She bit her lip and stomped her foot, refusing to look at him, though her pout betrayed her: "So bossy."
"Only with you."
He laughed. She pouted. They looked like a painting themselves—a perfect couple.
For a moment, I felt like I was watching my own ghost.
He'd been exactly the same with me, back then.
Whenever he caught me sketching someone else, he'd sulk. He'd wheedle. He'd go full tyrant just to get my attention.
"You can't draw other people. Only me."
"Yeah, I'm that possessive. What can I say? I've set my sights on you."
"Can't you just look at me? Only me? Please?"
He'd begged and pleaded, worn me down day after day, all for a single glance.
But he was a young master—heir to a fortune, surrounded by women who would have done anything for his attention.
I warned myself, over and over: Don't soften. Don't fall.
Then one night in Seabrook Island City, my appendix ruptured during a storm. The rain came down in sheets. I couldn't find a car.
I collapsed on the road home.
Russ was the one who noticed something was wrong. He found me, carried me on his back through the downpour, and didn't stop until he'd tracked down a doctor. He stayed through my surgery, scribbling the doctor's instructions into a little notebook, his handwriting cramped and urgent.
He did everything himself. Even the congee I ate during recovery—he made it with his own hands.
The pampered young master who had never so much as boiled water came away with blisters from the hot pot.
My resolve began to crack.
And then it shattered completely.
Part of me kept sounding the alarm: You came to Seabrook Island City on assignment. Your mission is to catch the killer who's murdered several high-society wives.
But the other part—the traitorous part—couldn't stop drowning in his tenderness.
Eventually, Captain Price noticed how entangled I'd become with him. She reassigned my target.
"The killer is likely someone from high society. If you stay close to Russ Harris, you'll have a better chance of finding them."
That single sentence shattered every wall I'd built.
Russ and I had been together.
He'd pursued me publicly, showered me with grand gestures—all so I could rightfully become his wife.
His father had broken his leg for it. Literally.
But Russ had held on through sheer stubbornness.
And he'd kept me.