Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 19570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
End of Episode 1
Worst Behavior
EPISODE 2
Ryder
A Week Later
Montlake Musical Academy for the Gifted…
The gates glide open as the school’s façade rises into view—stone columns, manicured hedges, the kind of polished prestige that charges by the breath.
Adeline presses her nose to the window, wide-eyed and humming with anticipation.
“Thirty minutes from the estate,” I murmur as I ease into the circle drive.
She’ll be close enough for me to protect. Far enough for her mind to believe she’s completely free.
I’m still not sure this arrangement will hold long-term, but right now, her smile makes it worth the gamble.
She unbuckles her seatbelt before the engine finishes its last turn.
“Is Miss Jane coming to dinner this weekend?” she asks, twisting in her seat with too much hope in her eyes.
“No.” My grip tightens around the wheel. “She decided to quit.”
“Oh…” Her gaze drifts toward the entrance. “Why didn’t she say goodbye?”
I hesitate, then clear my throat. “She left you a note, remember?”
Adeline nods faintly, her fingers curling tighter around the handle. “I know, but… that’s not the same.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I flick the hazard lights on, needing a reason to break the silence.
“Did you remember to pack your red shoes for your introductory showcase?” I ask.
She nods, slower this time. Her shoulders curl inward as she adjusts her violin case.
Neither of us says anything else.
The quiet between us feels heavier than usual.
When she reaches for the door handle, I lean across the console.
“One last thing before you go,” I say. “What’s your name?”
“Adeline Ivy.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s affection in it.
“And what else?”
“The Rochester is silent.”
“Very good.”
“And your name when you perform?”
“Miss Ivy or Miss Adeline Ivy,” she says. “Never Rochester, except for paperwork. And with you.”
I nod, but my chest constricts the way it always does when we reach this part.
Some fathers teach their daughters how to ride bikes. I taught mine how to disappear.
We step out of my car and walk with her to the entrance. Her instructor is already waiting at the front door, smiling eagerly.
“Your talent truly precedes you, Miss Ivy,” she says. “I can’t believe I get to work with one of the best young violinists in the world.”
Flattered, Adeline blushes and steps forward, following her new teacher’s lead.
Halfway down the hall, she turns back and waves to me.
“See you back at home, Dad.” Her smile is wider than I’ve seen in weeks.
“See you then, Adeline.” I wait for her to disappear around the corner before turning away.
Three of my men stay behind—one posted near the entrance, one near the cameras, one trailing the halls just out of sight.
She’ll be safe here if I handle things this way.
She has to be.
Later That Afternoon
Blue and red lights dance across the warehouse siding, refracting off the slick asphalt and the black water curling at the edge of the pier. I roll the car to a slow stop but leave the engine running, letting the low rumble fill the silence as I take in the scene.
EMTs flank the entrance, their gurneys untouched.
Police are clustered near the rusted freezer I should’ve replaced years ago, their postures tense but unconvinced. One of them crouches to lift the lid. Another speaks into a radio, his voice tight with protocol.
It doesn’t take a genius to know what they’re hoping to find.
Someone has undoubtedly called the sour smell in—someone who thought they were doing the right thing.
The authorities won’t find anything, though.
Austin Blaine’s body is long gone.
Only the faint scent of his death remains.
I step out of my car and lean against the door, lighting a cigar as I study the scene.
Behind me, the sound of heels begins to echo off the pavement—slow and deliberate, each step more theatrical than the last.
I recognize the rhythm before I see her.
Grace Poole has a tendency to strut slowly as if that’ll add to her lack of sex appeal.
“I bet you know what’s going on out there,” she says from behind. “That’s why you’re watching, isn’t it?”
“No, I just happened to be driving by.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” She moves closer, five feet away from me, as if she’s waiting for me to turn around and face her.
I don’t.
I remain where I am and take another drag of the cigar.
“I’ll make a long story short.” There’s a smile in her voice. “We can’t prove everything, but we’ve proved something, and you’re finally mine.”
“I told you I wasn’t interested in sleeping with you weeks ago, Miss Poole,” I say. “That fact still remains.”
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr. Rochester,” she says. “You tell me.”
There’s a beat of silence, then the metallic snap of handcuffs unfastening.
I don’t have to look to know she’s holding them out like an offer.
I catch the movement just beyond her—two uniformed officers posted at a calculated distance. Close enough to witness. Far enough to suggest this arrest is hers alone.