Page 19 of Little Horrors & Deceptions

My frustration mounted like a balloon expanding in my chest. This silent treatment was childish and infuriating. And it had pushed me to my limit. I needed answers, clarity, anything to explain the ice that had replaced the warmth he’d given me before.

“Is there a problem, Liam?” I demanded, more to fill the void than to expect a truthful answer.

He paused, his back still turned to me. “No problem,” he said flatly, but his body language screamed otherwise.

“Then what is it? Did I do something wrong?” I pressed, refusing to be shut out.

“Drop it, Jade,” he warned, his tone final.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off with a look so sharp it could slice through bone. He returned to his work, the subject obviously closed, leaving me with nothing but the remnants of our non-conversation and a growing sense of dread for what the rest of the day would bring if I had to work with him like this a moment longer. I’d suffocate from the lack of oxygen in the room.

Derek’s footsteps approached behind me. “I’m heading out for a coffee run,” he announced, echoing slightly in the main foyer.

“Thanks, Derek,” I murmured, grateful for the interruption. As the door clicked shut behind him, I glanced across the room at Liam. I saw his shoulders tense and his stance go rigid.

“Okay, enough,” I blurted, unable to stand the silence any longer. My pulse thrummed in my ears as I waited for him to react.

He didn’t even turn around. “Enough what?” His voice was gruff, dismissive.

“Enough of whatever this is!” I snapped, tossing the box in my hands onto a nearby table. “What is your problem?”

Liam whirled to face me, frustration etched deep into the lines of his face. “You really don’t know?” He raised an eyebrow, disbelief clear in his tone.

“Enlighten me!” I shot back, my hands balling into fists at my sides.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying his irritation. “It’s—it’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?” I pushed, stepping closer. “Because it feels likesomething. Tell me,” I persisted. I needed an answer.

He looked away, his jaw clenching. After a moment that stretched too long, he finally relented. “Fine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” Liam’s words hit me like a punch I hadn’t seen coming. Why did he care if I had a boyfriend? My heart stuttered in my chest, and a warmth I shouldn’t have felt spread through me. I’d been fighting it—this pull—but hearing him say that made something stir deeper.

We weren’t anything, just coworkers. Weshouldn’tbe anything more than that. But the way he was looking at me, like he was on the verge of admitting something he’d been holding back… it was messing with my head. I could feel the tensioncrackling between us, the unspoken need, but neither of us could afford to cross that line. We shouldn’t forso many reasons.

Still, my pulse quickened, and my thoughts tangled with confusion. Was it jealousy? Did he want me like I’d been wanting him, in the ways I’d been thinking of even though we both knew it was wrong? The frustration in his eyes said as much, but acting on it would only make things worse. Complicated on so many levels. Firstly, I shouldn’t want to fuck my boss. But secondly, I shouldn’t want to fuck my fake boss while I was undercover and investigating him as a possible serial killer.Just peachy, yeah, nothing complicated there at all.But that small, reckless, dark part of me couldn’t stop hoping. Maybe that was why his words stung—because I wanted him to care. I wanted him to crave me as much as I craved him. But I wouldn’t show it, instead I’d argue because the truth was a hard pill to swallow.

“How is my personal life any of your business?” My voice came out stronger than I felt, betraying all of my tangled-up thoughts.

There was a flicker of something indiscernible in his eyes before he masked it with that usual, cool detachment.

“Don’t do that,” he said, a note of warning threading through his voice.

“Do what?” I asked, my tone neutral. But fuck, he could read me better than anyone I’d ever met.

“Act like you haven’t felt it.” He gestured with his hand in the air. “This thing between us.” There was something like frustration—or was it resignation?—in his voice. “You know what? It’s fine. Whatever it is, it stops now. You are my employee,” he continued. “It shouldn’t go any further than that. I have to go. I’ll see you at Fright Night.”

And just like that, he began packing up his things, his movements efficient and sure, his decision made. But as he turned to leave, something rebelled within me. My voice broke the silence as he reached the threshold. “Liam.”

He didn’t stop, but I saw the slightest hitch in his step. It was enough to tell me he heard me, and for a moment, I wondered if I should say something at all.

The door groaned on its hinges, a low sound that seemed to vibrate through the stillness of the room. This was my only chance to say something if I was going to.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I called out. “He’s my brother.” Liam paused in the doorway. The muscles in his back, taut under the fabric of his shirt, shifted as if he were about to turn but hadn’t decided yet. I held my breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the moment.

“Doesn’t change a thing,” he said finally. The words were devoid of the warmth I’d grown used to. I blinked, the sting of his rejection sharper than I’d anticipated. The chill of the room seemed to seep into my bones, and I wrapped my arms around myself, seeking solace in my own embrace. I hadn’t felt small in a long time. He didn’t look back. Not once. The door closed with a soft click that sounded like the closing of a book—a story ending before it had ever truly begun. Why did it upset me? This was a good thing. I needed to stay away from him.

The room suddenly felt too large, the shadows too deep from the cold realization that whatever had been brewing between us was doused before it could ignite. In the silence that followed, I gathered my composure, straightened my posture, and focused on the next task at hand. There was work to be done, and personal feelings—no matter how potent—had no place here. Not now. Not ever.

Olivia Bennett didn’t crumble—especially not for a man.

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