Midnight Toxicity

46.

Motley Hall didn't know it was dying that week.

It sat there in the Alabama heat, all black paint and gothic charm, pretending to be an Airbnb for bachelor parties and bored couples who wanted "rustic with Wi-Fi." But we knew. Every scrubbed window, every patched nail hole, and every new coat of paint was a goodbye disguised as busywork.

A wake, but make it domestic.

I swear the lake was showing off the following morning.

Mirror-flat, glittering like someone sprinkled diamonds across the surface. My body was still tender everywhere, the type of sore that screams you survived something, but the sunlight helped.

Chace slipped behind me quietly, handing me a fishing rod before tying my hair into a messy ponytail like I was his favorite Barbie that he finally got to pose. Each tug on the hair tie felt... intimate. Intentional. His, in a way that made my chest bloom and bruise at the same time.

"Hold it like this, Hellcat," he murmured, arms around me from behind, chin brushing my shoulder. Possessive in that sweet-toxic way that makes you purr before you think.

Malik and Glen were arguing about bait like two uncles at a backyard cookout. Emily was lying on her stomach on the dock, splashing water with her fingers and humming some off-key pop song like she wanted to scare every fish in the lake.

Ian sat farther down, knees dangling over the edge, pretending not to stare at me and failing miserably. That was his thing, after all. He continued watching me even after saying he didn't want anything to do with me. Chace helped as a buffer, but I needed to have it out again with that infuriating man since he held my stolen gun.

But peace never lasts long around here.

Especially with this crew.

Chace kissed the corner of my jaw, too lightly to feel innocent. "You slept in. Thought you'd be up before sunrise after sleeping so much."

"Didn't hear anyone leave, but you've come back," I murmured.

Once again, when I woke up, Chace wasn't in his bed.

The sheets were mussed at least. He was there a few minutes after I sat up. I wasn't upset, but wanted him to know that I noticed.

He stiffened, barely, but I felt it. "You were tired."

That wasn't an answer.

I lowered the fishing rod. "So... Golding left? I heard the cars earlier."

Chace was quiet for a long beat. Longer than normal. Long enough that even Glen stopped mid-argument and glanced our way.

Finally, he sighed, brushing strands of hair off my cheek like he was trying to distract me.

"Yeah," he said. "He took Mrs. Bitters, Chloe, and Gary. Headed to the coast."

"Just like that?" I asked. "No goodbye? No explanation?"

Chace's hand tightened on my hip. "He told us already, remember?

I turned my neck so he could see my serious stare. "Oh, yeah. But... you actually told me first."

He stepped back so he could look at me fully. His eyes were soft, sympathetic, and perfectly carved into the shape of concern. And yet it all felt... off. It seemed too polished to be genuine.

"Charlize..." he started, voice low enough to curl around the edges of my ribs. "You were healing. You are healing. Mr. Golding expects us to clean and prepare Motley Hall for a smaller household."