Chapter 3 - Learning How to LieThe first rule of pretending Lachlan was blind was that Thea was never supposed to overhelp him.
She learned this while standing in the hospital parking garage at eight seventeen the next morning, one hand hovering uselessly near his elbow while he walked toward the elevator without touching her.
“You’re going too fast,” she whispered.
“I know where the elevator is.”
“You’re supposed to be blind.”
“I’m blind, not unfamiliar with architecture.”
She glanced around.
A nurse was unloading a wheelchair twenty feet away.
Two men in suits stood beside a gray sedan.
Thea lowered her voice.
“What if someone is watching?”
“Someone is always watching.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
His dark glasses hid his eyes.
Thea was beginning to hate them.
They changed him.
Without them, he was Lachlan—the infuriating man from the breakfast room who almost smiled when she insulted him.
With them, he became Lachlan Voss.
The blind CEO.
Public tragedy.
Corporate mythology.
A man whose accident had been written about in magazines and business profiles for three years.
The elevator doors opened.
Lachlan waited.
Thea nearly stepped inside before realizing what he was doing.
“You’re waiting for me.”
“I usually enter after whoever I’m with.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t accidentally look at the control panel.”
“Oh.”
Thea walked in.
He followed.
“Floor seven.”
She pressed the button.
A woman holding a bouquet entered before the doors closed.
Thea immediately became aware of every movement Lachlan made.
Was his face angled correctly?
Was he focusing too precisely?
Was he standing like a sighted person?
She had never considered how much vision affected posture.
The woman looked at him.
Recognition passed over her expression.
“Mr. Voss?”
Lachlan turned toward the voice, but not directly enough to appear unnatural.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you. I saw the announcement yesterday. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Her gaze moved to Thea.
“You must be his wife.”
The word wife still felt borrowed.
Thea smiled.
“Yes.”
“You looked beautiful in the photograph.”
Photograph.
There were photographs already.
Of course there were.
The woman exited on the fifth floor.
Thea waited until the doors closed.
“There are wedding pictures?”
“Several hundred.”
“And you saw them?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve had access to photographs of me since yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“That seems unfair.”
“Why?”
“You can examine everything while everyone thinks you can’t.”
His head angled slightly.
“I assure you I have not examined everything.”
Thea caught the implication approximately half a second before heat moved into her face.
“You know what I meant.”
“Yes.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Sounding amused.”
“I’m not amused.”
“You’re terrible at being innocent.”
“That has never been a reputation I cultivated.”
The elevator opened.
Her mother’s room was at the far end of the cardiac wing.
Thea forgot the conversation immediately.
Elin Lindquist looked smaller than she had the day before.
Hospitals did that to people.
They reduced lives to bracelets, charts, plastic cups, folded blankets, and numbers displayed on machines.
Her mother’s silver-blonde hair had been braided loosely over one shoulder. Oxygen tubing crossed beneath her nose. Her eyes brightened the moment Thea entered.
“There’s my married woman.”
Thea crossed the room quickly.
“Mom.”
She kissed Elin’s forehead.
Her mother smelled like hospital soap and the lavender lotion she insisted on carrying everywhere.
Then Elin looked past her.
Lachlan stood in the doorway.
His dark glasses were in place.
His cane—something Thea had never seen him use inside the house—rested lightly against the floor.
“Mr. Voss.”
“Lachlan,” he corrected.
Elin smiled.
“Come closer, Lachlan. I refuse to talk to someone from across a hospital room on the morning surgeons are planning to rearrange my chest.”
Thea winced.
“Mom.”
“What? They are.”
Lachlan crossed the room carefully.
Thea watched in fascination.
He counted steps differently in public.
Not obviously.
But his feet moved with fractionally more caution.
His cane touched the base of the visitor chair before he sat.
Perfect performance.
Elin studied him.
“You look nervous.”
Thea froze.
Lachlan did not.
“I’ve been accused of many things, Mrs. Lindquist. Nervous is unusual.”
“That’s because rich people confuse stillness with confidence.”
Thea closed her eyes.
“Mom.”
Elin waved weakly.
“I’m allowed. I’m sick.”
Lachlan’s mouth moved.
Thea recognized the almost-smile.
Her mother saw it too.
Interesting.
“So,” Elin said, “you married my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Mom.”
“I’d like to know.”
Thea turned toward Lachlan.
This should be interesting.
He could have given the contract answer.
He could have talked about companionship, family arrangement, mutual benefit.
Instead he said, “Because she said yes.”
Elin’s eyes narrowed.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the most important part of one.”
Thea stared at him.
He continued.
“My grandmother introduced the arrangement. Thea needed something my family could provide. My grandmother believed I needed something Thea might provide. Neither of us had much time to decide.”
“And what exactly are you supposed to get?”
Thea almost stopped breathing.
Lachlan rested both hands over the handle of his cane.
“Someone who tells me when I’m being unbearable.”
Elin looked at Thea.
“That does sound like her.”
“Apparently she has considerable natural talent.”
Thea folded her arms.
“You both realize I’m standing here.”
Her mother smiled.
For five minutes, the hospital room felt almost normal.
Then Dr. Laird entered.
Everything changed.
The surgeon was in his late fifties, with silver hair and the calm eyes of someone who had delivered terrible news often enough to understand the weight of every adjective.
He explained the procedure again.
Valve replacement.
Repair to surrounding tissue.
Risks.
Bleeding.
Stroke.
Arrhythmia.
Thea knew most of it already.
Knowing made it worse.
Her mother signed consent forms.
Thea signed as medical proxy.
When the orderly arrived, Elin squeezed her hand.
“Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you pretend you’re not terrified because you think it helps me.”
Thea laughed shakily.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re nineteen. You’re married to a billionaire you barely know, and your mother is about to disappear behind double doors. You’re allowed to not be fine.”
Lachlan remained near the window.
Thea felt his attention.
Elin touched her cheek.
“You did enough.”
Thea’s throat tightened.
“Mom—”
“You did.”
The orderly unlocked the bed wheels.
Elin looked toward Lachlan.
“Take care of her while I’m gone.”
Thea expected him to say of course.
Instead he said, “I’ll stay.”
Simple.
No grand promise.
No claim of ownership.
Just that.
I’ll stay.
Thea followed her mother until the restricted doors.
Then the doors closed.
And she discovered there was nothing left to do.
Waiting was its own form of violence.
The cardiac surgery lounge had beige chairs, a coffee machine, three silent televisions, and a digital board displaying patient numbers instead of names.
Lachlan sat beside her.
For the first hour, Thea answered messages from neighbors.
For the second, she walked.
For the third, she stopped pretending she could read.
At noon, Astrid Voss arrived.
Lachlan’s grandmother entered the room like she owned the hospital.
At seventy-four, Astrid was tall, silver-haired, immaculate, and capable of making silence feel like an employee who had failed to prepare.
She kissed Thea once on each cheek.
“How is she?”
“Still in surgery.”
Astrid looked at Lachlan.
“You’ve been here the entire time?”
“Yes.”
Her expression softened so briefly Thea almost missed it.
“Good.”
Astrid sat.
For twenty minutes they talked about nothing.
Then Lachlan’s phone vibrated.
He handed it toward Thea.
“Would you read that?”
Thea blinked.
Then remembered.
Blind.
Right.
She took the phone.
The message was from someone named Gideon.
BOARD REQUESTED EMERGENCY VOTE. MERCER ACQUISITION. 2 P.M. WE NEED YOU.
Thea read it aloud.
Astrid sighed.
“Your uncle has the timing of a vulture.”
Thea’s eyes lifted.
Uncle.
Gideon.
The initials in Lachlan’s hidden investigation were unknown to her, but she remembered him saying his family was involved.
Lachlan held out his hand.
She returned the phone.
“I’m not leaving.”
Astrid frowned.
“This acquisition has been under negotiation for six months.”
“So has Mrs. Lindquist’s surgery, in a less fortunate way.”
“This is business.”
“This is also my business.”
Thea looked at him.
Astrid did too.
Something shifted in the older woman’s face.
Approval.
Perhaps surprise.
“You could join remotely.”
“No.”
“Lachlan.”
“I said no.”
His grandmother studied him.
Then her gaze moved to Thea.
“Marriage has made you inconveniently human in under twenty-four hours.”
Thea nearly smiled.
“I don’t think I can take credit.”
“Oh, take it.”
Astrid rose.
“I’ve been attempting it for three decades.”
She left to make calls.
Thea waited until she was out of sight.
“You didn’t have to stay.”
Lachlan turned his head toward her voice.
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because you shouldn’t wait alone.”
The answer landed somewhere dangerous.
Thea looked away.
At 2:46 p.m., a nurse appeared.
“Family of Elin Lindquist?”
Thea stood so quickly her chair struck the wall.
Lachlan rose beside her.
“The surgeon will speak with you in consultation room three.”
Thea’s entire body went cold.
“Is she okay?”
“The doctor will explain.”
The nurse’s trained expression revealed nothing.
Thea started walking.
Too fast.
Her shoe caught the leg of a chair.
She stumbled.
A hand closed around her forearm.
Lachlan caught her.
Perfectly.
Directly.
Before she made a sound.
Thea froze.
His fingers tightened once.
A second later, he seemed to realize what he had done.
Across the room, Astrid stood near the coffee machine.
Watching.
Thea’s heart stopped.
Lachlan released her immediately.
“You bumped the chair,” he said calmly.
Thea understood.
Sound.
He was explaining the reaction.
Astrid’s expression remained unreadable.
Then she looked toward the consultation rooms.
“Go.”
Thea moved.
Dr. Laird met them inside.
The moment she saw his face, she knew her mother was alive.
She knew because there was no preparation in his eyes.
No deliberate softening.
“The operation went well.”
Thea exhaled.
Not breathed.
Exhaled like her body had been holding air since childhood.
Dr. Laird continued.
“There was more tissue damage than imaging suggested, so the procedure took longer. We repaired it successfully. She’ll remain in intensive care tonight.”
Thea covered her mouth.
Tears came instantly.
Embarrassingly.
Uncontrollably.
She turned away.
And then Lachlan’s hand touched the center of her back.
Not possessive.
Not pulling.
Simply there.
Solid.
Warm.
Real.
Her mother was alive.
The rest blurred.
Questions.
Recovery.
Medication.
Visiting hours.
When they returned to the waiting area, Astrid was gone.
Lachlan’s phone contained three missed calls from his uncle.
He ignored them.
Thea watched him.
“You missed the vote.”
“Yes.”
“Was it important?”
“Yes.”
“You stayed anyway.”
“Yes.”
She wiped beneath one eye.
“Why do you keep answering complicated questions with one word?”
“Efficiency.”
“That’s irritating.”
“I know.”
They stood facing each other in an empty section of the hallway.
For once, Thea did not care whether he could see her crying.
Maybe because he had already seen her on the worst day.
Maybe because pretending now seemed pointless.
“Thank you,” she said.
His expression changed.
Not satisfaction.
Something closer to discomfort.
“You don’t owe me gratitude for something written into a contract.”
“I’m not thanking you for the money.”
He looked at her.
“I’m thanking you for staying.”
Lachlan was silent.
A cleaning cart squeaked somewhere down the hall.
Finally he said, “You’re welcome.”
Thea smiled despite herself.
That evening, they left the hospital at nine.
The underground garage was nearly empty.
Lachlan removed his dark glasses once they reached the private section where Emil had parked.
His eyes looked tired.
Thea walked beside him.
Three spaces from the car, Lachlan stopped.
“What?”
He did not answer.
His gaze fixed on the windshield.
A folded white card rested beneath the wiper.
Thea saw his face change.
The softness from the hospital disappeared.
“What is it?”
“Stay here.”
He walked forward.
“Lachlan—”
“Stay.”
He removed the card.
Read it.
His jaw tightened.
Thea ignored him and crossed the distance.
He turned the card over before she could see.
“You promised,” she said.
“This isn’t—”
“All of it.”
His eyes met hers.
For several seconds neither moved.
Then he handed her the card.
Six words had been typed in the center.
PRETTY WIFE.
SHAME IF SHE SAW TOO MUCH.
Thea read it twice.
The parking garage suddenly felt enormous.
Every concrete pillar looked capable of hiding someone.
Every dark windshield became an eye.
She looked at Lachlan.
“So much for your investigation not becoming my problem.”
His face had gone completely cold.
Not at her.
At whoever had written the message.
Lachlan took the card from her.
When he spoke, his voice contained nothing of the man who had sat beside her in the waiting room.
“No.”
He looked across the rows of parked cars.
“This just became mine.”
And for the first time, Thea understood something important about the man she had married.
May you like
Lachlan Voss did not become frightening when he raised his voice.
He became frightening when he lowered it.
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