Chapter 4 4

I woke to the sound of thunder. My heart pounded as another flash of lightning illuminated the dark room. Rain lashed against the wide windows, and the shadows of the tall trees outside swayed in the storm.

I hated thunderstorms. I always had.

Pulling the duvet closer around me, I tried to breathe through the panic rising in my chest. I felt foolish for being afraid, but fear didn’t listen to reason. When another crack of thunder rattled the windows, I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping on the sheets as I rushed to close the blinds.

The room dimmed again, but the sound of rain still filled my ears. Slowly, I forced myself to count my breaths until my pulse steadied.

My throat was dry. I decided to go downstairs for water.

The hallway lights flicked on automatically as I passed, their soft glow a comfort in the empty house. I kept my eyes away from the large windows that overlooked the city, not wanting to see the flashes of lightning reflected in the glass.

In the kitchen, I opened the fridge but hesitated when I saw the tub of ice cream. A small, guilty smile crossed my lips. Beside it were fresh strawberries, likely stocked by the housekeeper earlier that day. I took both out, then added a packet of M&Ms for good measure.

I deserved this, I thought. After all, I was pregnant with the child of a man who didn’t love me, married to someone who still loved another woman, and I was burying the only father figure I had ever known in less than eight hours.

Yes, I deserved ice cream.

I carried my late-night feast into the living room, wrapping a blanket around my legs and switching on the TV. The low murmur of sound eased my nerves. I flipped through channels until I landed on a crime documentary, something far removed from my own messy life.

For a while, the distraction worked. But then the front door opened.

My hand froze on the spoon. No one else should have been in the house.

Panic rose in my throat. I looked around for something I could use as a weapon, my fingers closing around the TV remote. It was ridiculous, but it was all I had.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

I pressed myself against the wall beside the archway, heart hammering. I waited until the figure was close, then lunged.

“What the hell?” a familiar voice snapped.

I stopped mid-swing. “Elias?”

He stared at me, dark brows drawn low, his coat still damp from the rain. “Who else would it be?” he asked sharply. “And why are you hiding behind a wall with a remote control?”

My face flushed. “I thought you were a burglar,” I muttered, lowering my hand.

Elias looked incredulous. “A burglar? In this house?” His gaze flicked toward the remote in my hand. “You planned to fight one off with that?”

My embarrassment deepened. “I didn’t have my phone,” I said defensively. “You startled me, that’s all.”

He sighed, shrugged off his coat, and loosened his tie. “Why are you up this late?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

I didn’t mention the thunderstorm. He already knew about my fear of them. He had once found me as a teenager hiding under Paul’s massive desk during a storm. He hadn’t said a word then, just draped a blanket over my shoulders and stayed in the room until it passed.

I had fallen in love with him that night.

I pushed that memory away as I gathered the empty containers from the table. I moved toward the kitchen, but Elias was still standing in the doorway. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a hint of tanned skin. My gaze lingered before I could stop it.

I forced my eyes down and brushed past him, my arm grazing his. The brief contact sent a shiver down my spine.

I was almost at the counter when his voice stopped me.

“You wanted to tell me something,” Elias said. “Yesterday, in the car.”

I froze, my mind scrambling to catch up.

He was watching me, his tone calm but unreadable.

“Oh. That,” I said slowly.

“I have time now,” he replied.

I turned to face him, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. I wasn’t ready to tell him about the pregnancy. Not tonight. Not with his eyes on me like that.

“I’ll be going to Wisconsin,” I said finally.

Elias’s brow rose. “The factory?”

“Yes. I want to oversee production when the new line goes live on Monday, just to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“When are you leaving?”

“My flight’s at eight tonight.”

He regarded me for a moment. “Tonight?”

“Yes. The funeral will be over by then. I’ll go straight to the airport.”

He was silent for a while, then nodded. “It’s your call. John will drive you.”

“There’s no need,” I began, but stopped when his expression hardened.

“That’s his job,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, “How long will you be gone?”

“Three days.”

He nodded again and turned toward the hallway. I stopped him just as he reached the door.

“Elias, about the funeral,” I began carefully. “Sophia said you declined to give a eulogy. Maybe you should reconsider. Your father would have wanted—”

“Elliot and Evan's speeches will be enough,” he said, cutting me off. His voice carried that familiar steel whenever Paul Sinclair’s name came up.

My heart sank. The resentment between father and son had never healed, and I knew I was part of the reason why.

Elias glanced at me once more. “I’m going to get some rest before we leave for the manor.”

I nodded faintly. “Would you like something to eat before you sleep? I can ask the chef to prepare something.”

“I’ll grab whatever’s available when I wake up,” he replied and disappeared down the hall.

The sound of his door closing was like a weight dropping onto my chest.

I leaned back against the wall, eyes stinging. I hadn’t told him. Again.

Maybe I was a coward. Maybe I just wasn’t ready to lose him yet, not completely. I wrapped my arms around myself, whispering into the empty kitchen.

“I’ll tell him when I get back.”