Russ was the one who noticed something was wrong. He found me, carried me on his back through the downpour, and didn't stop until he'd tracked down a doctor. He stayed through my surgery, scribbling the doctor's instructions into a little notebook, his handwriting cramped and urgent.
He did everything himself. Even the congee I ate during recovery—he made it with his own hands.
The pampered young master who had never so much as boiled water came away with blisters from the hot pot.
My resolve began to crack.
And then it shattered completely.
Part of me kept sounding the alarm: You came to Seabrook Island City on assignment. Your mission is to catch the killer who's murdered several high-society wives.
But the other part—the traitorous part—couldn't stop drowning in his tenderness.
Eventually, Captain Price noticed how entangled I'd become with him. She reassigned my target.
"The killer is likely someone from high society. If you stay close to Russ Harris, you'll have a better chance of finding them."
That single sentence shattered every wall I'd built.
Russ and I had been together.
He'd pursued me publicly, showered me with grand gestures—all so I could rightfully become his wife.