I will find you, I promised silently again as my car pulled up to Goldenleaf Manor. My body still ached pleasantly from the night’s activities.
"Ms. Shaw." Harrison, our elderly butler, met me at the door with an expectant look. "The auction house delivered your purchases while you were out. Would you like to verify them now?"
I suppressed a groan. The last thing I wanted was paperwork, but it had to be done. "Fine. Where are they?"
"In the study, ma’am. The sapphire bracelet for Margaret and..." he hesitated, "the wooden rabbit carving."
I had almost forgotten about that impulsive purchase. Following Harrison into the study, I saw both items carefully arranged on my desk.
The sapphire bracelet sparkled magnificently in its box, but my attention was drawn to the small wooden figure beside it.
Something about the rabbit’s pose head tilted slightly, ears pulled back tugged at my memory. I picked it up, running my fingers over the smooth curves of the wood. The craftsmanship was impressive, each detail lovingly carved.
"My goodness," Harrison breathed, eyes wide. "I can’t believe it survived all these years."
I looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
\(n)ovel(.)co(m)
"That rabbit, Ms. Shaw. You carved it yourself when you were fifteen." His voice held a note of wonder.
I stared at the carving in my hands, struggling to process his words. I made this? The memory felt just out of reach, like trying to recall a dream upon waking.
Harrison returned carrying a photo album. He opened it carefully, fingers trembling slightly as he turned the pages. "Here."
The photograph showed a teenage version of myself, seated at a workbench. My hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wood shavings scattered around me. In my hands was an unfinished rabbit carving unmistakably the same one I now held.
"You took woodcarving lessons that summer," Harrison explained gently. "Your father thought it would help with stress before your SATs. You were quite talented."
My throat tightened unexpectedly. I had so much to learn when I was young that I’d almost forgotten I carved such a wooden rabbit.
"Rachel," I called out, my voice harder than I intended. She appeared instantly, already tapping on her tablet. "Find out who consigned this piece to the auction. I want to know everything where they got it, when, and how much they paid. You have three days."
"Ms. Shaw—" she began, but I cut her off.
"Three days, Rachel. Someone put this up for auction knowing exactly who would buy it. I want to know who and why."
Harrison cleared his throat softly. "Perhaps some soup first, Ms. Shaw? You look tired, and your mother always says—"
"Fine," I snapped, then immediately regretted my tone. It wasn’t Harrison’s fault I was exhausted and unsettled.
He returned moments later with a bowl of his signature chicken soup. "Get some rest after this," he advised gently.
My phone buzzed just as I was about to drift off. Catherine Murphy’s name flashed across the screen.
"Get dressed," she announced without preamble. "Something sexy. We’re going out."
I groaned into my pillow. "Catherine, I’m exhausted—"
"Nope, not taking no for an answer. You need this. I’m introducing you to someone amazing." Her voice held that tone that meant resistance was futile. "Wear that red dress you bought in Paris."
Two hours later, I found myself in one of Skyview City’s most exclusive nightclubs, the bass vibrating through my bones as Catherine and I dominated the dance floor. The red dress clung to my curves, drawing appreciative glances from around the room. For a moment, I let myself forget about mysterious lovers and wooden rabbits, losing myself in the rhythm.
Catherine grabbed my arm mid-spin, her eyes suddenly wide with panic.
"We need to go. Now."
"What—" Before I could finish, she was dragging me toward the exit. The sudden shift from dancing to fleeing left me stumbling in my heels.
We didn’t make it far.
A tall figure stepped into our path Peter Reed, Marcus’s right-hand man. I recognized him from corporate events, always hovering at the edge of Marcus’s orbit.
"Ms. Murphy, Ms. Shaw," he greeted us with professional courtesy. "Mr. Murphy is here tonight."
Catherine’s grip on my arm tightened.
I glanced at her, puzzled by her reaction. Why was she so afraid of her uncle?
As if summoned by his name, Marcus materialized from the crowd. Even in the pulsing lights of the club, he commanded attention. His tailored shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and his dark eyes assessed the situation with calculating precision.
"What an interesting surprise," he drawled, his gaze moving between us. "Catherine. Anna."
Catherine seemed to shrink beside me.
"Uncle Marcus, I—"
"Anna invited me," she blurted out, shooting me a desperate look. Three quick squeezes to my fingers our old code from shopping trips. I’ll buy you those three bags you wanted.
I raised an eyebrow but played along.
"That’s right. We’re both adults, Marcus. Surely you’re not still playing the overprotective uncle?"
His mouth curved slightly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Catherine, we discussed this. Last time you were here, I said your allowance would be cut if it happened again." He turned to Peter. "Make sure she gets home safely."
Catherine squeezed my hand once more in apology before practically fleeing, leaving me alone with Marcus and the lingering bass of the club music.
"I’ll drive you home," he stated. Not a question, not an offer a simple declaration of fact.
"That’s not necessary," I started to say, but he was already walking toward the exit, Peter gesturing for me to follow.