Page 54 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Forty-Four

F or the past hour, Victoria kept herself busy by cleaning the kitchen, washing the dishes, and putting them away. She’d had to open nearly every cabinet to figure out where everything went, but at least it kept her hands occupied.

Eventually, she made her way upstairs to Tristan’s room. As she smoothed out the bedding, memories of the night before flashed through her mind.

Take me back. Please.

She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to focus on something else.

The view.

Walking over to the window, she let her gaze drift over the rain-soaked city, the steady downpour soothing the storm raging in her thoughts.

For a few minutes, she just stood there, letting the sound of the rain ground her.

But reality pulled her back when her eyes landed on the pile of discarded, damp clothes from earlier.

With a sigh, she picked them up, heading toward the bathroom.

The moment she stepped into the bathroom, the scent of rich, spiced cider from his body wash surrounded her.

It hit her like a shock to the system. He hadn’t touched her this morning. Not once. But he hadn’t needed to.

He’d held her captive with nothing but his eyes, and his low, commanding, and utterly devastating voice.

She’d followed every instruction, her body obeying him as if he were the one guiding her hands.

And all the while, he had been doing the same.

The memory sent a slow, burning heat curling low in her stomach, her thighs pressing together at the phantom sensation of his voice in her ear.

Truly, where’s the time machine?

Shaking herself free from the memory, she grabbed the discarded clothes, walked out of the bedroom, and placed them in a pile by the door before heading off in search of the laundry room.

Pausing at the banister, she glanced over the open view, the lush greens visible through the massive windows.

I could truly see myself here .

The thought unsettled her, lingering longer than it should have.

Turning back to the hallway, she eyed the four closed doors. One by one, she checked them.

Bathroom. Bedroom. Bedroom.

The last door wouldn’t budge.

Locked.

Her fingers hesitated on the handle.

Hmm. Wonder what’s behind door number three.

Whatever it was, Tristan clearly didn’t want anyone inside. Shaking off her curiosity, she moved past the mystery door and opened the last one, another large bedroom with an attached bath, nearly identical to Tristan’s, minus the towering windows and breathtaking view.

Retracing her steps to the top of the stairs, she scooped up the clothes outside Tristan’s room and headed down, making her way toward the gym.

She passed it, continuing down the hall, and finally found the laundry room.

Top-of-the-line washer and dryer. A deep sink. A sleek counter for folding. So this is what it’s like to have money.

She dropped her clothes into the hamper, only to notice a load still sitting in the washer, waiting to be switched over. With a sigh, she reached in, pulling out the cold, damp clothes.

Might as well make myself useful.

As she transferred them to the dryer, she searched for a dryer sheet. That’s when she spotted it—a jar tucked on the shelf, filled with folded slips of paper. Curious, she pulled it down, unable to resist the urge to take a closer look. Opening the lid, she unfolded one of the tiny papers.

A name. A number.

Then another. And another.

Her brows shot up.

This motherfucker has a whole jar of girls’ numbers.

Shaking her head, she put the jar back and finished up in the laundry room.

With nothing else to do, she wandered through the house, taking in the sheer size of it. When she reached the living room, her jaw nearly dropped. The TV was massive, practically the size of a movie screen.

She picked up the remote, flipping it over in her hand. “Why does this thing have so many buttons?”

Shaking her head and dropping the remote. Nope. Not worth the struggle.

She thought about heading to the gym, maybe burning off the restless energy buzzing in her veins, but the idea didn’t really appeal to her.

Instead, she opened the fridge, her eyes scanning the contents before landing on a bag of grapes. She grabbed it, tore open the plastic, and popped a few into her mouth.

Perfect .

With the bag in hand, she started back toward Tristan’s room. But as she passed the counter, she paused for a moment, considering making something else, anything to keep her mind occupied, but the grapes would do for now.

Without wasting another second, she bolted back upstairs, straight into Tristan’s room, where his book nook practically called her name.

Sinking into the oversized chair, she let her fingers trail along the spines of the books before pulling Fourth Wing off the shelf.

Now this was exactly what she needed.

Victoria woke up to complete darkness, her body lying still, disoriented.

What the hell?

She blinked, realizing she was in Tristan’s bed. The familiar, comforting thought settled her heart. She was safe. But … how long had she been asleep? How had she ended up in his bed? And where was Tristan?

As if he’d heard her thoughts, she caught the sound of his voice, humming something softly.

What’s that smell?

He was cooking again.

Slowly, she pulled the covers away, stretching her tired limbs as she stood. Moving quietly, she stepped toward the door, glancing out. From the stair railing, she watched Tristan move around the kitchen, effortlessly doing his thing.

Fuck, that’s so sexy.

Victoria moved quietly down the stairs, trying not to disrupt the stillness of the moment. She didn’t want to taint the peace that had settled after the earlier confrontation, she just wanted to live in the quiet moments before everything flipped again.

“Sleep well, love?”

The word love struck her, lingering in the air. Was it a good thing? She wasn’t sure, but it felt… oddly comforting.

“How long have I been asleep? What time is it?”

“It’s just after seven.”

She winced. “Oh my god! Did you get my phone? I need to call the hospital.”

God, I hope I still have a job.

“I called and spoke with Dr. Connors. She understands you’ve had an accident. She knows you’re safe and will be back in a few days.”

Victoria froze, her eyes narrowing as confusion and anger bubbled up. “I’m sorry, what?” She stood at the counter, arms crossed tightly. “You called my boss?”

Tristan glanced over his shoulder, a cocky smirk playing at his lips, but his eyes remained cold, unreadable. “Relax. Me and Whitney go way back.”

“That’s supposed to make it better?” Victoria’s voice trembled with fury. “If anything, it’s weird knowing you’ve got a history with my boss.” She was shaking, the intensity of the emotions surging through her.

Tristan sets down the knife he was using, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to face her fully. He keeps a straight face, though a flicker of humor simmers underneath.

Is this bitch laughing at me?

“Gra—I mean, Victoria.” Whatever amusement was there vanished, replaced by the same detached Tristan from this morning. “Whitney and I go way back because she dated a friend of mine. Plus, my family owns the hospital you work at, so technically, I’m your bosses’ bosses’ boss.”

Victoria slapped her hand against the island, the sharp sound cutting through the heavy silence. “Did it ever occur to you to wake me up so I could handle my own damn life?” Her voice was sharp, edged with frustration but beneath it, there was something deeper. Hurt.

Tristan leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “I wasn’t trying to control you, Victoria. I was trying to help.” His voice was calm, but there was a tightness to it.

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You don’t get to make decisions for me, Tristan. Not about my job, not about my life.” Her hand shot out. “Can I have my phone, please?”

He pulled it from his back pocket and stepped closer, his fingers grazing hers as he placed it in her palm. A brief spark. Their eyes locked, the weight between them shifting, heavy with something unvoiced.

Something in the way he looked at her made her breath hitch. Say something. Anything.

“I need to go home,” she blurted, breaking the moment. “I need to check on my cat, Clawdia.”

You idiot. You could have said anything.

She glanced down, unlocking her phone, scanning the flood of messages from Taylor.

Taylor

Hey, just wanted to check on you. Text me.

Okay, it’s been several hours, Victoria. Where are you?

Bitch, I am about to go nuclear on you. Did something happen?

Victoria exhaled sharply, guilt twisting in her gut. Taylor was freaking out.

She quickly typed out a response.

Victoria

I’m fine. I’ll fill you in soon.

Would it be a lie to say she was fine? Maybe. But right now, she had bigger problems.

Victoria was still scrolling through her texts when Tristan’s voice cut through the silence.

“I’ll take you home after dinner.”

Her head snapped up. “I don’t need?—”

“You do,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “And we still need to talk.”

She tensed. “About what?”

Tristan leaned against the counter, watching her like he was waiting for her to crack. “About who you are, Victoria.”

The weight of his words settled between them, suffocating.

Her grip on the phone tightened. “I already told you…”

“Not everything.” His voice was calm, but the way his jaw ticked told her he wasn’t letting this go.

“I’ve told you everything.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. He was getting too close, too damn close.

“Eat first,” he continued, turning back to the stove. “Then we talk.”