Chapter 9 He Found Us
Orion
I noticed the sudden change in her demeanor immediately.
It’s a subtle shift, a quiet hardening of her features, but I’ve spent my entire life learning to read the microscopic movements of a person's face the way other people read the shifting patterns of the weather.
Coralyn goes from being warm, soft, and present in our domestic bubble to being hyper-alert, her eyes darting toward the exits too often and her shoulders tightening just a fraction of an inch.
The sweet, cookie-smelling softness that had surrounded her just moments ago evaporates into the thin air, replaced by that jagged, guarded focus I’ve seen before.
I don’t ask her what happened.
If the events of the last few hours tell me anything then I know that it’s Kade, and I am almost certain that it is.
But pushing her right now will only cause her to retreat further into her shell of self-preservation.
Instead of demanding an explanation, I choose to redirect her attention toward something else.
“There’s a grand resort tour taking place tonight,” I tell her casually, leaning against the counter as if my own heart isn't racing with suspicion. “It’s part of the official hundredth-year celebration of the estate.”
She nods, though the movement is stiff and a little delayed. “That sounds… nice.”
It’s certainly not the enthusiasm that I was hoping for, but it’s a verbal agreement, and for now, I think that is enough to work with.
I want her to feel like a genuine guest in this palace of glass and snow, not like a fugitive running for her life.
I don’t want her to spend her holiday as someone hiding behind double-locked doors and heavy, drawn curtains, terrified of the shadows.
This entire place was built for the sake of grand spectacle and mindless indulgence, and for just one evening, I want her to step into that light instead of shrinking away from it in fear.
“Your dress from last night is ruined beyond repair,” I add, keeping my tone practical to avoid making her feel indebted. “I had something appropriate delivered to the suite earlier.”
She hesitates, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “Orion, you really didn’t have to do that—”
“I wanted to. You deserve to take a break off work. This is a vacation after all,” I say simply, cutting off her protest before it can take root.
When she disappears behind the sliding walnut panel of the dressing room, I take a long, deep breath to steady the erratic rhythm of my own pulse.
I tell myself that the gesture is purely practical, a necessary replacement for damaged property, and that the garment is just a collection of fabric and thread.
Then she steps back out into the room.
And I feel the air leave my lungs as if I’ve been struck.
The dress is really simple, lacking any of the unnecessary embellishments or loud patterns that usually fill these high-end boutiques.
It is made of a soft, liquid-like fabric that follows the natural curves of her shape instead of fighting against them or trying to reshape her.
It highlights the narrowness of her waist and falls in a clean, elegant line over her hips, looking sophisticated without even trying to be.
She looks startled when she catches the raw expression on my face.
“Is it… okay?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper as she smooths the fabric nervously.
“Yes,” I say, the word coming out far too quickly and with too much intensity.
I swallow hard and try again, slower this time. “It’s perfect.”
Her cheeks warm with a deep, rose-colored flush, and she looks away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture that is painfully human.
We head down to the lobby together, with Zilla bouncing several paces ahead of us in a state of pure excitement.
In the main lobby, the sculpted, perfectly manicured receptionist greets us with a wide smile that feels unnaturally bright and rehearsed.
“Mister Merrick,” she says smoothly, her eyes flicking toward Coralyn. “And guest.”
The word lands oddly in the air, cold and distancing.
I feel Coralyn stiffen beside me, her posture turning rigid at the subtle implication that she is an outsider.
I lean slightly closer to her, lowering my voice so that it’s a private resonance meant only for her ears. “Ignore it.”
She nods once, a short, sharp movement, and lets out a breath she had been holding.
The tour winds its way through the resort’s grand, historic halls, featuring various displays that detail a century of curated history.
There are photographs of founders, framed invitations to forgotten balls, and artifacts that speak of old money, rigid tradition, and a carefully maintained legacy.
I stay close to Coralyn’s side throughout the walk, keeping my body near enough that she always knows exactly where I am.
My hand hovers near the small of her back, careful not to actually make contact, remaining controlled and respectful.
I won’t allow myself to repeat the mistake of losing my composure from the hallway.
She notices the proximity anyway, her movements subtly aligning with mine.
Our closeness feels deliberate now, a silent pact made against the rest of the world.
I spot Phillip standing near one of the historical exhibits, looking every bit the weary businessman.
He looks exhausted—the kind of soul-deep fatigue that a messy divorce has a way of hollowing out in a person.
His eyes flick from me to Coralyn, and his mouth quirks up in a knowing, slightly cynical way that makes me want to look away.
I ignore him entirely.
Zilla tugs insistently on my sleeve, pointing her small finger at a massive fountain that glows with an ethereal light.
“Daddy, look! It’s glowing!”
I crouch down beside her, giving her my full attention as she explains a complex theory about the water that only a six-year-old could possibly understand.
When I finally straighten back up, my eyes catch my own reflection in the polished glass of a nearby display case.
And then I see him standing right behind my reflection.
Kade.
He is standing at the very back of the tour group, partially obscured by a pillar, watching Coralyn with that same twisted, predatory focus I saw in the suite.
My chest tightens until it aches.
This situation was never going to be as simple as a warning or a closed door.