Page 25 of Plot Twist in Pelican Point
I feel the ground shift beneath us—this isn’t just about sex and silence anymore. It’s something bigger. Something dangerous.
My pulse spikes and I nod. "I asked Emma, Ryan's sister, to poke around and she came up with something similar. Do you think it’s connected to..."
"To the break-in. To the blueprints. And maybe… to why you were the one approved to lease the guest cottage."
A chill creeps down my spine. "Sebastian... what does that mean?"
His eyes meet mine, dark and determined. "I don't know. What I do know is that it means we stop pretending, and we start figuring this out."
CHAPTER 9
SEBASTIAN
Mist clings to the treetops like a secret that hasn’t decided if it wants to be told—hovering, swirling, thick with warning.
It smells faintly of loam and salt, the ghost of the nearby ocean mingling with the earth-rich scent of wet leaves and old pine. The heavier fog wraps around the trees, softening their outlines until they look like something out of a dream—half-real, half-remembered. Sound is muffled—muted—as if the entire world’s holding its breath.
Even the birds are quiet, their usual morning chatter dampened by the thick gray veil. Light filters through in soft, fractured beams, catching on droplets that cling to every branch, every blade of grass, casting eerie patterns that dance across the mossy forest floor.
Everything feels still, suspended, and on edge—like something’s about to break. The air is thick and damp, heavy with the scent of moss and morning dew, and every breath carries the chill of wet stone and pine needles, sharp and nostalgic, like a memory that cuts more than it comforts.
My shirt clings to the back of my neck, sweat cooled too fast in the morning chill, and beneath my boots, the path feels slick,uncertain. I should feel calm after last night—after everything Kate and I shared. But calm isn’t what this is. I feel like a live wire, stretched too tight and humming with thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking. My skin’s still humming with the ghost of her touch, the press of her mouth, the weight of what we didn’t say. I should be thinking about security and contracts. Instead, all I can think about is Kate and how she looked.
After we... Christ, after I had her spread across my desk like a fever dream, I carried her back to her cottage. She was half-asleep, curling into me like she belonged there. Her skin was warm against my chest, her breath steady, slow. The curve of her body fit mine too perfectly, like she'd always known where to settle. For a heartbeat, maybe two, I let myself forget the danger, the history, the rules I'd carved into stone—and just felt her there. Like a home I'd never had.
But then the sun started to rise, and with it came the gut-punch of reality.
She’s not mine. She can’t be. I’ve spent my whole life building walls—plans, projects, rules carved in stone. But she’s already in, and now I don’t know how to keep her safe without tearing down everything I’ve built to keep myself standing.
I’m not the kind of man who gets the girl. I’m the one who walks away first so he doesn’t have to watch her leave.
So when she came barreling across the lawn this morning—cheerful, too cheerful—I waved, gave a noncommittal grunt, and turned to go back inside. It was a shitty move, and I know it. From the corner of my eye, I caught her smile as it faltered.
For a long beat, we just stare at each other, and then I kiss her like it means something. Because it does.
It's not just heat. Not just the pull I’ve been fighting since the day she showed up with that wild hair and stubborn mouth. It was real. Messy. Mine.
My hands are in her hair, my mouth on hers, and for one reckless second, I let myself believe it can be that simple. That wanting her is enough.
But now it has to mean more. Because what Marc found—what Emma confirmed independently—that changes everything.
None of this is coincidence. It’s a pattern. A setup. A trap we didn’t see coming. And Kate’s not just caught in it—she might be the reason it was sprung at all.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight, blood still buzzing from the kiss. My chest hasn’t settled. Neither has my gut. She doesn’t know how deep this goes yet. Not really. But I do.
Someone wanted her here. Someone moved the pieces into place to make that happen. And whether she was picked or placed, I won’t let her be used.
The breeze shifts, cool and damp, curling around my shoulders. I move to the edge of the porch, scanning the trees, the road, the sky—like the answers might be hiding just out of reach.
My spine’s tight. Every instinct I’ve got is flaring hot. We’re past curiosity now. Past anything that could be considered an accident or bad luck.
A low crunch of tires on gravel cuts through the quiet. I straighten, heart thudding once.
Someone else.
The knock comes just as I lift my mouth from Kate's. My hands are scraped and covered in sawdust. I wipe them on a rag and yank the door open.
Ryan. His mouth is tight, his jaw locked in that way that says something went sideways. "You better come see this."
