Page 19 of The Lies That Shatter
At the very end of the corridor are Mr Whitlock’s living quarters. He’s got a large sitting room, with a couple of doors branching off from there. One door leads to his large bedroom and en-suite. The opposite door leads to a room he uses as his personal office. He has a main office where he holds meetings further down the corridor.
There’s also one more door that’s locked, and we have no idea what that room is used for, but knowing his sick sexual preferences, I’m going to guess nothing good happens in there. That thought alone makes me feel ill.
Despite not believing I would make it this far without being stopped by security, I had a couple of goals in mind before I started. The first was to see if there were any rooms not listed on the blueprints, as that was something Finn’s brothers seemed convinced about—though I haven’t seen anything to confirm this as of yet.
The second was to try and get as much security information as I can. Then, if by some miracle I made it this far, I wanted to get into his bedroom and both his personal and public offices, to find out what security he has in them. I’m guessing they’re where he keeps most of his secrets, and if I can find just some of them, that will help Finn.
My final task, and the one I’m personally most intrigued by, is that I want to find out what he uses the room off his living room for. I know that sounds like the least exciting task, but everything else has a listed purpose on the blueprints, so the unlabelled room is a big question mark—and I love a good mystery, even if it might turn out to be sinister.
I know I should start with some of the easier tasks, but that room is drawing me in. So, instead of trying the doors to his bedroom and private office, I quietly walk straight past them, heading into his huge open plan living room.
The design matches that of the rest of the house. Whites, golds, hardwood floors, crystals, and artwork that’s worth more than my yearly salary. Everything is so minimalistic and clean. It actually makes the place seem cold and almost sterile, not at all like a home that’s lived in.
There’s no discarded shoes that’ve been thrown off when you get home from work. No blankets to pull over yourself when you snuggle up to watch a movie on the sofa. No leftover mugs from the cup of coffee you had this morning, that you couldn’t be arsed to wash up before going to work. I know they have staff to clean, but nothing here feels personal. There’s not even a single family photo or momento.
A chill ripples down my spine as an eerie feeling washes over me. I freeze, listening to my intuition as it screams at me. My gaze flicks around the room, trying to identify whatever the hell it is that’s caused my body’s fight-or-flight response to kick in. It suddenly feels like the danger element has been kicked up a notch, and fear makes my heart race.
Despite all the security cameras, I didn’t have that feeling you get when you know you’re being watched…until now. Now I can feel eyes on me, and that kicks my body into overdrive.
Taking slow deep breaths, I tell myself to act casual, to behave normally. I knew there was a high probability that I would get caught. Hell, I planned for it, so this shouldn’t come as a shock to me. I just need to keep my cool and do exactly as I planned.
“Well, well…don’t you look like a pretty deer caught in my headlights,” a deep rumbling voice says from behind me.
I turn slowly on the spot, not wanting to move too quickly in case the action gets me into even more trouble. I try not to look as terrified as I feel. But all hopes of that fades away when the man who spoke to me steps out from the shadows.
Mortimer Whitlock.
Clearly, he’s not away like we were told. He’s standing in front of me, his eyes leering over my body in a way that makes me feel very fucking naked and violated.
For a man in his late fifties, he’s not bad looking. He clearly keeps himself in shape, but isn't too muscular. He’s got salt and pepper hair that’s clipped short, making him look like the respectable gentleman he’s supposed to be.
His high cheekbones and angled jaw are covered by a very thin beard that holds slightly more grey than his head. He’s immaculately dressed in black pressed trousers, a white button-down shirt, a black waistcoat with a black suit jacket over the top, and shiny black shoes.
The only pops of colour come from his gold cufflinks, the red pocket square in the breast suit pocket, and the big expensive watch on his wrist. I’m guessing his entire outfit would cover my rent for at least a month, if not two.
His appearance is exactly what I was expecting, though the look on his face throws me for a curve ball. Knowing what I do about Whitlock, and the disgusting things he likes to do to underaged girls, I expected him to look a lot sleazier… Not this perfectly put together guy. I also didn’t expect him to be gazing at me like I’m the last ice cream cone on a sizzling summer day.
I’m at least twelve years older than his usual type, yet you would never know that given the way he’s leering at me. It almost makes me want to take a step back, but that would show weakness, something I won’t ever do.
It’s not the first time an older man has looked at me like I’m a piece of meat. Hell, I grew up in foster care. This was a regular occurrence for me, so I know exactly how to behave around men like him. Except, the men from my past were nowhere near as dangerous as Whitlock.
I need to think quickly if I’m going to get myself out of this mess in one piece, and so I remember my plan. Putting on mybest dumb blonde voice, I give him a vacant smile. “I know this is going to make me sound a little blonde, but would you believe me if I told you I’m lost? I work for Mrs Whitlock, caring for her father, and I was looking for the kitchen so I can make sure they have the right meal supplements in stock.”
His eyes continue to appraise me. “This is definitely not the kitchen,” he replies, his voice not giving anything away.
I give him a little giggle—albeit forced—trying to make myself sound as harmless as possible. “I can see that. Though, this is a beautiful room. I love how it’s decorated, and I’ve never seen a TV so big.”
His smile widens as he begins stalking towards me, each step slow and deliberate. It’s like he’s challenging me to take a step back, trying to intimidate me.
Maybe he’s trying to work out if I know who he is? If this were a real job, I’d have no reason to know who Mortimer Whitlock is, or to be afraid of him. I’m simply in an area of the house I shouldn’t be in, talking to my boss’ husband. If I show him fear now, I could give away a lot more than intended.
Holding my ground, I deliberately drop my gaze to the floor and begin fiddling with my hands. I want him to think I’m nervous, as opposed to being fucking terrified of what this guy is capable of.
“I’m a firm believer that bigger is always better,” he growls, and I can’t resist flicking my gaze up to meet his.Is he fucking hitting on me?
His tongue sweeps out across his lower lip and his eyes widen as he sees me pull my lip in between my teeth, nibbling on it like I always do when I’m anxious. I let out a deliberate giggle, hoping that a bit of flirting will help me get out of this situation unscathed.
I don’t really know how to respond to his comment, but luckily, he speaks before I’m able to think of something clever tosay. “I’m sure when my wife hired you, she clarified that you are to remain in her part of the house, did she not?”
