Chapter 27 Fault lines
Timothy
The car door shut with a solid, final sound, and my driver peeled the car away from the driveway and into the busy streets, the city swallowing us whole.
I stared straight ahead, jaw locked, one hand braced against the armrest as the vehicle eased into traffic. Rowan sat beside me, uncharacteristically quiet, watching the skyline slide past the tinted windows.
Five minutes passed.
Rowan sighed. “Alright. Now you’re just brooding.”
I didn’t look at him. “We’re on our way to a meeting. And I’m not brooding. I don’t brood.”
“Fine. You’re stewing,” Rowan corrected lightly. “Different thing. Much darker flavor.”
My lips thinned. “Get to the point.”
Rowan leaned back. “You should get it off your chest before you snap at someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
I finally turned, eyes sharp. “You mean like how I apparently have to find out from walking into my own house that my wife and my best friend are on friendly first-name terms?”
Rowan blinked, grinning. “There it is.”
“You didn’t think to mention it,” I continued coldly. “At any point. Not once.”
Rowan held up a hand. “Before you accuse me of betrayal…”
“Too late, I’m already there,” I snapped.
Rowan winced but didn’t rise to it. “We had conversations. Public ones. At events you dragged her to and then abandoned her at.”
My jaw flexed. “That doesn’t answer why you kept it from me.” I answered, if not a bit petulantly.
“Because,” Rowan said calmly, “I wanted to get a read on her without your bias coloring it.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “My bias.” I stressed the word.
“Yes. Your bias,” Rowan said evenly. “You despise her. You’ve despised her since day one. I wanted to know who she was without that noise.”
“That wasn’t your call to make.”
“Maybe not,” Rowan admitted. “But I made it either way.”
Silence pressed in again, thicker now.
I looked back out the window, irritation simmering beneath my skin. “And what did you conclude?”
“That she’s… a good person,” Rowan said. “Kind. Kinda awkward. Trying too hard to take up as little space as possible. Which, frankly, is the opposite of the monster everyone paints her as.”
I scoffed. “You’ve known her from what, some conversations and a balcony chat?”
“That’s more than you’ve bothered with,” Rowan replied quietly.
The words landed harder than Timothy expected.
I bristled. “You’re recommending my wife now?”
“I’m recommending her character,” Rowan said. “And I’m saying, you might actually like her if you tried to know her.”
I turned sharply. “Don’t push.”
Rowan studied me, then smirked. “Wait…Are you jealous?”
I barked a scoff. “What, of you?”
“Of the fact that she talks to me,” Rowan amended mildly. “Without flinching or treating me like I’m the plague sent to destroy humanity.”
My chest tightened. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Rowan teased. “Because you looked ready to throttle me back there.”
“I don’t care who she talks to,” I snapped. “She’s my wife in name only.”
Rowan hummed. “You sure about that?”
I shot him a warning look. “Drop it.”
Rowan lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright. Truce. For now.”
We pulled up to the building moments later, the sleek glass tower reflecting the late afternoon sun. I exited the car without another word, my irritation tucked behind a carefully neutral expression as we headed into the meeting.
Business, at least, made sense.
The hours blurred together in numbers, negotiations, polite smiles sharpened into weapons. I operated on muscle memory, decisive and cold, but even as I spoke, my mind kept circling back.
Hannah standing in the foyer with flowers in her hands.
Rowan’s easy familiarity.
The look she’d given me, uncertain and searching before we’d left.
It unsettled me more than I liked.
By the time the day wound down, my shoulders ached with fatigue. I checked my phone as I stepped into the elevator, scrolling absently until a reply caught my eye.
Loretta.
>Oh. You noticed I left. I’m fine. Busy. Don’t start acting concerned now.
My mouth twisted in a frown. I hit the call button and called her.
She picked up on the fourth ring. “What.”
“Nice to hear your voice too. I thought you were dead,” I said flatly.
“Funny. Make it quick,” she snapped. “I’m occupied.”
She was such a bitch. “I heard you left the country.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead to ease my headache.
A pause. Then a scoff. “So they told you.”
“They didn’t say where.” I replied.
“That’s intentional.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t call you to fucking toss words around. Are you okay?”
She laughed a sharp, unkind sound. “Do I sound distressed?”
Before I could answer unkindly in return, a male voice drifted faintly through the line. “Baby, come back to bed.”
I momentarily paused and rolled my eyes. I deadpanned, “Oh, I didn’t realise I was interrupting.”
Loretta snorted. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what.”
“Act like a lovesick fool,” she said dismissively. “We both know you’re not.”
I snorted a scoff, unable to dispute the ugly truth of it. “I’ve had to act like I’m so beat up over this whole thing. I mean, I am to an extent since I’m the one forced to marry and all but bloody hell, they acting like I swore to put kids in your uterus or something,” I muttered in a grumble.
“Well, you’re married,” she shot back. “To my sister. Let’s not pretend either of us is winning here.”
My jaw clenched. “Must be nice. Getting shipped off on a quiet little vacation while I’m stuck fighting for a divorce because of you.”
“Oh please,” Loretta said. “You’d have divorced her regardless. And don’t act like you’d have married me without pressure. We had good sex. Sometimes feelings. That’s it.”
I hummed in agreement. “It’s not that deep,” she continued lightly. “Plus, you’re fucking toxic. You know it. I know it.”
A bitter laugh tore from her chest. “Have you seen yourself, Tim? You’re a fucked up case, thank you very much.”
“Whatever. I just called to cleanse myself of any guilt I may feel if you suddenly wound up dead somewhere.”
There was a pause. Then, casually, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. By the way, my parents restricted my spending. Send me some money.”
I hung up.
The elevator chimed, doors sliding open to the underground garage. My head throbbed as I stepped into the waiting car, exhaustion settling deep into my bones.
“Where to, sir?” the driver asked.
I hesitated, immediately thinking of home.
Home.
The word felt wrong. Heavy. Full of things I didn’t want to face like Hannah’s quiet presence, her careful distance, the way she looked at me like I might either wound or save her.
I wasn’t ready for either.
“The penthouse,” I said finally.
The car pulled away, city lights beginning to glow as night crept in.
I leaned back, eyes closing briefly.
Another night at the penthouse, it seemed.