Holly Baxter's POV

I changed my plans. I didn't go to the police; instead, I walked to a convenience store and bought gummy bears and soda. I deserved good things, some pure comfort, not something wrapped in deceit.

I would act like nothing happened.

When I finally got home, the lights were off. Keegan usually left a lamp on. I slipped off my shoes—suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind. The familiar scent of cologne.

My body stiffened.

"Keegan? Have you been drinking tonight?"

He let out a low hum, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Holly, where have you been all day? I called you, why didn't you answer?"

I forced myself to relax. "Sorry, I had my phone on silent."

He turned me around. "Any news? About Beckham?"

I lowered my eyes. "No, nothing. Still no news."

He pulled me closer, burying his face in my hair.

Too close. This wasn't how friends hugged.

Then, the tip of his tongue lightly brushed against my earlobe.

Keegan Carlson. The man Beckham had assigned to "calm" me down.

While Beckham was "away," he played the role of the considerate friend.

Beckham was likely completely oblivious to Keegan's true intentions. He thought Keegan was just a loyal buddy, dutifully executing his part in the prank. Beckham's arrogance blinded him to the betrayal coming from his own brother in arms.

He had completely underestimated Keegan.

Keegan's intimate gestures, lingering touches, and whispered comforts all masked a much more selfish motive. His closeness wasn't genuine friendship; it was calculated. His intentions were far from noble.

His method of "comforting" crossed way over the boundaries of friendship.

Holly Baxter's POV

Keegan came from a prestigious family, even wealthier than Beckham's.

To outsiders, Keegan was reserved and unapproachable. I used to think so too—distant, polite, Beckham's friend, and nothing more.

After college, I got a graphic design job at a mid-sized company. It turned out the company was actually a subsidiary of Keegan's family conglomerate. Legally speaking, he was my boss.

About a month before Beckham disappeared, our dynamic shifted.

When I got the news of Beckham's disappearance, I was devastated. Keegan, acting guilty for his supposed role in it, offered to take care of me.

"He went missing while hiking with me. I feel incredibly guilty," he had said.

"Beckham would want me to do this," he whispered. "He'd want to make sure you weren't alone." His kindness felt like a lifeline, bringing me immense comfort during my agonizing pain.

His care was incredibly meticulous. He prepared every meal and even anticipated my needs.

"Keegan, you don't have to do all this. I can manage."

I assured him that I didn't blame him for Beckham's disappearance. I was still defending Beckham, deeply trapped in my own delusions.

One morning, I caught him folding my laundry—including my underwear.

I instantly blushed.

"Keegan, stop! You don't need to do that!"

He looked up, his expression entirely serious. "I just wanted to help. I do laundry all the time. Is there anything else you need help with?"

I shook my head. "No, Keegan, I've got it."

On the night he was supposed to leave, I woke up feeling thirsty. Passing by the guest room, I noticed a sliver of light spilling from the crack of the door. I tiptoed closer and peeked inside.

Keegan was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless. His back was to me, his muscles clearly defined. In his hands, he held a worn T-shirt of mine—the one I used to sleep in. He pressed the shirt to his face and took a deep breath. He gripped it tightly, almost with a sense of devout reverence.

His whole body was tense, every muscle pulled taut. The veins on his forearms bulged, tracing sharp lines beneath his skin. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed as he clutched the fabric.

I let out a soft gasp. My foot had bumped against a loose floorboard.

He whipped around. His usually calm and composed eyes were wide open, dark and brooding, radiating a raw, feral intensity.

A gaze brimming with raw lust locked onto mine.

Holly Baxter's POV

I froze.

The air between us was thick with unspeakable tension, as if foreshadowing something. His naked desire, displayed so bluntly, changed everything.

Despite my shock, I found myself getting pulled deeper in.

Reason told me I should push him away—he was Beckham's friend.

While I was faking my grief, Keegan was the only one by my side. When I cried myself to sleep, he sat by my bed. When I couldn't eat, he brought me food.

I had always had my suspicions about Beckham's disappearance. His overprotective parents were acting abnormally calm, seemingly unwilling to involve the police. His friends were still living their lavish lives on social media.

That night at the bar, all those doubts became reality.

Even though I had discovered the truth, Keegan still didn't let me go. He held me, his chin resting on the top of my head. His closeness felt suffocating, yet strangely protective. He showed no sign of letting go, maintaining the intimate physical contact.

"Did you make dinner?" I asked, my voice laced with exhaustion.

"Yes, Holly. Your favorite. It's ready."

"Go heat it up," I said.

He released me immediately and headed to the kitchen without a word of protest.

After eating, I took off my sweater and tossed it to him. "Wash this, I'm too tired."

He hesitated. "May I?"

"I'm exhausted, I really don't have the energy."

With a faint smile, he picked up the sweater and walked toward the bathroom like a man bestowed with a great honor.

I knew he'd be busy. He did things meticulously, which bought me time. He had left his phone on the coffee table. I unlocked it effortlessly—he had never changed his passcode.

The first message thread I found was from "B-man." Beckham.

He had been using an anonymous account to stay in touch with the outside world during his "disappearance."

During the first few days, Beckham had checked in on me. "How's Holly doing? Still crying?" followed by a smiley emoji.

Beckham sent a message: "She's so annoying, always whining and crying. Thanks for keeping an eye on her."

Keegan responded: "When are you going to end this farce? If you don't like her, just break up."

Beckham replied: "Don't be stupid. I don't hate her. She's just doing too much. She needs to know her place. Kiara is right. Let her suffer a bit, and she'll learn to be more obedient."

Keegan didn't reply.

Suddenly, a group chat notification popped up. The name: "Princess Kiara and Her Three Servants."