She thought it would be nothing more than a summer fling. A fleeting phase she could shake off like sand clinging to sun-kissed skin. But it wasn't that simple. Not when it came to Isaiah Hendrick De Guia. He wasn't forgettable-he was addictive. Fro...
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I had no idea where Hendrick lived. All I knew was that it was somewhere near the Ashtons' property, based on what Klein told me. He’d offered to drive me there, and I didn’t refuse. Apparently, it was his grandmother’s house—one she left to Hendrick because he was her first grandson. Some people really were born with all the luck.
Klein drove fast in his black Wrangler, the engine growling as we sped down the dusty countryside roads. I couldn’t explain it, but I was nervous. It was my first time visiting Hendrick’s home, and I wasn’t even sure if he was there. Lately, he’d been distant. Hard to read. Harder to find.
The drive was quiet, save for the wind rushing past the windows. The sun was high, the skies clear. We passed a few farmers tending to their fields, their wide hats shielding them from the heat. It felt like we were entering a different world—one tucked away from the noise of the city.
Then, in the distance, I saw it: a grand iron gate standing between two weathered stone columns. Beyond it was a stunning Spanish-style house—old but graceful, like it had stories to tell. Ivy crawled up the columns, and sunlight bounced off the red clay tiles of the roof. The house looked like it had been built for someone important, and the garden was proof someone still cared for it.
When we arrived, I climbed out of the car and told Klein I’d be fine on my own. He didn’t argue. He had somewhere else to be, though he didn’t say where, and I didn’t press him. As his Wrangler disappeared into the distance, I turned to face the house alone.
As I stepped through the gate, the scent of blooming roses greeted me. They lined the cobblestone path leading to the front steps. A large stone fountain sat at the center of the garden, water gently trickling over its tiers. It reminded me a little of our estate—elegant and quiet, with a heavy air of expectation.
Not far from the fountain, I noticed a car parked beneath the trees. Hendrick had a visitor? The front door was ajar. My curiosity sharpened. I didn’t know what he was doing, but I wanted to help—even if he didn’t want it.
