Chapter 4

Ian was gone.

After the reception ended, Otto brought me back to the old estate.

Unlike Ian, who was always off chasing his own amusements, Otto had lived here the whole time, keeping his mother company.

Christina had lost her husband in middle age, and raising two sons alone had not been easy.

Otto was a dutiful son. No matter how much money he made, he never bought a place of his own; every day he came home to have dinner with her.

We sat on the sofa for a while, both of us a little awkward.

Just as we were about to head up to the room, Ian came back, hands stuffed in his pockets.

He stood in the doorway, his gaze flicking to Otto's large hand resting at my waist, his face darkening, his eyes fixed hard on mine.

Otto deliberately pulled me a little closer into him, his tone mocking.

"What are you doing back? Didn't you go throw a welcome dinner for that friend of yours?"

Ian didn't answer. He gave a cold snort and dropped onto the sofa.

His staring made my skin crawl.

I tugged at the hem of Otto's shirt. "I'm a little tired."

"Then go rest."

Otto said a word to his mother, took my hand, and led me upstairs.

From the living room came the sound of Ian kicking the coffee table, like some overgrown boy throwing a fit.

Inside the room, Otto had me sit while he went to run the water.

I glanced around.

His room was large and tidy, with a faint scent of wood.

Once the bath was ready, he handed me a set of his own pajamas.

"Sorry. I didn't know so much would happen, so I didn't have any clothes ready for you."

"Wear mine tonight. Tomorrow I'll go with you to look at a place, and then move your things over."

All my things were still in the new apartment I was supposed to share with Ian.

I nodded and obediently carried his clothes into the bathroom.

When I came out from the bath, Otto was leaning against the headboard flipping through a book, the room dimmer now.

Sensing my eyes on him, he lifted a finger to his lips, signaling me to stay quiet.

Following his hint, I glanced toward the door.

There, the strip of light that should have run unbroken was now half blocked out.

I was about to ask when Otto suddenly reached out and pulled me.

A startled cry, the room spinning, and I was pinned beneath him.

There was a wicked little grin in his eyes as he asked me,

"Planning to forgive him?"

Teasing me?

I gave him the same wicked grin, hooked my fingers around his collar, and shot back, "Do you want me to forgive him?"

The words had barely left my mouth when the door was kicked open with a bang.

Ian stood outside, his face ashen, his fists clenched tight.

"What," he demanded, "are you two doing?"