Page 48

Dennis jabs the parking garage button, fidgeting as the elevator crawls downward. His reflection in the mirrored walls—dark circles under bloodshot eyes, cheeks hollow from skipped meals—looks as messed up as he feels. Every logical part of him screams this is stupid—trusting Chris again when he's the prime suspect.

The doors open to dim fluorescent lighting. He takes two steps out before his legs lock up, his body screaming at him to pivot back—but freezes at the sight of the Lexus. His chest constricts, mouth going dry.

He shouldn't be here. Doesn't want to be here.

His feet carry him forward anyway.

Chris waits against his car door, shoulders curved inward, one foot propped against the tire. His head stays bowed, chin tucked to his chest as if the weight of everything pulls it down. The garage lighting catches his face at an angle, revealing sickly purple-green bruising along his jaw. When he finally lifts his chin, Dennis sees the split lip.

"What happened to your face?" The words come out rough, surprised. Chris flinches when Dennis moves closer, making Dennis's feet root to the spot.

"I fell."

"From the Empire State Building?? That's not from a fall, Chris."

"If it's any consolation, you have a better right hook, princess." Chris attempts a wink, wincing as it pulls at his bruises. "I'm fine, really." His smile wavers.

Dennis suppresses the urge to inspect the wounds, to demand answers. The silence stretches between them, broken only by the hum of pipes and distant car engines.

"What did you—"

"Listen Denny, I—"

They start simultaneously.

Dennis gestures for Chris to continue.

Chris's eyes dart around the garage before fixing on the ground between them, voice dropping low.

"First, I want to apologize for the other day at the apartment. Princess, I..." He looks up, meeting Dennis's eyes. "I was a dick, and not the kind you like."

Dennis narrows his eyes, unamused.

"Sorry, bad timing." Chris crosses one ankle over the other, toe scuffing the cement. "But I was, and I treated you like shit and you don't deserve that." His voice drops to barely a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Those words have lost all meaning lately, but something in Chris's tone rings genuine.

"Okay." It's all Dennis can manage—not hostile, just lost for words.

Chris seems to accept this. "I told you I have something." He pulls a USB drive from his jeans pocket. Hands it to Dennis. "Evidence proving the fire was intentional, not electrical failure. Use it to get your insurance coverage and investors back."

Dennis examines the drive between his fingers, lifting his gaze to study Chris's bruised face. "How'd you get this?"

"Went to LA," Chris continues, touching his bruised jaw. "Thought if I played along, show I came back to Lancaster & Son... He ate it up—talking big about taking over Kim Industries, how you were just some spoiled pretty heir he could play with."

"Why the bruises?" Dennis's fingers twitch at his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out.

"I found proof he'd been lying about my mother for years. Using fake leads to keep me running in circles, running back to him, while he..." Chris's voice roughens. "While he orchestrated everything—the site problems, City Hall, those forged documents. You’ll find them all there."

Dennis's breath catches. The watermarks they'd just discovered.

"His passwords never changed. Too arrogant for that. I almost had everything copied when he caught me in her files." Chris's laugh comes out hollow. “Couldn’t resist looking and couldn't keep my mouth shut. But his reaction—" He waves vaguely at his face. "Bought me time to finish the transfer. Got him focused on teaching me a lesson instead of checking what I was doing. Let him think he'd won, you know?”

Dennis stares at the USB, throat tight. "I don't know if I can trust you. That woman at City Hall with the envelope—"

"PI I hired," Chris shifts his weight. "She found proof my mother's alive. Made me realize my father's been playing me."

“ What? ” Dennis gapes, eyes bulging. “Wait, are you for real—wait,” he shakes his head trying to process the revelation.

"Yeah,” Chris nods. “That’s why all the phone calls. Sometimes it was him dangling new leads about my mom. Sometimes it was the PI. Trying to tell me my father's trails were false. I didn't listen." Chris scrubs his palms down his face. "Kept chasing his breadcrumbs until she proved he'd been dangling information, keeping me distracted while he—" He gestures at the USB.

"So when you were sick that week..." Dennis trails off, waiting for the question to be answered.

Chris's jaw tightens. "I really was sick—stress and no sleep will do that. But I wasn't here. My father sent me a surveillance photo of someone who looked exactly like my mom, claimed she was living under an alias in Phoenix. Even had documentation." His laugh comes out hollow. "Of course it was fake—expertly altered images, forged papers. But I had to be sure. Spent three days there before realizing it was just another one of his tricks to keep me running in circles.”

"What about Seattle?" Dennis spits the word out.

Chris's shoulders go rigid. "Business partner. Said he fell in love with me." His knuckles whiten against his thighs. "I couldn't give him what he wanted. Liam spiraled—depression, then rage. My father swooped in, convinced him I'd used him, that he deserved payback."

He runs a hand through his hair, that familiar gesture Dennis knows means he's struggling to find words.

"That's why I fought so hard against being attracted to you at first. Couldn't believe I could have feelings for a man after all that bullshit that went down." His voice drops low, almost to himself. "Especially not another pretty rich boy from another powerful family. Felt like the universe was playing some sick joke, you know?

Chris sighs. “Made me hate myself. Made me want to hate you—god, you made it hard though, princess." His mouth curves up at the corner, eyes fixed on some middle distance as the memory plays across his face.

Dennis's fingers twitch at his sides. He focuses on keeping his breathing steady, on not showing how those words land somewhere deep in his chest.

Chris pushes off the car. Keeps his hands in his pockets. "Guy helped my father steal everything—my shares, our designs. Oakview Heights…”

“What about it?”

“That was mine. Those engineering solutions? All stolen. Now they're building them here in Sacramento."

Dennis frowns. "But that's not Lancaster & Son—that's LC Luxury Construction."

"Right. LC. Liam Chris." Chris's laugh comes bitter. "When my father absorbed it at pennies on the dollar through shell companies and manufactured debt, he kept the name. Said it would be a good reminder of what happens when I try to build something of my own."

The pieces click—Chris's unease every time he dropped him home, how he'd tense up whenever he was there. Always preferring the rundown apartment. But doubt still nags.

"How do I know which story to believe?" Dennis pulls out his phone. "Your father's just a call away."

"Let me prove it." Chris pulls out a paper, an address, date, and time scrawled across it. "This is where I'm meeting her—my mother. Come with me? No more secrets this time."

The garage feels too small suddenly, the air between them heavy with history and uncertainty. Dennis's fingers itch to grab Chris's collar, shake answers out of him—about them , pull him closer—anything to break this careful distance Chris maintains. But Chris stays out of reach, though his eyes never leave Dennis's face.

"I have to go. My father thinks I'm meeting an investor in Oakland. Being here is risky, but I needed you to have this and—"

"And?" Dennis steps forward, chin lifting.

"I had to see you again."

“Well… now you've seen me.”

Chris smiles a sad little smile. “I have. Thank you for coming, it means the world.”

There's a moment of silence before Dennis says:

"Why does this sound like goodbye?"

Chris shakes his head. “Never, princess. Not unless you want me gone.”

Dennis swallows hard. He doesn’t.

Chris's fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out. Instead, he backs toward his car door. "Three days, princess. I'll meet you downtown an hour before. Not here, they might be watching.”

Chris breaks the eye contact first, then he’s gone.

Dennis watches the Lexus disappear up the ramp, his body rigid with the effort of not chasing after it.

Three days to decide if he's walking into another trap or if Chris is finally telling the truth.

Three days to ignore how his skin still hurts where Chris didn't touch him.