Page 138 of Tangled Kisses
“No kidding.”
I close the door and lean against it, chest rising and falling like I just sprinted a mile.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I whisper, pacing the small room.
Chowder lifts his head from the blanket pile on the bed, blinking slowly like he’s seen it all before.
“I left everything,” I mumble, more to myself than the cat. “The clothes, the jewelry. All the gifts. And he’s the one who cheated—over and over. So what the hell does he want?”
No answers come—just the sour taste of fear.
For a wild second, my brain scrambles for options. Grab Chowder, slip out the window, and make a run for the cabins. Call Griffin. Call the cops. Bolt the door and pretend I’m not here.
Ridiculous.
I suck in a deep, fortifying breath. I’m not sixteen anymore, hiding from my problems. I’m an adult. And I’m going to handle this like one.
I yank on the first pair of sweats I can find and pull a comb through my hair. My hands won’t stop shaking. This isn’t just nerves—this is the kind of dread that lives in your bones.
“Worst-case scenario,” I mutter, “he drags me back to New York and humiliates me in front of his country club crowd. As if I care what they think.”
I throw on a hoodie and take another deep breath.
You left him, Reese. You survived him. Now deal with him.
But my internal bravado is hollow. Every step I take toward the sunroom feels like walking to the executioner’s quarters, toward my demise. But there’s nowhere to run. I have to face my demons.
I square my shoulders as I reach the threshold and push open the door.
“Hello, Vander.” Shocking how strong my voice sounds, considering my insides are jelly.
He’s standing near the window, fingers absently spinning a coin—an old habit of his.
Every move, every breath, calculated. There’s nothing casual about Vander Hale. Brutally handsome, dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit that costs more than my car. Sharp jaw. Cold eyes. A man built entirely of straight lines and sharp edges. Not a single softness to him.
And that’s when it hits me. I always knew Griffin was different from Vander—but standing here, I see just how opposite they are. One is light, the other shadow. One gives me peace and the other strips it away.
He glances up. “There you are.”
“Why are you here?”
“Come now, Reese. You know exactly what I’m doing here.” He pockets the coin with a smooth motion. “I have a plane waiting on the tarmac. Pack your things. We’re leaving.”
“No.”
Vander smiles as if I’ve said something adorable. “You’ve had your fun. That’s enough now.”
I cross my arms, determined to hold my ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He tuts, taking two measured steps across the carpet, hands sliding into his pockets. “I get it, okay? There’s nothing like a young and beautiful plaything to spice up the day-to-day.”
“Griffin isn’t a plaything. He’s a good man.”
He gives a condescending tilt of his head, straightening a gilt-framed painting on the wall as if the room itself offends him. “A good man on a date with another woman as we speak. A woman he’ll likely fuck by the end of the night, because she’s paid him for the pleasure.”
My jaw clenches as I ball my fists at my side. God, how I hate this man. “He doesn’t do that anymore.”
“Oh, Reese.” He laughs, low and dangerous. “Please don’t tell me you’re so naive that you fell for his lines. He’s paid to spout them.”
