Page 27 of Married to Lies

Her eyes darted around like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to answer.

“A family connection?” I guessed.

She didn’t respond.

“A boyfriend on the inside,” I tried again.

Her dark eyes darted toward the ground.

Poor girl hadn’t learned the rules of love yet. It was a tool and nothing more.

“You don’t need to escort me to the dining room,” I told her as I walked closer to the door. “I’m not going anywhere.” It was almost a joke. Although we were free to move about the home and its many rooms, every exit and entrance was barricaded. Even the glass windows were inches thick of unbreakable glass. I’d tested them all over the years.

She didn’t argue, but her footsteps sounded softly on the stone floors several feet behind me.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I retrieved it, looking at the message, knowing every single one was being read while I was here. When I got back to Dallas, I would need my security detail to sweep the phone and remove all the spyware yet again.

Founders Group Chat

Cruz: Heads up.

He linked to an Instagram post by Aleyna.

I opened it, feeling more frustrated by the minute. Who had leaked it to his kids? One of the hospital staff most likely. But it wasn’t safe to show emotion here, so I wiped the slate clean as I reached the dining room.

Mother and Father were sitting at the long table, as well as Father’s right-hand man.

“Sit,” Mother said. “And put your phone away. This is a family meal.”

12 Rei

I wanted this bug out of my hand as soon as possible.

Conrad hadn’t told me how to turn it on, which only left me to assume that it was already recording everything. I felt itchy in my own skin knowing that I had no secrets left to hide from Conrad. If he had one, that meant dozens of these mics could be planted around me—in my car, on my cleaning cart at MyHome, maybe even at my house.

So when George asked me if I’d like to go home next, I said, “Can you take me back to The Tower?” That’s what everyone called the skyscraper that housed all the MyHome offices.

“Sure thing,” he told me, steering the car out of the office parking lot.

While he drove, I searched “Conrad Hale” online. Maybe I would find something new—a court document, a social media post, something that could help explain his behavior.

There wasn’t much about him beyond what I already knew. A few press releases related to Radiant Cleaning, dating back to his hire several years ago. He showed up in a list of graduates from the Upton University School of Business, his face nowhere to be seen in the group graduation photo. Several pages into the search, I found a photo of him on stage, dressed in pirate garb, dark black eyebrows drawn above his face along with a curly black mustache. It had been his senior play in high school. It made me unexpectedly sad for the hardened man I’d just met with.

I couldn’t figure out why he was doing this now. Why he was asking me to spy on Quentin at all.

I pondered on it as George dropped me off at the side entrance to the MyHome building. I told him I’d be back in less than half an hour and then let myself in using my keycard.

People worked around the clock here, so I wasn’t out of place in the lobby, even if it was a bit less crowded than during the day. A different barista was at the café, an open textbook on the counter in front of her, yellow highlighter in hand.

I tried to escape notice of her and anyone else as I slipped into the supply room. Thankfully, it was empty, though it may not stay that way. I quickly grabbed my jumpsuit from my locker and changed out of my nice clothes.

The worn jumpsuit was almost as soft as the cashmere against my skin as I grabbed a cart and wheeled it out to the service elevator. Getting in, I scanned my card and pushed the button to the thirtieth floor, The Nest.

It zoomed upward, taking me to the floor where the C-suite and their assistants worked like royalty at the top of the castle. Despite the people working on the main floor, this one was empty. Only emergency lights along the wall were on, giving the level an eerie glow.

My stomach clenched. I couldn’t do this.

I forced deep breaths down my throat.