Page 6 of Liar's Heart
Went through your wedding presents before they were loaded. Why the fuck do people not just give cash?? You’re both stupid rich. You don’t need a fucking vase.
It was a cool vase tho.
Which is why it’s coming home with me. FOR SAFEKEEPING.
Also idk who the Reynaulds are, but you’re welcome for me intercepting their gift.
YOU’RE
WELCOME
It’s more or less been like this ever since an acolyte led us back to the Sanctum. We were taken to a room with our overnight bags in it. I sent her a text that I had my phone on me again, and it’s just been nothing but her stream of consciousness in text form ever since. She’s ridiculous, but her antics are working, and I feel a little bit better about all the upheaval in such a short time. New husband, new home, new city. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about the transition.
All of my personal belongings should have arrived at the house over the last few days while I was at the wedding site, and I’m eager to get acquainted with the space and settle in. I figure that after I get myself up and running over the next few days, I can start sorting out decor for whichever bedroom is mine and start carving out an oasis here. I'm ready to live in useless, domesticated splendor, like a plump house cat.
Not that I’ll be sitting around all day. I’ll still be working, though not at the capacity I had been. Most of my business ventures don’t require a lot of hand-holding from me, but Len and I are both actively involved in managing Lockwood Rarities, our antiquities business.
The Lockwoods have a long history in the trade of fine items—art, jewelry, and antiques. After I lost my parents, I found myself gravitating to our oldest and most forward-facing business. It helped me feel more connected to myfamily—a family that was now nonexistent —and less alone in the world. When we graduated from college, Len joined me as a full partner. We’ve been building this business ever since.
Len and I decided to handle my out-of-state move by scaling me back to mostly contracts and paperwork—things that I can easily handle remotely. She’ll keep an eye on our showroom and clients back home and work on transitioning more responsibilities over to a team. It’s honestly something we probably should have done before now, but it’s going to feel weird scaling back so far. At least I have new hobbies to occupy my time, like the dismantling and devastation of my new husband’s family line.
You know. Just girly things.
Ender guides the car down the long driveway, and I abandon my phone to take in my surroundings. Both sides of the lane are heavily forested, and the farther Ender drives us into the thick, evergreen canopy, the more isolated from the outside world I feel. Like I’m being whisked away to a secret castle tucked deep into the woods.
But this isn’t some fairy-tale castle or even the more traditional family estate that Alec lives in. Ender built this house for himself, and as the trees begin to thin and the main house comes into view, I can see his influence written all over it. Dark steel and large windows carry the weight of the modern industrial design. It’s simple and masculine, quiet in its solitude. With as many floor-to-ceiling windows as I can see from here, I bet most rooms almost feel like they’re in the forest itself, only the thinnest glass barrier separating civil from wild.
Ender pulls the car around to the main entrance and parks under the porte cochere. As soon as the engine’s off, I’m out of my seatbelt and opening the door. I’m desperate for both a real shower and physical distance from this man… to close myself behind a door and let my guard down for a few minutes. But once I’m standing outside the car in the crisp winter air, something makes me stop and sit with this moment. Looking over the house one more time, I feel like I’m sizing up an opponent. I am, in a way. Answers I’ve been starved for years without might be somewhere within those walls. I just need to be clever enough to find them.
The sound of gravel crunching underfoot grows closer, stopping at the same time the heat rolling off my husband’s body begins warming my back. Smoke and citrus. Lust and fury. It all invades my senses as he swoops my hair over one shoulder. Warm, calloused hands bracket my waist before I feel Ender’s mouth against my exposed skin. His hot breath curls along the shell of my ear, sending a shiver through me as he whispers, “Welcome home, Mrs. Sinclair.”
His hands linger, though he stands to his full height again, and when they leave me entirely, it’s to pick up our bags and walk me inside, out of the cold. The door opens to a foyer full of dark wood and stained concrete and to our assistants waiting for us.
Jules’s face lights up when she sees us enter, dark-brown eyes assessing the two of us. I can tell by the way her auburn eyebrows are starting to climb into her matching hairline that she’s planning on busting my balls in private later over how cozy Ender and I look already. I might technically be her boss, but Jules is more of a kindred spirit than a subordinate. She and I found each other a few years ago when she was working for an art auction house I frequent. She was assigned as my main point of contact for a collection I was trying to secure, and we started seeing each other socially after the deal went through. One night, we killed a bottle of rosé between the two of us on my deck, and our friendship escalated to the let’s-share-our-most-traumatic-experiences level. After hearing her story, I decided to let her in. Jules came on as my personal assistant and has been one of my best assets. I meanit in the most affectionate way possible when I say that she's terrifying.
The man standing next to her is Logan Doyle, Ender's PA. Logan has been with Ender for the last four years. His file makes him seem relatively clean and loyal, but I only believe one of those can be true. Most notably, he's the only staff member who lives in the main residence full time. Well, other than Jules, who now lives in the same wing as him.
Logan steps forward to introduce himself, shaking my hand before offering to give Ender the rundown of what he’s missed since yesterday. Ender shakes his head in dismissal, telling both Logan and Jules, “Hold everything until tomorrow. I'm spending today helping Merrick get settled.”
I wasn't expecting that. Neither was Jules, based on how she’s gnawing away at the inside of her cheek in an attempt to keep from saying whatever’s currently scrolling across the screen in her head. Logan doesn't seem phased at all by the scheduling upset, quickly moving on to the only point of business he deems urgent. “Your father has requested a meeting. When would you like me to schedule it for, sir?”
Ender does his best to school his reaction, but I feel it. His hand on my arm tightens, fingers flexing on instinct like they're seeking a weapon.
Or a shield.
He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out a bit too rough to qualify as casual. “Tomorrow at the earliest, please. The further out you can push it, the better. Now, if you'll excuse us.” Ender doesn't bother to wait for a response as he drags me deeper into the house.
He doesn't stop to show me where anything is or even slow down enough to give the staff we encounter more than a nod in greeting. We pass a formal sitting room, a living room, the kitchen, and a formal dining room before reaching a wing that looks like it contains private living quarters.
Ender is still walking, the hand on the small of my backguiding me like a jailer leading me to my new cell. He's not being mean or forceful, but he is firm about keeping me with him. I need to squash any thoughts he has of us spending the rest of the day together as soon as possible.
When I'm reasonably sure we're alone, I stop in the hallway, prompting him to stop as well. He turns to me, eyebrow raised in question, and I decide to rip the Band-Aid off. “I appreciate that you'd think to help me today, but I'm just looking forward to a long, hot shower and getting settled in my room. You don't have to worry about sticking around or entertaining me.”
He hums—a favored, perfunctory response of his, I’ve noticed. Acknowledgment without commitment. He starts walking again, the hand on my back still directing me to stay with him. We walk past every single door down this hall until we reach the one at the very end—the one that leads to the primary suite. He opens the door and sweeps his arm out, gesturing for me to enter.
The first thing to come into focus is that smoky citrus scent—Ender’sscent, heavy in the air. It’s overwhelming in its immutable persistence, the room so deeply saturated withhimthat there is no denying who this space belongs to.
The second thing I notice about the room is that, while this is very clearly Ender’s bedroom with its masculine design and personal effects throughout, some of my belongings have also made their way into it. A framed picture of Len and me on vacation in the Maldives, clad in bikinis and rolled-down wetsuits, with our snorkel gear just out of frame, sits on top of the dark wood dresser next to a tray holding a bottle of my perfume and body lotion. A few totes are neatly stacked in a corner, clearly waiting for me to decide where I’d like their contents. I can’t see into the closet or bathroom from here, but I have a feeling if I could, I'd find my clothes hanging up next to his and our toiletries mingling together in the shower. The king-sized bed doesn't even take up a quarter of the space inthis room, but it suddenly feels like theonlything in the room. The fluffy white comforter and pillows meant for two might as well be an alligator for all the closer I want to get to it.
