts and were maimed or killed, I wouldn’t give a shit.

She smiles up at me, trust shining in those green eyes. "That's what I love about you. Always thinking of others first."

The words hit like shrapnel. If she knew the truth, that I orchestrated the attack, that I'm using her, that smile would shatter. It’s what I want. But fucking hell, she’s making it hard.

My brothers would call me weak. Maybe they're right. Because sitting here with the woman who is the villain of my life’s story, I'm starting to forget which version of myself is real, the vengeful son plotting destruction or the man who's falling for Jenna's pure, unguarded heart.