Page 13 of Break My Rules

I manage to keep my smile pleasant. “Saint’s a grown man,” I say evenly. “I’m sure he can decide for himself who or what in his life is a distraction. You take care now,” I add, breezy. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

I hold my head high and walk off before she can respond, but I can practically feel her icy gaze burning into my back as I leave.

I shiver. Something tells me that Lillian St. Clair is not to be underestimated.

Chapter5

Tessa

Back in Oxford, I make my way to Saint’s townhouse, which is located close to Ashford College, on a leafy street filled with expensive historic homes. I let myself in, relishing the peace of the eclectic, historic house—and the absence of any roommates with their passive-aggressive comments.

For now, I have the place to myself.

I grab a bottle of sparkling water from the cozy kitchen, and head upstairs. Saint’s bedroom is spacious and understated, decorated in shades of cream and navy, with antique rugs underfoot. My things are still packed in bags and boxes where I left them before our fight. Now, I’m happy to take the time to unpack properly, moving my clothing into the space he’s made for me in the massive walk-in closet, and setting out my toiletries in the gleamingen suitebathroom before I take a long, hot shower.

And all the while, my mind is working overtime.

Hugh Ambrose. Max Lancaster. Sebastian Wolfe.

Three men who share the serpent crown tattoo. Three men who could be guilty of my sister’s attack.

And three men who are all wildly rich and well-connected.

I feel a flicker of insecurity, even thinking about going up against one of these men. I don’t have their money or privilege, their army of lawyers, or their powerful friends. All I have is my grief and rage to drive me on, the vow that I swore to discover the truth about Wren.

And now Saint in my corner, too.

I smile, feeling a little better knowing I have him on my side. I’ll worry about the battle when I figure out which one of them it is, I decide, putting the last of my things away. For now, I still need to find out everything I can about these men.

I dress in a long comfy jersey skirt and hoodie, go down to the kitchen, pull out my laptop, and settle in with a cup of tea and some biscuits, researching my new list of suspects. I start with Sebastian Wolfe, who’s a stranger to me. The name is familiar, though, and it doesn’t take me long to realize why: He was all over the news last year. Apparently, he’s some big-shot finance guy, a billionaire who got accused of killing his own father—and then faked his own death as part of some plot to reveal the real killer.

I skim over the news stories, wide-eyed. Since the scandal broke, Sebastian has been out of the country, photographed occasionally in New York and on some private tropical island with his new wife on his arm. A paparazzi picture shows him leaving a fancy restaurant, glaring at the cameras: tall, cold, and imposing.

Could he have been the one to hurt Wren?

I jot down some notes, then move on. Hugh Ambrose is the next on my list. I pause, reluctant. I know Hugh a little now, and he seems like a decent guy. His father is in the running to become the next Prime Minister, and Hugh heads a charitable foundation. He offered me an amazing job there, and when I went to check it out, I fell in love with the energy and purpose, and all the great work they do on projects around the world.

But that doesn’t mean anything, I remind myself. Plenty of monsters know how to hide in plain sight. He’s just as much a suspect as the last man on the list, Max Lancaster.

Playboy. Heir to a media empire. And the only one of the three I already know had a connection to Wren. He’s already admitted to meeting her, when she first arrived in Oxford. He played it off like a casual friendship—maybe because his fiancée was right there in the room at the time—but from the things he said, I can tell, he knew my sister better than he was letting on.

Were they hooking up? Having some kind of illicit affair behind Annabelle’s back? And how does that connection lead to her kidnapping and assault?

I spend the afternoon deep in thought, researching them all, and I’m almost surprised when I hear the sound of a key in the front door.

“Hello?” Saint’s voice calls from the hallway.

I close my laptop, smiling. “I’m back here,” I call in answer. His footsteps come, and then Saint appears in the doorway, looking tired.

“Hey,” I get up, and greet him with a kiss. “Did your dad get discharged from the hospital OK?”

Saint nods, dropping his keys and coat, and exhaling in a long sigh. “It took forever, though. My mother kept quizzing the doctors about his medications a hundred times over, and then insisted on having him ride in an ambulance, too. They’re settled at the house in Sussex now. He should be able to rest and recover there.”

“I’m glad,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Now, what can we do foryourrest and recovery?”

Saint manages a chuckle. “Honestly, I’m feeling better already, just being back here. With you.”

He kisses my forehead, and we just stand there a moment, holding each other. God, it feels good to be back in his arms. I rest my head against his chest, just breathing in the scent of him, and the steady warmth of his embrace.

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