Chapter 25

Della sauntered at the top of the staircase, gripping the bannister as the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm croissants wafted up to meet her. Her heart felt unsteady. She had barely slept after last night—the kiss haunted her dreams, the way his lips had claimed hers, the way his words had made her insides twist. 

As she descended the stairs, the awkwardness only grew. *What if he regrets it? What if he doesn't even acknowledge it?* Her thoughts churned like stormy waves, threatening to pull her under. 

When she stepped into the dining room, her breath hitched. Hunter was already seated, his posture perfect, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the strong lines of his chest. He was reading something, one hand holding a coffee cup, the other idly twirling his fork. He looked completely at ease, exuding that same magnetic energy that had ensnared her last night. 

Their eyes met. 

Della froze. The memory of their kiss surged back like a tidal wave, leaving her flustered. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed thickly, as if that moment was lodged there. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, those lips that had kissed her so wonderfully well. She quickly looked away, cheeks flaming. 

The butler cleared his throat."Good morning. Miss Emily. Would you care to join us for breakfast?" the butler asked, his tone polite but warm. 

Della nodded, her voice failing her for a moment. "Yes, thank you." 

Hunter glanced up from his plate, his grey eyes flicking back to Della. "Good morning," he said smoothly, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. 

Della blinked, unsure how to respond. "Morning," she mumbled, her cheeks burning. 

The butler looked to her with a polite nod. "Miss Emily, I've prepared eggs, pancakes, and fresh fruit. Is there something specific you'd prefer?" 

Della hesitated, unsure if she could even eat with the knot tightening in her stomach. "Um… pancakes are fine," she managed to say. 

Hunter's lips curved into a faint smile. 

 "Good choice." 

She walked to the table and slid into the chair opposite him, avoiding his gaze as she fidgeted with her napkin. Her awkwardness only seemed to grow under his presence, and every clink of cutlery sounded unbearably loud. 

*Why does he look so unaffected?* she wondered, stealing a glance at him. He sipped his coffee with an ease that made her stomach tighten. Did he regret the kiss? Did it mean anything to him at all? 

She glanced down at her plate as the butler returned with her pancakes, setting them before her. "Enjoy your breakfast, Miss Emily." 

"Thank you," she murmured, though she could hardly imagine eating with her stomach in knots. 

Hunter set his coffee cup down and leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze steady on her. "You seem quiet this morning." 

Her fork paused midway to her plate. "Do I?" 

"You do." His tone was light, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Everything all right?" 

"Of course," she replied quickly, too quickly. She forced herself to meet his gaze, though her cheeks burned under the intensity of it. "Why wouldn't it be?" 

He tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. "No reason. You just seem… preoccupied." 

*Preoccupied?* That was an understatement. She was a tangled mess of nerves and emotions, her thoughts still sauntered on his kiss. 

"I should let you know," Hunter began, his voice breaking the silence. "My secretary will be arriving shortly. She has a document that needs my personal signature." 

Della forced herself to meet his eyes. "Oh. I see." 

"Do you mind?" 

She shook her head, even though the thought of having someone else enter this already tense space unsettled her. "No, of course not." 

Before she could say anything else, the butler reappeared, announcing the secretary's arrival. 

When the secretary entered, Della's jaw tightened. The woman was stunning, with long, wavy blonde hair and striking features. Her dress was scandalously short, barely covering her thighs, and every step she took seemed designed to draw attention. If she bent even slightly, the fabric would fail entirely. 

"Miss Emily," the secretary greeted with a brief, almost dismissive bow, before turning her full attention to Hunter. Her smile was wide and dazzling. "Good morning, sir. Here are the documents you requested." 

Hunter stood, his tall frame dwarfing hers, and escorted her out of the dining room with a quiet word of thanks. Della watched with a strange tightness in her chest. 

*Why am I feeling like this?* she wondered, her stomach twisting. *Why does it bother me that he's so polite to her?* 

Her gaze followed them as they disappeared into his study. *What if they're more than professional? What if he's kissed her the way he kissed me? What if he holds her the same way?* 

The thought made her chest ache. She shook her head, trying to dismiss it. *No. He wouldn't do that. Would he?* 

As she picked at her pancakes, her mind refused to quiet down. She could picture Hunter leaning in close to the secretary, his hand brushing hers as he signed the document. She imagined the secretary laughing at something he said, her hand touching his arm in that casual, intimate way that would feel all too familiar. 

And then, to her horror, she imagined him kissing her the way he had kissed her—fiercely, passionately, with a depth that made her knees weak just thinking about it. 

 Della stabbed her pancake with her fork, suddenly furious with herself. *This is ridiculous. You're not Emily. You're not his wife. You shouldn't care.* 

But she did. 

Her jealousy boiled, leaving her frustrated and confused. She didn't want to feel this way, but the emotions were relentless, clawing at her from every angle. 

She pushed her plate away, her appetite completely gone. 

When Hunter returned to the dining room alone, she forced herself to look at him, her heart pounding. His expression was calm, as though nothing had happened. 

"Everything sorted?" she asked, her voice strained. 

"Yes," he replied, his grey eyes flickering to hers. "It was a quick matter." 

She nodded, though her thoughts were far from calm. As she watched him return to his seat picking up his coffee, his lips curving around the rim of the cup.

Della walked barefoot along the beach, the cool sand squishing beneath her toes. The salty breeze played with her hair, tugging it loose from the messy bun she'd hastily tied. She didn't even know why she cared so much.*Why should it matter if Hunter had history with his secretary?* she thought bitterly, but even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. 

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Della stood at the water's edge, the cool waves brushing over her toes. The salty breeze whipped her hair around her face, 

It shouldn't bother her. She had no right to feel jealous, no right to feel anything. And yet, the image of that impossibly short dress, the way the woman had bowed so casually to her with barely a glance, it all gnawed at her. 

 A low rumble sounded in the distance, and she finally looked up. The sky had darkened, the clouds now a deep grey, heavy with impending rain. The once gentle breeze had grown sharp, tugging at her dress and carrying with it the warning of a storm. 

She knew she should go back. But the first raindrop hit her cheek like a cold warning. Then another. Within moments, the sky opened up, and the rain poured down in thick sheets, soaking her to the skin. Her thin dress clung to her, the chill cutting through her like a knife. The beach, so picturesque moments ago, became wild, the wind whipping her hair into her face as she stumbled forward.