Chapter 54

**G R A C E**

“You don’t have to,” he says, his voice like a low hum in the air, vibrating through me, sticking to my skin.
I know what he’s saying. I know exactly what he means by that. It’s written all over his face, in the way his eyes darken, the way his body doesn’t move even an inch back. He’s suggesting something unspoken but obvious, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to do—to make this offer.

But he can’t mean that. Not after everything.

He’s my best friend’s brother. Sophia’s brother. The guy who has been distant and cold since the moment we met. The guy who can’t even be bothered to check on me after I was hurt, after everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours. And yet, here he is now, acting like he has a right to be in this room. To touch me like this. To look at me the way he’s looking at me.

I feel heat crawl up my neck, not from desire but from anger. I sit up straighter, pulling my legs toward me, putting just a little more space between us. “I was hurt,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend, but I don’t care. He needs to hear it. “I was hurt, and you didn’t even check on me.”

He stares, and for a second, I think I might’ve said something wrong. His mouth quirks, not in a smile exactly—more like he’s amused. “I know. I picked up the mess myself, Grace Miller.”

I swallow, his calmness throwing me off balance, and I tighten my fists to keep steady. “I mean after that. For the last twenty-four hours.” I meet his eyes, and they’re sharper than they should be, watching me so intently that it makes me uneasy. I wish I didn’t care, but the question slips out anyway. “Why didn’t you?”

“Should I have?” His words are careful, just barely edged with a kind of softness I don’t know what to do with.

I don’t know how to respond. And I hate that I don’t. Should he have? My answer is on the tip of my tongue. But I bite down on it, tasting the bitterness. He shouldn’t care about me; I shouldn’t want him to care. It's that simple, or at least it should be. There’s no reason for either of us to feel anything about the other.

But somehow, it still stings. “No,” I manage, forcing my voice to stay level. “You can leave now.”

He shifts, a trace of smugness pulling at his expression. “Would you have even noticed if I had checked on you?” he says, voice smooth. “Others seemed more… attentive. Early in the morning, and again in the evening.”

It takes all my strength not to react, not to let him see just how much his words sink in. He’s taking a shot at Matt, at me, but I won’t bite. I won’t let him pull me in. “I’m tired, and I don’t want to do this right now,” I say, turning my face toward the door.

He ignores it, staying rooted in place.
“What was Matt doing here this morning?” His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it, something that makes my pulse quicken. He’s asking too calmly, like he’s holding back something much darker.

I frown, pushing myself up on my elbows again. “What?”

“At the house,” he clarifies, leaning forward. “This morning. What was he doing here?”

I blink at him, frustration and confusion mixing in my head. “It has nothing to do with you.”

He sits back, folding his arms. “This is my house. It has everything to do with me.”

Anger flares in my chest, burning hotter with every second. “You act like you weren’t the one who invited him to this stupid celebration,” I snap, my voice rising. “Why is he on your island if you hate him so much?”

Alex doesn’t react at first, but then his mouth twists into a bitter smile, one that makes my stomach drop. “He’s not the only person I hate, yet here we are.”

I freeze. He doesn’t say it, but I know exactly what he means. He’s talking about me. His hostility toward me is suffocating, and it’s not just cold anymore—it’s hot, scorching, like he can’t decide whether he wants to yell at me or… something else.

My chest tightens. I don’t understand why he’s so angry at me. Why he’s always so… hostile. But it’s starting to hurt. More than I’d like to admit. More than I’m comfortable with. And it just makes me angrier.

I push myself off the bed, standing on shaky legs. “Get out of my room,” I say, the words sharp, cutting. I need him out before this goes any further. Before I do something stupid.

But he just looks at me, then scoffs, as if it’s funny. Like I’ve told a joke.

“Do you like to swim with a different man every morning?”

The insinuation stings, cuts deeper than I’d like to admit. And maybe I could answer with silence, but that’s not enough this time. So I let the anger rise, meeting his gaze head-on. “Actually, yes,” I say, voice tight with sarcasm. “In fact, I’m considering who I should invite tomorrow. You have any suggestions? Think Carl would enjoy a show?” I pause, twisting the knife, “Though I guess I should check with your sister first—she seems to have a bit of a crush on him.”

Something changes in his expression. His nonchalant mask slips, and for the first time tonight, I see the crack. He takes a step forward, his tone shifting. “My sister,” he says, his voice edged with anger, “is also your best friend.”

“Oh, so you remember that?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you’d forgotten, what with your generous offer to unbutton my dress.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes another step closer, until I can feel his presence right in front of me, the closeness almost suffocating. His voice drops to a whisper, low and rough. “So that’s all that’s stopping you, Grace Miller? Me being your best friend’s brother?”

The words knock the air from my lungs. I wasn’t expecting him to ask it, let alone so plainly. And for a moment, I don’t know how to answer.

Is it? If he weren’t Sophie’s brother, if there was no tangled web binding us… would I let him closer? Part of me screams yes, echoing through every nerve in my body. But then I look at him again, really look at him. His face, the sharp lines softened in the dim light—and the memory comes back in a flash. The gun. The cold, steel barrel at Matt’s forehead.

I take a step back, needing the distance, my voice barely above a whisper. “The gun,” I say, and I hate how weak I sound, how raw. “Why… why did you hold a gun to Matt’s head?”

The words hang heavy between us, and for once, his expression falters. But he doesn’t look away.