Chapter 67 THE TROJAN HORSE IN A SUNDRESS

Chapter 67 THE TROJAN HORSE IN A SUNDRESS
Rowan's POV
The scent of sizzling garlic drifted through the kitchen—Althea’s doing, of course.
She always cooked like she was starring in a high-budget lifestyle vlog: focused, humming, and looking effortlessly aesthetic. I leaned against the marble counter, just quietly vibing and watching her taste the stew with a small wooden spoon. When she nodded to herself, looking all satisfied, it made something warm settle in my chest.
"This tastes fire," I told her, even though I hadn't had a bite yet.
She rolled her eyes, a playful smirk on her face. "You didn't even taste it yet, Rowan. Stop being a simp."
"I don't need to. You made it. The stats don't lie," I countered.
She was still smiling when she added the kicker: "Don't forget to set the table. Brenda should be here soon."
Brenda.
The neighbor with the too-bright smile, the too-long stare, and that cherry pie that currently sat at the bottom of our trash can (not that Althea knew that).
I wasn't stupid. I’m a Pierce; reading people is practically a genetic trait. I’d seen the exact moment her energy shifted in the hallway. The moment the "harmless neighbor" persona melted into something way heavier. She’d stared at me the way people stare at a limited-edition drop they missed out on—pure, unadulterated want.
Every time I remembered that look, I felt a tightening in my jaw that Althea never seemed to notice. I didn't want a neighbor to complicate our life. We finally had our own space, our own peace, and a baby on the way. We didn't need a side character trying to turn our lives into a messy soap opera.
But Althea had a heart of gold. She didn't see red flags; she saw people who just needed a friend. She didn't see threats the way I did. To her, everyone was a potential bestie.
So, I just nodded, grabbed the plates, and forced myself into the domestic rhythm. I was playing the role of the "good neighbor," but inside, I was on high alert.
The doorbell rang, echoing through the foyer.
Althea practically bounced. "She’s here! Finally!"
Of course she was hyped. She loved connecting with people, making them feel seen. I loved that about her—it was one of the reasons I fell so hard—but right now, it made my stomach do a nervous flip.
I moved ahead of Althea, more out of instinct than intention. I wanted to be the first thing Brenda saw. A literal wall between her and my wife. I opened the door.
Brenda stood there in a simple cream dress that screamed "clean girl aesthetic." She was holding a small basket, looking like she’d stepped off a Pinterest board. Her eyes—too quick, too bright—landed on me first.
"Hi, Rowan," she breathed. She said my name like it was a secret we both shared. It was subtle, but it was there.
I kept my face like stone. "Evening. Come in."
Her smile stretched, looking almost relieved, before she remembered to look at Althea.
"Hi Althea! I brought some rosemary rolls. Fresh from the oven. I felt so bad about just dropping off a pie yesterday, I wanted to actually sit and chat!"
Althea squealed softly, genuinely delighted. "You didn't have to! But oh my god, they smell amazing. Thank you!"
Brenda stepped inside, and her perfume hit me. It was sweet—unmistakably intentional. The kind of scent you wear when you want someone to remember exactly where you were standing. It was too much. It was "main character energy" in the worst way.
Lina—Althea's sister and the resident human lie detector—arrived a few minutes later. She was crisp and calm, wearing a blazer like she was ready to fire someone. She hugged Althea, gave me a "we need to talk later" nod, and spared Brenda a polite, unreadable glance.
Lina always noticed the tea before it even started brewing. I wondered what she’d already clocked.
"Everyone take a seat," Althea chirped. "Dinner is served!"
We settled around the table. Althea kept the atmosphere light, chatting about the new nursery and the "sister squad" drama. Brenda pretended to focus on her stew, but her eyes kept drifting. Once, twice... way too many times to be accidental. She was looking at me.
She tried to hide it behind her wine glass, but she failed.
"So," Brenda said, smiling directly at Althea but somehow aiming the vibe at me, "you two have such a gorgeous home. Did Rowan help pick the furniture? He seems like he has... very specific taste."
Althea laughed, shaking her head. "Rowan? Help? He’s great at many things, but he doesn't even notice when I change the curtains. He’s just here for the vibes."
"I notice things," I muttered, my voice low.
Lina smirked, swirling her drink. "Do you now, Rowan? What else have you noticed lately?"
I shot her a look. She knew.
"Wow," Althea continued dramatically, "the betrayal from my own husband and sister. I see how it is."
The table laughed. Even I let out a dry chuckle. For a second, it felt normal. Like a regular dinner party. But then Brenda leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her eyes locked on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
"You’re lucky, Althea," she said, her voice soft and wistful, like she was mourning something. "Not everyone gets a partner who looks at them the way Rowan looks at you. It’s rare. Very... possessive. In a good way."
The table went dead silent.
The "possessive" comment hung in the air like a bad smell. It wasn't a compliment; it was a challenge.
Althea blinked, looking a bit taken aback. "Oh... um. Thank you. He’s definitely a keeper."
Lina’s eyes sharpened like a knife catching the light. She looked between Brenda and me, her internal "BS meter" hitting the red zone.
I cleared my throat, feeling the heat rise at the back of my neck. "Althea and I have been through a lot to get here. She deserves the best of me. Period."
Althea smiled, her eyes going soft and melty. She reached over and squeezed my hand.
Brenda’s smile didn't reach her eyes. Her jaw tightened for a fraction of a second—a glitch in the Matrix.
The air in the room shifted. It was subtle, but the "neighborly" facade was cracking. Althea didn't see it; she was too busy pouring more juice, being the perfect hostess. But I saw it. And Lina definitely saw it.
When Althea got up to bring out the dessert—a lemon cake she’d spent all afternoon on—Lina leaned slightly toward me. She spoke under her breath, so low even Brenda couldn't hear.
"She’s thirsty, Rowan. And I’m not talking about the juice."
It wasn't gossip. It was a warning.
I kept my face neutral, staring straight ahead. "I know."
"Be careful," Lina murmured. "She’s the type to 'accidentally' fall into your arms and then gaslight everyone about how it happened."
Brenda cleared her throat, her eyes darting between us. "What are you two whispering about? Sharing family secrets already?" Her tone was light, but there was a sharp edge to it.
"Taxes," Lina said instantly, not even blinking. "Riveting stuff, really."
I shot Lina a "thank you" look. She just raised a brow: You owe me.
Althea returned with the cake, totally unaware of the silent war being fought across her dinner table. "Okay, who's ready for sugar?"
"So Brenda," Althea said cheerfully as she served the slices, "what do you do for work? You mentioned you just moved for a new project?"
"I’m in interior staging," Brenda responded. She took a slow bite of the cake, her gaze drifting back to me. "I help people make houses feel... lived in. I find the gaps and fill them. I make sure everything looks perfect on the outside, even if the foundation is... complicated."
The double meaning was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
Lina’s fork paused midair. I exhaled slowly through my nose, trying to keep my "protective husband" side from turning into "aggressive Pierce" side.
Althea, bless her soul, just clapped lightly. "That sounds amazing! I bet you have such a good eye for detail."
"Oh, you have no idea," Brenda whispered, her eyes boring into mine.
Dinner eventually ended in a strained kind of harmony. Althea kept trying to pull the group together, but Brenda kept drifting emotionally toward me, and Lina kept watching her like a hawk pretending to be a pigeon.
When it was finally time to leave, Althea insisted on packing leftovers for Brenda.
Brenda stood by the door, her basket in hand, looking at Althea with a smile that felt way too patronizing. "Thank you for having me, Althea. Really. You’re wonderful. So... sweet."
Then she turned to me. Just me. The air grew heavy again.
"And Rowan... it was nice seeing you again. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot more of you. Neighbors have to stick together, right?"
Her voice lowered on the last word. Just barely. A soft, intimate vibration that felt like a physical touch.
I didn't respond. I didn't smile. I just nodded once, cool and distant, holding the door open until she finally stepped out into the hallway.
Althea closed the door and leaned against it with a happy sigh. "See? She’s so sweet! I told you you were being too cynical."
Lina stared at Althea like she’d just announced the sky was green. She looked at me, gave a frustrated shake of her head, and grabbed her coat. "I'm heading out. Rowan... check your locks. Seriously."
Once Lina left, I rubbed a palm over my face, feeling the weight of the evening crashing down. "Sweet" wasn't the word for Brenda. "Calculated" was closer. "Dangerous" was probably more accurate.
"I’ll do the dishes," I told Althea, wanting to give her a break.
She walked over and wrapped her arms around my waist, kissing my cheek. "I love you. Thank you for being such a good sport tonight. I know you'd rather be watching the game."
I pulled her close—closer than usual, tighter than necessary. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, trying to wash away the cloying sweetness of Brenda’s perfume.
"I love you too," I murmured. "Always."
I felt a sudden, fierce need to protect this. To protect her. Althea had no idea that a predator had just sat at her table and eaten her food.
Behind her, through the window, the city lights were blurred, but my focus was sharp. Brenda wasn't done. She was just getting started. And I had a feeling that the "instructions" she’d left in my pocket earlier were just the first page of a very messy script she was trying to write for us.