The rain hitting the loft windows sounded like a firing squad.
Isabelle "Izzy" Thorne stood paralyzed in the kitchen, the scent of expensive Merlot and expensive betrayal heavy in the air. Across the wide, granite island, Elias Vance—the man whose hand she had sworn belonged in hers for a lifetime, the man whose face was currently a study in rigid, terrifying control—picked up a coaster. He turned it over and over, destroying the silence more effectively than the storm.
"Eleven o'clock," Elias said, his voice stripped bare of its usual charming rumble. It was flat, hard, and final. "You said you were at your sister's until eleven. She says you left at ten-fifteen."
Izzy's lungs seized. She gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white, the chill of the marble seeping into her skin. They had just spent an hour celebrating their one-year anniversary—champagne, shared promises, and a new silver locket. It was a beautiful, calculated lie.
"It must be a mistake, Elias. You know how disorganized Chloe is."
"I know Chloe, Izzy. I also know that she doesn't usually lie for you." He finally looked up. His eyes, usually a warm, compelling hazel, were now the cold, dark green of deep ocean water. The love that had shone there only an hour ago was now eclipsed by suspicion. "Tell me where you were, Izzy."
Izzy swallowed, tasting ash. This wasn't about a few missing minutes. This was about the police inquiry he was wrapped up in—the one he insisted was "just standard procedure" after the collapse of his investment firm. This was about the fact that the authorities had been subtly tracking his every movement, and by extension, hers.
She couldn't tell him where she'd been. She couldn't tell him she'd met with Detective Reyes, who had shown her photographs of Elias shaking hands with a man who was now missing—a man Elias had sworn he'd never met.
She had to choose: the truth that would destroy him, or the lie that would save them both.
"I... I wasn't with Chloe until ten-fifteen," she admitted, letting her shoulders slump just enough to appear contrite, not guilty. She walked around the island slowly, letting the scent of her jasmine perfume drift toward him. "I know this sounds terrible, but I went to the old waterfront bar. The one where we had our first date."
Elias didn't move. "Why?"
"I was nervous, Elias. About the anniversary. About us. About everything with your firm. I wanted to be alone and just... remember when it was simple. I sat in a booth and just watched the boats. I lost track of time. Chloe covered for me because she knows how stressed I am."
The story felt threadbare and ridiculous, but it was honest enough about her emotional state to be plausible. It was a stupid, romantic gesture, not a secretive meeting with a police detective.
Elias's jaw worked. He stood up, towering over her. She could feel the heat radiating off him, a mix of anxiety, anger, and the potent attraction that had always been their undoing.
"You lied to me, Izzy. When I need you to be my rock."
"I know," she whispered, reaching out to touch his tie. "I'm sorry. I just needed to breathe."
He caught her wrist before she made contact. His grip was firm, not cruel, but it warned her off. He studied her face, searching for any tremor in her eyes, any flicker of guilt beyond the manufactured contrition.
Then, slowly, the tension began to drain from his body. The hard line of his mouth softened. He pulled her against him, crushing her to his chest. He smelled of rain and expensive cologne and a primal, terrifying need.
"Don't do that again," he murmured into her hair, his breath warm. "Don't ever keep secrets from me."
Izzy closed her eyes, clutching the silk of his shirt. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the drumming of a lie just successfully told. She had bought them time. But the detective's picture was burned into her mind, and she knew the true danger wasn't outside their door—it was the man holding her.
He thinks I lied to hide a moment of doubt. He doesn't know I lied to give him a perfect, airtight alibi.
But if he needed one, what exactly did he do that night?