One afternoon, as they sat in the living room, Nathan appeared in the doorway, a glass of bourbon in hand.
“You know,” he said, his tone mock-conversational, “it’s funny how little we know about Greg. Don’t you think, Maddie?”
Madelyn’s jaw tightened. “Not this again.”
“What?” Nathan said, feigning innocence. “It’s just a little odd, isn’t it? A guy with no past suddenly sweeping you off your feet? Sounds like a bad romance novel.”
Brian clenched his fists, his patience wearing thin. “And you sound like a man who doesn’t know when to let go.”
Nathan smirked, his gaze shifting to Madelyn. “Doesn’t it bother you, Maddie? Not knowing who he really is?”
“Stop calling me Maddie,” she snapped, standing abruptly. “And no, it doesn’t bother me. Because unlike you, Greg actually respects me.”
Nathan’s smirk faltered, replaced by a flash of anger. But before he could respond, Madelyn grabbed Brian’s hand.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
In their bedroom, the argument spilled over.
“Why do you even let him in the house?” Brian asked, pacing by the window. His frustration was evident, but his voice remained measured.
“He’s not here because of me,” Madelyn shot back. “He shows up for my parents. And trust me, I’d kick him out if I could.”
Brian turned to face her, his expression softening as he saw the anger and exhaustion in her eyes. “I just don’t like the way he talks to you. Or about us.”
Her lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she studied him, her eyes searching his face. “Why does it bother you so much?”
“Because...” Brian hesitated, the truth pressing against the walls he’d built around himself. “Because you deserve better.”
Madelyn’s breath hitched, her cheeks flushing. “Brian—”
But before she could finish, he crossed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands. His lips met hers in a kiss that wasn’t planned or calculated. It wasn’t for show.
It was real.
The kiss was electric, a spark igniting something they’d both tried to ignore. Madelyn’s hands found their way to his chest, clutching his shirt as if grounding herself. Brian’s thumb brushed her cheek, his heart racing.
When they pulled apart, their breathing was uneven, their eyes locked. For a moment, neither spoke, the weight of what had just happened hanging between them.
Madelyn stepped back, her expression conflicted. “I... I need some air,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Brian let her go, watching as she left the room. The door closed softly behind her, leaving him alone with the rush of emotions he couldn’t quite process.
Later that night, the house was quiet. Brian was in the study, rifling through drawers in search of winter clothes, when he came across an unfamiliar box tucked in the corner. Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened it.
Inside were photos—stacks of them. Some were innocent enough, showing Madelyn at family gatherings or hospital events. But one in particular stopped him cold.
It was a photo of Madelyn and James Morrison, taken at a charity gala. They stood side by side, smiling for the camera. The timestamp in the corner sent a chill down Brian’s spine: the week before Emily’s murder.
At the same time, in their bedroom, Madelyn was looking through Brian’s bag. She told herself it was harmless, a way to clear her head after the kiss that had left her reeling. But what she found wasn’t harmless at all.
A burner phone.
The screen lit up when she tapped it, revealing surveillance photos of her uncle’s properties, detailed notes about shipments, and names she didn’t recognize. Her stomach twisted as she scrolled, the realization dawning on her: Brian wasn’t who he said he was.
When they reconvened later that night, neither mentioned their discoveries. But the atmosphere between them was different—charged with unspoken questions and hidden fears.
Madelyn watched Brian carefully, her mind racing.
Who was he really? And what was he doing with all that information about her family?