Page 182 of Nine Months to Love

I park and sit in the car for a minute, gripping the steering wheel for dear life. I need to get myself together. Stefan can read me too easily. If I walk in there looking like I’m about to fall apart, he’ll know something’s wrong.

I take a breath. Then another. Then, when I’m ready, I grab my purse and head inside.

The house is still. Stefan’s car isn’t in the drive, so he must still be out. Good. That gives me time.

I head straight to his office. The door is unlocked. I slip inside and close it behind me. The room smells like him. Citrus and smoke, same as always. I stand there guiltily for a moment, feeling like an intruder, probably because that’s exactly what I am. This is his space. His sanctuary. I shouldn’t be here.

But I need to know.

I walk to his desk and start opening drawers. The first one is full of papers. Contracts. Invoices. Nothing interesting. The second one has pens and paper clips and other office supplies.

The third one is locked.

I stare at it for a moment. Then I remember the key ring he keeps in the top drawer. I pull it out and try each key until one clicks.

The drawer opens.

Inside is a small metal box. I lift it out and set it on the desk. It’s not locked. I flip it open.

Keys. Lots of them. Each one labeled with a small tag.Warehouse 3. Storage Unit B. Basement. Storage Unit?—

Wait.Basement.My heart freezes in place.

I pull out the basement key and pocket it. Then I close the box and put everything back the way I found it.

I leave the office and stride down the hall to the door that leads to the basement. The guards aren’t here right now. Maybe they’re on a break, maybe Stefan sent them elsewhere, maybe the Rapture came and sucked them all up to heaven or booted them down to hell. I don’t know and I don’t care.

I unlock the door and step inside.

The staircase is narrow and steep. The walls are concrete. The air smells damp and stale. I take the stairs slowly, one at a time, my hand clutching the railing.

At the bottom, there’s a hallway. More concrete. More locked doors. I walk to the end and find the one marked with a number. I unlock it and push it open.

Mikayla is sitting on the bed, staring at the wall. She turns when she hears the door, and when she sees who it is, her eyes go wide.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

I step inside and close the door behind me. “I came to check on you.”

She cackles right in my face. “Have you been under a fucking rock? I’ve been here for weeks. Did you suddenly wake up with a conscience this morning, love?”

“I’m sorry. I should have come sooner.”

“Let me guess: you were too busy fucking Stefan?”

I feel my face heat up. “That’s not fair.”

“How fucking dare you?” She stands and stalks toward me. “You want to talk about fair? I’ve been locked in this box for weeks. And you’ve been upstairs, sleeping in his bed, wearing his ring, pretending like none of this is happening.”

“I’m here now,” I say weakly.

“Oh, yes, I can see that very well. Do you expect me to thank you?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She laughs again. I like the sound of it less and less every time. “Do I look okay to you?”

I look at her. She’s thinner than I remember. Her hair is lank and unwashed. Her skin is pale. But she’s not bruised. Not bleeding. Not broken.