Page 125 of Lorcan's Obsession

Paul opened his mouth, ready to pelt me with questions.

“Paul! Paul!”

A set of rapid footsteps closed in on our position, and a petite hotel attendant rushed around the corner. She skidded to a stop, clearly winded.

"Paul…sorry…the VIP family is asking for you at the reception."

He muttered a curse beneath his breath, then turned to me with a practiced smile.

"My most sincere apologies, Mister—"

"Greene."

"Mister Greene. Grace, please escort our guest to PE two and card PH1 for him. Then return to your station at once," Paul instructed the lady, and a swoosh of relief left my lungs.

The elevator swiftly rose to the highest floor. Tristen lived in a penthouse. The clink of opening doors reverberated in my ears like a battle drum, and I took the frightening step out of the elevator and toward an uncertain future.

Paralyzed by indecision, I stood in front of the marble console table in the hallway. There were two apartments on this floor, and I was clueless about which one belonged to Tristen. My eyes lingered on the hardline connected to the front desk, and a receptionist could tell me which door to knock on. I quickly decided against that idea. A white and blue vase of bright red tulips stood next to the phone, the sight of it reminding me of the bouquet I had ordered and left at the store.

My feet dragged across the floor like my shoes were slabs of concrete. When I got to the door, my arms remained lifeless by my side. I stared at the doorbell—you need to press it—my fingers were working against me with anxiety and foreboding, urging me to turn back.

I wasn't ready for the truth.

I wasn’t ready to find out who Tristen really was.

I wasn’t ready to leave the safety of our blind love.

But I needed to know the truth.

With a deep breath, I pressed the bronze-illuminated doorbell button.

Ding-dong.

The door cracked open instantly as if it was already unlocked. A young boy with dirty blond locks and a massive Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles T-shirt stared up at me. He stuck out his tongue.

"You’re not the pizza guy!"

Thank. Fucking. God.

This must be the wrong door.

Relief flooded through me, easing my tense muscles. I looked at him and smiled awkwardly. The boy tilted his head back further, peering through the fringe of bangs falling into his big eyes. My plan was to wait for an adult to come to the door, apologize for the inconvenience, then go knock at the other apartment. The sooner I could confront Tristen, the better.

But kids never follow the plan. TMNT t-shirt boy narrowed his eyes at me, sizing me up, passing judgment on me.

"Mommy!” he hollered. “It's not the pizza guy!"

Well, now it just sounded creepy.

“It’s all right,” I raised my voice for whoever was inside. “I think I got the wrong address, that’s all.”

Soft footsteps shuffled toward the door.

"Lucerne, what did I say about opening the door without asking?"

My heart stopped.

That voice.

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