Page 27 of Throne of Secrets

To say the man turned her on was an understatement. He was everything every romance novel promised and everything her parents had told her to look for in a man.

She rinsed her hair and tilted her head back, closing her eyes as she remembered their advice. It hadn’t made sense as a teenager, but it resonated now.

Her parents had set the bar high—especially when it came to relationships. They’d taught her that love wasn’t all fireworks and passion. It was built on respect, trust, and shared values.

Her mom had once said:“Relationships aren’t always fifty-fifty, honey. Some days, your dad has nothing left to give, so I give a hundred percent. And some days, I’m running on empty, and he carries the weight. That’s what real love is—balance, not perfect math.”

She reached for the loofah and scrubbed absently as more memories surfaced.

Her mom also taught her the most important lesson:“Resentment grows in dark places. If you’re upset or hurt, bring it into the light. Talk about it. Listen—really listen—to the other person. Resentment is the cancer of relationships, Star. Never let it grow. And never expect someone else to change who they are to make you happy.”

Star finished rinsing, turned off the water, and stepped onto the bathmat. She swiped a towel over the fogged mirror and caught her reflection. Her damp, sandy-brown hair clung to her shoulders, and the hot water flushed her cheeks.

She smiled softly. “You’d like him, Mama.”

The ache of missing her parents hit like a punch to the chest. As an only child, their loss had shattered her world. It had taken years of grief, stubborn resilience, and more than a few disasters to rebuild her life after their deaths.

The silence of the house no longer suffocated her. In fact, she’d learned to cherish it. Solitude helped her focus—especially on her work.

Wrapping the towel around herself, she padded into the bedroom. ADHD had made her childhood a whirlwind of unfinished projects and forgotten homework assignments. She hadn’t been diagnosed until college, but once she’d received it, things had started making sense.

Her hyperfocus on work? Her compulsive need for lists and color-coded spreadsheets? The endless documentation of every home improvement project? All perfectly explainable now.

Her mom had helped her find ways to manage her workload, turning overwhelming tasks into manageable goals. While she might trip over her own feet and wreak havoc on innocent hardware stores, she excelled at her transcription work.

She combed out her hair, secured it in a loose braid, and stood in front of her desk.

The small workspace was simple: a well-worn chair, a reliable computer, and noise-canceling headphones. She glanced at the clock:Nine a.m.,right on schedule.

With a quick stretch, she powered up her transcription software and hit play.

Soft classical music filtered through the speakers as she opened the first medical dictation file.

Time to focus.

Some time later, Star paused mid-sentence, her fingers hovering above the keyboard as a faint, rhythmicthunkechoed through the house.

There it was again. A hammer?

She pulled off her headphones and glanced at the clock. “Dang,” she muttered. It was nearly four o’clock. She’d tunneled so deeply into her work that she’d gone past her usual hours without realizing it.

With a sigh, she hitsave, double-checked that the files had been uploaded to the shared drive, and then backed everything up to her external drive. She was meticulous in her transcription work.

Stretching, she rolled her stiff shoulders, then headed downstairs. As she passed through the kitchen and opened the back door, sunlight streamed across the porch steps—and the scene before her made her stop short.

The old, crumbling wooden stairs were gone. In their place, a brand-new set of risers had been installed and bolted into the concrete foundation. The skeletal frame of new steps stretched out like an incomplete puzzle.

How in the world did I miss that much noise?

She looked to the right, then the left, scanning the yard.

“Hello?” she called.

Ethan rounded the corner of the house, carrying a wide, thick board across his shoulders. He wore a leather work belt slung low on his hips, his jeans dusty and clinging to his thighs. His chest was bare, glistening with sweat in the late afternoon sun.

Star’s mouth went dry.

“Hey,” Ethan said, lowering the board into place. “You must’ve been concentrating hard. I was worried I might’ve disturbed you.”

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