Her pulse sped up and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled in a wave of panic.
“Hello?” she called out, cursing herself the moment the word left her mouth.
If anyone was lurking, waiting to attack, they sure as hell wouldn’t reply.
Soft light from the lamp by the couch cast longshadows on the walls, distorting the familiar furniture into eerie shapes. The room looked untouched, empty, the silence unnatural.
She moved indoors, her steps tentative, knowing the floor would creak beneath her weight.
Reaching her bedroom and nudging the door open, her pulse thundered in her throat when she saw the duvet that she’d left in the sitting room earlier, now smoothed over the bed.
Out of instinct, she dropped to her haunches and checked under the bed. Nothing.
The bathroom door was open, revealing an empty room. She hurried to the wardrobe, yanking it open with a breathless gasp.
Her clothes hung there, and nothing seemed out of place. No masked man or knife-wielding figure. No Niall fucking Ross.
Just her familiar things.
Shannon spun on her heel and darted back to the front door, slamming it shut before turning the key in the lock. Taking a moment to breathe, she scanned the room again, eyes darting over every corner.
Niall was long gone, and Jamie was in America. No one else would let themselves into her place. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her.
Confident the loft was secure, she left her base layers on to hide the marks she didn’t want to see and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her.
She switched off her phone and buried herface in the pillow, unable to get comfy. No one would see the secret she hid under her clothes.
That had to stay buried in the past for Trixie’s sake and for the career she’d built.
Yet, even as the words settled in her mind, Jamie haunted her thoughts. The fire he’d sparked in her—one that had blazed in a life so rigid and numb.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to focus on the rhythm of her breathing, the blustery cadence of the wind outside.
But as she lay there all alone with her loud thoughts, Shannon knew she’d left the duvet in the sitting room.
30
Shannon
Shannon slept as though her mattress was stuffed with nails, her body aching with every turn.
The morning brought no relief, only the misery of the same routine. The shower trickled and warm water flowed over her bruises.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at her reflection, not after everything. Looking down was hard enough, seeing the marks in all their raw glory, more than she could tolerate.
With careful movements, she redressed in a long-sleeve top and breeches, covering herself from neck to toe.
Practical base layers would protect her from the brutal wind that howled like a demon outside and safeguard the mess underneath.
Eventually, the bruises would fade, but the mental scars would stay with her forever.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that thecupboards were bare. The last packet of potato chips and a mug of green tea acted as breakfast because the thought of grocery shopping made her head hurt.
A task she’d have to face eventually…just not today.
With a resigned sigh, she pressed the small button on the side of her phone, watching as it came to life. A flurry of beeps flooded the screen—over twenty-five missed calls and unread messages, all from Jamie, the final one a solitary question mark.
She couldn’t bring herself to open them. Her heart sank as she stared at the notifications, hating herself for leaving him unread, without even a goodbye.
