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I parted my lips, wanting to insist I wouldn’t have done anything differently. But I couldn’t lie to her.
There were so many things I would have changed if I didn’t have to worry about hurting Liam. I certainly wouldn’t have kept my relationship with Samuel a secret. Wouldn’t have snuck around like we did.
“Don’t let Liam stand in your way again,” Melanie encouraged when I didn’t immediately respond. She covered my hand with hers and squeezed. “If losing Samuel taught you anything, it’s that tomorrow isn’t promised. That it’s important to live with no regrets.”
I swallowed hard, pushing down the emotions welling inside of me.
I had more than my fair share of regrets when it came to Samuel. Especially the fact that we’d fought the last time we saw each other. He was done loving me in the shadows. Was ready to tell Liam everything.
But I was a coward.
Like Melanie, Samuel had accused me of allowing Liam to manipulate me. Of letting my misplaced guilt control me.
Because of that, Samuel went to his grave questioning my love and devotion.
“No regrets,” I said.
“No regrets,” Melanie repeated, her eyes awash with sincerity. Then her expression turned conniving. “And I think you should start this regret-free life by giving yourself the birthday gift of some ridiculously hot sex with a ridiculously sexy man.”
“Sex doesn’t solve everything,” I reminded her.
“No. But it sure does make things feel better, even if for a minute.”
I blew out a laugh. “I can’t argue with that.”
ChapterThirteen
Gideon
I navigated my car past the gated entrance of Liam’s sprawling estate and along the cobblestone driveway lined with perfectly manicured greens. The instant I pulled to a stop in front of his palatial home, a valet approached and opened the door of my Jaguar convertible.
After handing him the keys, I started toward the entrance, pushing down any lingering reservations about tonight.
Nothing could go wrong. I couldn’t waste this unexpected opportunity. I needed to stay in control. Needed to keep my hatred toward these people far below the surface.
This would be vastly different from the past few times I’d purposefully ran into Imogene. In mere minutes, I’d be in a room surrounded by dozens of people I once knew in my old life as Samuel Tate.
People who betrayed me.
Who conspired to kill me.
I couldn’t do anything that would make them suspicious. Instead, I needed to become one of them.
I was the Trojan Horse, and they’d unknowingly allowed me inside the city gates.
Fixing my expression, I smoothed a hand down my suit jacket as I ascended the steps. The door immediately swung open and a man in a crisp tuxedo welcomed me.
He ushered me through the opulent foyer and into a high-ceilinged living area where a crystal chandelier sparkled overhead and marble floors gleamed beneath my feet.
On the back patio, I was met with even more extravagance — elegantly dressed guests lingered by dozens of high-top tables, strings of party lights dangling overhead, a jazz quartet filling the air with smooth melodies.
But what caught my attention was the breathtaking view from this vantage point in the San Diego hills — miles and miles of ocean stretching out before us, the vast expanse sparkling in the moonlight.
My gaze swept across the buzzing crowd, taking inventory of everyone I recognized.
Everyone I once considered a friend.
Not anymore.
