Page 54 of Heart of Frost and Scars

The door opens, and Oliver emerges, balancing trays in both hands.

The aroma hits me first—a rich blend of coffee and the savory scent of meat, lemon, and eggs.

“Eggs Benedict.” He sets the trays down before us, revealing two perfectly plated servings.

Poached eggs rest atop slices of Canadian bacon and English muffins, all generously covered in a glossy, golden sauce. On the side, there’s a mound of crispy hash browns and a steaming cup of dark, fragrant coffee.

The sight mesmerizes me, each element artfully arranged. The smell is even better, a mouthwatering smack of butter, eggs, and tangy vinegar from the yellow sauce.

I dig in without hesitation, and the flavors burst in my mouth. “Holy fuck.”

The creamy richness of the yellow stuff blends perfectly with the runny egg yolk. The smoky saltiness of the Canadian bacon, the crunch of the toasted English muffin…

“Christ.” I chew greedily, savoring each mouthful, my taste buds reveling in the experience. “This is fucking amazing.”

I glance up to see Oliver watching me with a pleased expression, his grin softening his stern features.

As he turns to pour Monty’s coffee, the smile vanishes, replaced by cold, simmering anger.

He drips coffee over Monty’s eggs with deliberate rudeness, his lips pressed into a thin line. The silent fury in his eyes chills the damn air.

When he steps back, his expression returns to that of a stoic servant. He gives me a final nod before leaving, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As I look at Monty, who remains sullen and unresponsive, I realize why he tolerates the old man’s blatant insubordination.

Guilt.

He didn’t trust Oliver or Frankie with his identity. If he’d told Oliver who he was, he might’ve had a much-needed friend for the past few months rather than sharing this massive estate with an employee who resents him.

Then again, I’m a stranger in a strange land. Maybe Monty’s distrust in everyone is what’s kept him alive.

Still, I can’t help but point out the obvious. “That man is harboring some deep-seated animosity toward you. Might want to check your eggs for rat poison.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“What about the animosity you’re harboring toward me? Should I check my food for poison?”

“Yes.”

A swallow of eggs sticks in my throat.

“I want you dead.” He pitches forward, his breath a surging tide of wrath. “I want to fucking bury you.”

There it is. The venom that’s been boiling beneath every glance, every word since I sat down. He’s about to pop a blood vessel.

“Why?” I smile, provoking him.

“Why?” His eyes go wild, and he slams his injured fist onto the table, unleashing his rage with a roar. “You’re fucking my wife!”

12

Monty

—

My nostrils flare with the fire of each labored breath. I stand from the table, seething with images of last night’s fuckfest.

Leo launches to his feet, meeting me head-on.

---