Chapter 3

The clock in the main hall struck two in the morning when Kinsley pushed open the heavy wrought-iron doors of the Decker estate.

She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot across the cold marble, her temples throbbing with exhaustion. All she wanted was to take off the black dress, wash the makeup from her face, and sleep.

As she reached the second-floor landing, the sound of scraping furniture and hushed voices echoed down the hall from the master suite.

Kinsley paused, then walked toward the noise.

Two footmen were dragging heavy Louis Vuitton trunks out of the guest wing and stacking them beside the master bedroom's open door. Standing in the doorway, her arms spread wide to block the entrance, was Martha Tucker, the head housekeeper who had served the Decker family for thirty years.

"Miss Blair, this is improper!" Martha said, her voice shaking with outrage. "This room belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Decker. No one enters without Mrs. Decker's express permission!"

Blair stood in the hallway wearing a pale silk nightgown, her arms wrapped around herself as if shivering from the draft.

"Martha, please don't yell at me," Blair said, her eyes glistening. "Christian said the mattress in the south wing was too firm for my back surgery recovery. He told me to use this suite while he's working late..."

"Tell him to buy you a new mattress," Kinsley's voice rang out, sharp and sudden.

Blair jumped, spinning around to see Kinsley standing under the hall sconces. She backed away a step, her lip trembling.

The two footmen froze, holding a trunk between them, their heads bowed toward the carpet.

"Kinsley... you're home," Blair stammered, pulling her silk robe tighter. "I was only doing what Christian told me to do. I didn't mean to upset you."

Kinsley walked past the trunks until she stood right in front of Blair. She didn't raise her voice, but every word fell like lead.

"According to Section Fourteen of the Decker Family Trust bylaws, non-lineal dependents and non-spouses are barred from private master suites. Who gave you the impression you had the right to cross this threshold?"

Blair's face went white. The technical precision of the statement stripped away every ounce of her fragile victim act, leaving only raw humiliation.

"You're calling me a dependent..." Blair choked out, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "Christian brought me into this family!"

"What is going on out here?"

Heavy footsteps sounded from the end of the hall. Christian approached, still wearing his tuxedo trousers and a half-unbuttoned dress shirt. His brow was dark with exhaustion and irritation.

Blair ran straight to him, burying her face in his chest**, clinging to him like a helpless child.**

"Christian! Kinsley is citing trust bylaws to kick me out... she says I'm just a charity case who doesn't belong in this house!"

Christian wrapped an arm around Blair's trembling shoulders. His gaze snapped to Kinsley, cold and accusatory. He didn't shout, but his voice was a low, dangerous rumble that commanded absolute submission.

"Do you have to turn this house into a war zone the minute you walk in the door?"

Kinsley looked at him. She looked at his arm around Blair, at his casual disregard for the boundaries of their home, and felt the last remaining ember in her chest go out. It didn't burn anymore. It was just gray, lifeless ash.

"The rules belong to the Decker Trust," Kinsley said calmly. "I am simply upholding them. Or are you planning to break your grandfather's trust terms for your ward?"

Christian clenched his teeth, his gaze sliding past her as if her sheer lack of emotion had backed him into a corner.

"It's a bedroom, Kinsley! Her back is flaring up and she needs proper rest. Why do you have to be so petty over every little thing?"

Kinsley took a step back, clearing the doorway entirely. She gestured toward the master suite with an open palm.

"If you care about her that much, the room is hers."

Christian blinked, caught off balance.

"What?"

Kinsley turned to Martha, who stood by the door with red eyes.

"Martha, please pack every single personal item of mine from that room and have it moved to the far guest suite."

"Mrs. Decker..." Martha whispered, her voice cracking.

"Now, please," Kinsley said softly.

Blair wiped her eyes against Christian's shirt, a faint gleam of triumph flashing deep in her gaze.

"Thank you, Kinsley..."

Christian stared at Kinsley, his breath catching in his throat as his jaw tightened with sudden, unmasked tension. The sight of her so willingly abandoning their shared space sent an inexplicable jolt of panic through his chest.

He stepped forward, reaching out to grab her wrist.

"Stop this nonsense. Moving to the guest room—what kind of message does that send to the staff?"

Kinsley stepped backward before his skin could touch hers. Her eyes were empty.

"Please keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Decker. The room has been dirtied. I don't want it anymore."

The word hit Christian like a backhand. His face turned crimson with suppressed rage.

"Fine!" he snarled, his jaw tight. "Suit yourself. Don't come crawling back tomorrow asking to move your things back!"

He seized Blair's elbow, turned on his heel, and stalked down the hallway toward the study.

Kinsley stood alone in the hallway, looking at the open bedroom door. She felt no sadness, only a profound, liberating lightness.

It was time to leave. But he had no idea just how thoroughly she was about to erase herself from his life.