“Now’s the time to ask your questions.”

Lachlan’s change of subject after our negotiation is jarring, and I’m trying to figure out why he’s pushing it. But I don’t ask. I have a feeling I already know the answer.

This is a test. The one that will determine whether I hold tight to my new realizations and the position I’m ready to claim, or whether I run screaming from the room.

At this point, I’m fairly certain if I demanded it, he would free me from our bargain. Something has shifted in him too. I feel it.

“Are you afraid I’m going to run when you answer them?” I ask.

“Is that your first question?” His tone is dry, but I hear the underlying message.

“Preliminary. Just want to make sure I understand why you’re pushing this.”

Lachlan’s dark eyes bore into mine. “Make no mistake, Keira. I’m not a good man. If you’re expecting a virtuous answer to any question you have, you’re going to be disappointed. Your first impression of me will always be the most accurate.”

His statement dredges up that first impression I had of him in my office. There was fear, but there was also more. He commanded every bit of my attention, putting my entire body on edge. His reputation terrified me, but he exuded an energy that sucked me in before I even knew I was in danger.

Actually, that wasn’t even my first impression of him. Because that happened before I knew who he was. The night of the masquerade. The night he changed the course of my life, and I was clueless about it.

My true first impression of Lachlan Mount was—this is the man I’ve been waiting for my whole life, and the one I want to keep in it forever.

So, no matter what he throws at me, I’ll be holding on tight to that memory and all of the things he’s done since to prove I was right.

“I can handle that,” I tell him without hesitation.

“Then ask away.”

It’s almost like he’s daring me to falter in my resolve, which just makes me more stubborn. Maybe it’s reverse psychology. Maybe it’s another mind-fuck. But I don’t think so. I’m pretty certain this is Lachlan opening up as much as he’s capable of doing.

“Okay. Then let’s start with an easy one. Did you pay my husband to disappear and fake his death?”

There’s no remorse when he replies. “Yes, but you already knew that.”

“Did you kill him?”

Lachlan goes quiet, and I wonder if he’s going to answer. After a few beats, he does.

“I’m never going to tell you whether or not I killed someone. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I’ll never put you in the position of having to bear that weight on your conscience, or be asked to testify about something I’ve said.”

I chew on my lip because it’s not the answer I expected at all. I figured it would be a cut-and-dried yes. But this answer is much more complex. His response is as honest as I could ask for, and somehow makes me feel safer than if he replied like I expected.

That’s when it hits me—Lachlan Mount isn’t just protecting my body. He’s trying to protect my soul from the sins that stain his own.

A wave of emotion rushes over me as I absorb the realization. He says he’s not a good man, but he’s miles better than the one I just asked if he killed. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. But I do need to know if Brett is coming back or whether he’s gone for good. I need that finality. I need to know I can move forward without fear of my past coming back to haunt me again.

“Keira?” he says, his prompt telling me I’ve been quiet longer than I realized. “Are we stopping at question one?”

I shake my head the slightest bit. “No. I’m just . . . thinking.”

“And?”

“I have to know if he’ll ever be coming back. I don’t need details. I just need closure.”

Lachlan’s face is solemn as he replies. “You never have to worry about him ever again.”

My insides are already a maelstrom of new emotions and realizations, and this adds a healthy dose of relief to the mix.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He looks surprised at my response. “Why would you thank me for that?”

“Because I never want to see his face again for as long as I live.”

“You never will. Next question.”

We’re both quiet for several moments while I decide what to ask next. When it comes down to it, there’s one question I haven’t been able to reconcile at all.

The night I decided he was the only man for me, the one I’ve been waiting for my whole life, I still can’t piece it together in my brain how that could have happened. It seems like fate stepped in, but I need to know the truth.

“How did you get my note the night of the masquerade?” When I first learned that it was Lachlan and not Brett, I cut him deeply when I lashed out, and that’s not my intent here at all. But still, I have to know.

“It’s not a how so much as a who,” he answers carefully, and the possibilities riot in my head, my anxiety growing with every second that passes.

“Who?”

“Magnolia Maison.”