Page 9 of Speak No Claim

From him.

If he could’ve erased my existence with a single look, I had no doubt he would’ve done it without hesitation.

Yet…

He couldn’t look away, and neither could I.

The silence stretched between us, taut enough to snap. It felt alive, charged with something I couldn’t name but instinctively welcomed for some unknown reason. Whatever passed between us in those few endless seconds wasn’t a coincidence. It was a collision of mass destruction.

Before either of us had spoken a single word, I already knew one thing with terrifying certainty.

Meeting him…

* * *

Was only going to ruin me.

Chapter

Three

Hennessey: If these walls could talk…

My stomach knotted, churning with each second that passed between us. He narrowed his intense honey-colored eyes at me, and then, out of nowhere, he grinned, sensing all my conflicting emotions playing like a broken record in my head.

Still, I couldn’t see enough of his face, but it didn’t stop me from knowing he was handsome. He was tall with broad shoulders, carrying himself with such effortless authority that made the room bow at his feet.

Who is he?

My chest tightened, caught off guard by the silent understanding between us. Just as quickly as it occurred, the crowd parted, and he was gone. At first, I thought maybe I imagined him as I followed the housekeeper through the halls.

A huge Gothic-style chandelier with red-burning candles hung above my head, illuminating the ominous allure of the walls, casting shadow upon shadow as we walked. Merely fueling my overly rampant thoughts of what secrets these rooms held on to for centuries and what could’ve transpired behind these closed doors.

The scent of expensive cigars, sophisticated cologne, and designer perfume lingered through the air, assaulting all my senses. The whole decor and allure of this place was haunting. To the point you could feel the souls clawing at your feet.

I had two choices. I could get ready for an event where I played my part of a doting niece, or I could escape with my sanity intact and leave as fast as I could. I decided on the one that made the most sense to me.

I got dressed, and a makeup artist and hairstylist were waiting to do their best on me. I wasn’t much for either. I preferred climbing trees and talking to the wildlife while dancing under the full moon with my ancestors.

This just wasn’t my vibe.

I hated pretentious bullshit. I guess you could say I had a fierce resting bitch face and was proud of it. At least you know what you were getting with me. I didn’t sugarcoat my emotions. I wore them proudly, a badge of honor for what I said: I meant it, my word was bond, and I took that seriously.

How the hell I was supposed to fake this was beyond me. I didn’t know how to pretend in this situation.

The women were both giggling, talking about nonsense I barely paid attention to.

“There,” the makeup artist exclaimed. “He’s going to love this.”

I shuddered. “Who?”

The room went silent.

The hairstylist forced a smile, stating, “Your uncle, of course.”

I don’t believe her.

Their hesitation made my skin crawl. By the time they were done, I felt more like a porcelain doll you’d put on a shelf than a woman.