Code Name: Solace

CHAPTER FIVE

Then I stepped inside.

And everything shifted.

The air was wrong.

Thicker. Heavier.

The darkness wasn't just darkness—it was layered, the corners of the garage stretching like deep, yawning voids. The single overhead light flickered, buzzing like an insect caught in a trap.

I swallowed, gripping my keys tighter. Get in the car. Get out. Now.

The garage smelled strange—not just of oil and concrete, but something else. Something familiar.

Cologne.

His cologne.

My stomach dropped.

My grip faltered, and the keys slipped from my shaking fingers, clattering onto the concrete. The sound echoed, too loud in the suffocating silence.

A whisper of movement.

I jerked my head toward the noise, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Nothing.

Just shadows. But they felt alive. Watching. Waiting.

I forced my knees to bend, forced my trembling hand to reach—

And then—

A presence.

Not a sound. Not a movement. Just the awareness of him.

I turned.

He stood there, just beyond the dim light, his form half-swallowed by darkness.

Watching. Waiting.

A scream locked in my throat.

My vision blurred. My breath stuttered.

I couldn't move.

Couldn't think.

A tear slipped down my cheek. "Please don't hurt me." The words barely made it past my lips.

Warren didn't answer.

He took a slow step forward, then another, the weight of him filling the space. Heat radiated off his body, pressing against my skin like a furnace.

Still, he said nothing.

I sucked in a shuddering breath. "Warren—"

A glow.

Dim, but steady.

I followed the light—to the phone in his hand.

His phone.

He lifted it just enough for me to see the screen.

My stomach bottomed out.

The search history was open.

Warren Solace.
Owen Mayors and Delilah Mayors—who are they?
How to tell if your spouse is hiding something.
Warewithall Construction—who owns it?
How to disappear.

I forgot how to breathe.

My limbs turned to ice.

Those were my searches.

Not just one. All of them.

I lifted my eyes to his, my entire body trembling.

"How did you—" My throat closed.

His grip on the phone tightened.

A slow, awful realization crept over me. He knew.

Not just tonight.

Not just recently.

He had been watching me unravel the truth.

My breath hitched.

He took another step forward, and I shrank back instinctively.

His fingers twitched. His jaw clenched. "Do you really think I would ever lift a hand to you?" His voice was quieter now, the edge of something dangerous beneath it. "When have I ever harmed you, except to spank you when you've been naughty?"

I didn't answer.

His fingers pressed lightly into my chin, tipping it up. "Answer me."

"Never," I whispered.

His eyes darkened. "Never," he echoed. "So why are you begging me not to hurt you?"

I couldn't speak.

I could barely stand.

He exhaled sharply. "Come inside, and I will explain."

No arguing.

No running.

He bent, picked up my suitcase—my escape plan—with one hand, and carried it inside as if it weighed nothing.

I followed.

Because whatever he was about to tell me would change my life forever.