Chapter Twelve

Grace’s POV

I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t expect to, not really.

After leaving Hunter in the garden, I went straight to my room, shut the door, and tried to breathe. The walls felt too close, the weight of everything pressing in on me.

Helena would have left by now, off to wherever she was really going, and Hunter… well, I had no idea what he was doing. I didn’t want to know.

But an image of him lying in bed flashed across my mind, his bare chest, the sheets barely covering his hips. I squeezed my eyes shut, heat spreading through me.

God.

I should have turned on the TV, played some music, done something to distract myself. Instead, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind stuck in an endless loop of everything I wanted to forget.

Helena. Her lies. Her ease with deception.

Hunter. His quiet, unreadable expression.

I tossed the blankets off and got up. No way was I going to just lie here with my thoughts circling like vultures.

The house was mostly quiet when I stepped into the hallway. A few dim lights glowed along the walls, casting long shadows. Outside, the storm rumbled low, thunder vibrating through the house.

I padded down the stairs toward the kitchen, needing something… water, space, anything to clear my head. But as I turned the corner, I froze.

Hunter was already there.

He stood by the counter, one hand braced on the marble, the other wrapped around a glass of something dark. Whiskey, probably.

He didn’t turn when I entered, but I knew he was aware of me.

For a second, I thought about backing out, going back to my room like I’d never been here. But that felt stupid. Childish. I would be living here for months, possibly the longest months of my life. I needed to learn how to deal with this. With him.

With Helena, without wanting to scratch her eyes out for being so stupid as to put her marriage at risk.

So instead, I walked forward. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

His fingers tightened around his glass, just for a moment. “No.”

I nodded.

Hunter wasn’t the kind of man who let things keep him up at night. At least, not the Hunter I knew at work. He made a decision and stuck to it. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t doubt his choices, even if they weren’t popular.

I reached for a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water from the sink. When I turned, he was watching me. Not saying anything. Just watching.

The weight of his stare was something I felt more than saw.

I took a sip, forcing myself to ignore the way my stomach tightened. “Is Helena back yet?”

His expression barely shifted, but I caught it—the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “No.”

Was that why he was up? Worrying about her? Or was it something else?

I let out a slow breath. “Right.” Stimulating conversation.

Silence stretched between us. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that felt like a slow pull, like something was building just beneath the surface.

I should have left it alone. Should have said goodnight and gone back to my room.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I leaned back against the counter, mirroring his stance. “Do you always drink alone at night?”

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smirk but didn’t. “Do you always wander the house in the middle of the night?”

“Only when I’m restless.”

His gaze dipped… just briefly. To the way I held the glass? Or to the loose fit of my sleep shirt skimming my thighs.

Then it was gone. He exhaled through his nose, taking another sip of whiskey.

Hunter wasn’t the kind of man who looked at another woman. Not once had I ever seen him have a wandering eye.

He loved Helena.

Didn’t he? Plus, there was no way he would look at me that way. Not after being with Helena or even his ex-fiancee Emma Mckay supermodel.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he muttered.

Something about the way he said it made me tense. “And why’s that?”

His fingers curled tighter around his glass, his knuckles paling. “Because.”

That was not an answer.

“Because I need rest?” I pressed. “Or because you don’t want me here? Too much of me around all the time? We see each other at work all day, and now I’m here too.”

I wanted to remind him this wasn’t my idea.

His eyes flickered. A slow inhale, like he was measuring his response.

I swallowed, my pulse ticking up. “You can just say it, Hunter. If me being here makes you uncomfortable…”

“That’s not what I said.”

My breath caught.

The air felt thick now, pressing against my skin.

He wasn’t looking at me anymore, but I could feel the shift.

Something heavy. Something restrained.

What was his problem? Hunter didn’t mince words—if he had something to say, he said it. With little regard for how it might land.

Hunter turned, setting his glass down on the counter with a quiet clink. Then, his hands pressed against the marble, like he needed to steady himself.

“I think this was a mistake.” His voice was low. Rough.

A lump formed in my throat. “What was?”

“Bringing you here.”

The words felt like a slap.

Even though I felt the same way.

I straightened, my nails pressing against the cool glass in my hands. “You think I want to be here?” My voice was quieter than I intended. “Let me remind you, this was Helena and your idea.”

His jaw flexed. “I think…”

The lights went out.

The room plunged into darkness, a deep hush filling the space where our words had been.

I sucked in a sharp breath. Outside, thunder cracked, sending a shudder through the house.

I knew he was still there. Close, but unmoving. For several long seconds, we just stood there in silence.

Then a slow exhale. His.

I clenched my glass tighter. “Hunter?”

No answer. Just another breath. A pause.

Then, finally, his voice—low, tight. “Stay put.”

I swallowed hard, nodding even though he couldn’t see me.

A few seconds later, the backup generator kicked on, a dim glow humming to life from the hallway. Just enough light to see him.

And I wished I hadn’t.

Because something in his face looked torn. Frustrated.

He looked at me.

And for the first time, it felt like he saw me.

His fingers curled against the counter, his body tense, like he was fighting something. Fighting himself.

Then, like a switch flipping, it was gone.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Then he reached for his glass, downing the rest of his whiskey in one long swallow.

“Go back to bed, Grace.” His voice was hard now. Dismissive.

I hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, without another word, I turned and left.

I didn’t look back.

Didn’t see the way his fingers curled around the edge of the counter, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him from following me.

Didn’t see the way his jaw clenched, his whole body stiff, as if forcing himself to stay right where he was.

And I definitely didn’t see the way he watched me go, his expression dark, unreadable.

But somehow, I still felt it.