A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter thirty six

Max P.O.V

The following morning, the chaos of the fire had settled, replaced by the lingering smell of smoke and the low murmur of voices. The once-grand Cook estate now bore the scars of the night—charred beams and blackened walls in the back left corner of the house, where the flames had raged the fiercest.

Servants moved cautiously through the grounds, assessing the damage under the watchful eyes of Annie's father, who stood with the head steward near the remains of the kitchen. I lingered nearby, unable to pull myself away despite the pointed glances he occasionally cast in my direction.

The sun was barely up. And yet here I was, standing outside the Cook estate once again. I hadn't slept; Id barely eaten. Every fiber of my being had been focused on one thing—making sure Annalise was alive and safe.

The estate was a controlled chaos of workers and servants bustling about, clearing the wreckage and repairing what they could. I felt out of place as I approached. My dirt-streaked clothes and tired expression stood in stark contrast to the finely dressed men overseeing the repairs.

As I reached the grand front entrance, Marcus Cook stepped out, his face darkening the moment he spotted me.

He somehow managed to ignore me temporarily though.

"The fire began here," the steward explained, pointing to the ruins of the kitchen. "It looks as though a pot or lamp was left unattended. Once it caught, the flames spread quickly through the servants' quarters adjacent to the kitchen."

Mr. Cook's face tightened as he surveyed the damage. "And the rest of the house?"

The steward hesitated before replying, "The structural damage is mostly contained to this corner. The main living areas and the upper floors were untouched, save for some smoke damage."

"So, it can be salvaged," He said, his voice clipped.

"Yes, sir," the steward replied. "With the right repairs, the house will be as it was before."

Marcus exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing as he glanced toward me. His gaze was as cold as ever, but I didn't flinch.

"Good," he said finally. "We'll begin reconstruction immediately. I want no mention of this fire outside these grounds—do you understand? This is not a story for the gossips in town."

The steward nodded. "Of course, sir. Discretion will be maintained."

I stepped closer, unable to stop myself. "What about Annalise? Where will she be?" I asked, my voice steady despite my nerves.

Mr. Cook turned to me, his lips thinning. "She is housed temporarily in the unused east wing while repairs are made," he said curtly. "Now, if you're done inserting yourself into matters that don't concern you..."

I ignored his tone, my gaze shifting back to the charred remains. The kitchen was almost unrecognizable, the scent of ash and burned wood still heavy in the air. But as I studied the scene, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of relief.

It could have been worse. Much worse.

The house was still standing. Annalise was alive. And for now, that was all that mattered.

"How soon can the repairs begin?" Mr. Cook asked, turning back to the steward.

"Within a week, sir," the man replied. "We'll need to clear the debris and bring in additional laborers to reinforce the damaged areas."

"Do it," He said, his voice firm. "I want this house restored before the season begins. No delays."

As the two men continued their discussion, my eyes drifted back toward the upper windows of the house. Somewhere inside, Annalise was resting, still weak but alive.

Her father turned to me again, his voice cold as he spoke, "Haven't you caused enough trouble? Why aren't you at your house?"

I stiffened but held my ground. "I just want to see her. I need to know she's okay."

"She's recovering," He replied curtly. "And she doesn't need you hovering around and complicating things further."

"Please," I said, my voice cracking. "Just a moment. I need to see for myself that she's all right."

The older man folded his arms, his expression hard. "You'll do no such thing. Annalise has been through enough. She needs rest, not reminders of... whatever foolishness this was."

I stiffened again at the tone but forced myself to remain calm. "This wasn't foolishness," I said quietly. "I love her."

Marcus's eyes narrowed. "And yet, she doesn't feel the same. Did you think I wouldn't know? Before the fire, Annalise came to me. She told me she'd accepted her duty to marry Lord Tompkins. She said she was ready to move forward and wanted nothing more to do with you."

The words hit me like a punch. I stared at her father, my mind reeling. "No," I said, shaking my head. "She wouldn't—"

"She did," Marcus said sharply. "She realised this... whatever this was... was a mistake. And she asked me to ensure you stayed away from her. I'm sorry boy. But I am very grateful of what you did for her—saving her life"

I took a step back, my chest tightening. It didn't make sense. None of it did. I thought of the fire, of the way she'd clung to me, her voice trembling as she begged me to stay. Could she have changed her mind in the aftermath?

Mr Cook sighed, his expression softening slightly, though his tone remained firm. "You saved her life, and for that, I owe you a debt. But this ends here, Mr. Verstappen. Whatever you thought you had with my daughter—it's over. Go home."

My fists clenched at my sides, but I knew I couldn't argue. If Annalise had truly said those things, what right did I have to push?

"I just... I thought she—" My voice broke, and I looked away, my throat tightening.

"She doesn't," Marcus said flatly. "Now leave, before you embarrass yourself further."

I didn't reply. I turned and walked away, my steps heavy and my vision blurred with unshed tears.

Third Person P.O.V

Inside the estate, Clara, Oscar and Lando stood by Annalise's bedside, watching over her as she remained unconscious. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow, but steady.

"She's strong," Clara whispered, brushing a strand of hair from Annalise's forehead. "She'll pull through."

Lando nodded, though his jaw was tight with worry. "And Max?" he asked quietly.

Clara's expression hardened. "Father sent him away. He thinks keeping them apart is the solution to all of this."

Oscar frowned. "But Max saved her life. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"It should," Clara said, her voice low but fierce. "And I won't stand by and let Father ruin her happiness. Not again."

They all glanced down at Annalise, she was frighteningly still.

Pierre stood a few meters away, his mind rushing. He thought about Max. And he felt for the blond man, really he did. He made a note to see him later, sure he would no doubt be drowning himself his whiskey again.

The chauffeur knew that their rendezvous would end in a bad way, he even warned Max, but nevertheless, hw knew this would be a hard blow.

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