The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

The jingle of Royce's keys crushed the serenity of my fragile hope like a bad omen, the icy clink of metal on metal driving a spike of fear deeper into my gut. It was a game of cat and mouse. He had not left. He knew I was here and wanted to draw me out. He wanted me to expose myself.

In my mind's eye, I could envision the man's imposing figure. Not skulking but prowling in the shadows, a predator savouring the thrill of the hunt. That wolfish smirk that I hated to love, a cruel slash across his lips. His footsteps were silent on the floor, even though he was ready to pounce on me.

My cover was blown. I am at a loss on how to explain my actions. I embarked on this impromptu trip to the beach house with the specific purpose of confronting Royce about User827434. To deviate from that goal and violate his privacy by delving into his personal belongings was a regrettable lapse in judgment.

Burdened by the gravity of existence, I turned, slow and deliberate, like a chess player contemplating their next move, and prepared myself for the inevitable confrontation that would soon play out before me.

A heated discussion was only what I deserved. After all, whether I had valid reasons for snooping around or not, there was no excuse for illegally entering someone's private property to garner information.

Royce filled the kitchen doorway, his broad, muscular frame taking up most of the space and blocking any chance of an escape. His car keys dangled tauntingly from one finger, his eyes flashing with anger and accusation. He looked at me like he wanted to physically disassemble my head piece by piece.

I shrank against the worn, splintered counter, feeling small and defenceless under his furious scrutiny.

I had crossed a line. I had made an egregious mistake that could have lasting consequences for our friendship. It was an error that I may be unable to make amends for or take back. He may never want to speak to me again.

As if sensing a deeper betrayal, Royce's gaze flicked to the kitchen table.

My stomach lurched.

There, incriminating and undeniable, sat my handbag—the very one I had carelessly abandoned earlier, before my ill-fated upstairs expedition—a rookie mistake, the kind that could make headlines out of career suicides.

My lips curved into a smile, but the corners trembled slightly, exposing the apprehension and wariness churning in my stomach. "Hello—"

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" Royce steamrolled over my sentence, leaving it unfinished and unheard. "Let me guess? You lost your shit again. Isn't it funny how you always find them in other people's spaces?"

Not a single syllable crossed my lips. As I stood wordless, I could feel my eyes grow wide with terror, cowering before the possibility of the consequences that loomed over me like a dark storm cloud.

"Are you satisfied with your little investigation?" His eyes narrowed, his lip curling into a sneer of absolute contempt. "Or are you still left with more questions than answers?"

Beneath the veneer of civility, I fought the urge to flinch with each booming word. His inquiry was inevitable. The investigation was far from satisfactory. In truth, I have more questions than answers, and I fear extracting explanations from him will prove exceedingly difficult. "I was not snooping—"

"The Hell you weren't!" He barged into the kitchen, his body radiating anger with every tense step. "I'll ask you again." His unyielding stride continued until he was right in front of me. "What are you doing in my house?"

Dear Higher Powers, Cosmic Forces, or Whomever's Listening, I am in desperate need of some divine damage control. If I do not get a celestial intervention soon, my next ride will be in the back of a police cruiser, complete with complimentary flashing lights and a siren serenade. "I wanted to see you..."