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."

Holly Baxter's POV

In the group chat, Kiara had just posted: "Guess what? Someone saw Holly crying at the office today! Her coworkers were handing her tissues! This is totally working!"

"Servant 1" replied: "Oh yeah, I heard about that too! Poor Holly, she's so heartbroken."

Kiara: "See? My methods always work."

This circle consisted of Beckham and Kiara's closest friends. Four male members, three of whom were dubbed "servants." Only Keegan used his real name.

Keegan rarely spoke. His replies were brief, usually just a single word. He was more of an observer than a participant.

Most of the time, Beckham and Kiara were flirting, sharing inside jokes only the two of them understood.

Beckham complained about spending too much money on Kiara: "She always wants the latest designer clothes. My account is almost empty."

Kiara's response: "Haha."

She then wrote: "Why is Holly always so mad at my guy friends? She's just jealous that I have so many guys worshiping me."

Beckham: "Don't worry about her. You deserve it all."

I kept scrolling down.

Every time Beckham had been late for a date with me, he was with Kiara.

When I was hospitalized with a fever, he was out partying with her. Those expensive gifts he gave me were her hand-me-downs, now masquerading as my treasures.

Just as I was about to close the messages, a private text from Beckham to Keegan popped up.

Imitating Keegan's texting style, I simply replied with a question mark.

Beckham replied instantly: "Bro, remember Kiara's birthday a month ago? The night I got wasted at her place? Don't ever let anyone know. Never mention it. If Holly asks where I was, just say I was with you."

I typed: "What exactly happened between you and Kiara?"

Beckham: "We agreed not to talk about it. Just pretend it never happened. It's just to avoid drama, you know? Things got... complicated. We were both drunk that night, but we've moved past it."

Holly Baxter's POV

Keegan emerged from the bathroom, holding my freshly washed sweater, his hair still damp.

His expression was calm, but the faint flush around his eyes betrayed his earlier tension.

I gave him a knowing smile. "Keegan, are your hands working fine now?"

He froze.

"Was there something on the clothes?" I pointed at the sweater. "Anything that shouldn't be there?"

He quickly shook his head. "No, Holly. Everything is perfectly clean."

"I'm not going to check, Keegan."

I studied him for a moment—tall, broad-shouldered, and well-built. Far more physically imposing than Beckham.

"I might have another dress for you to wash later."

He lowered his gaze, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

I walked up to him, unbuttoned his shirt, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him.

I pulled back slightly. "Beckham... he might really be dead, Keegan. This is all... just too overwhelming. Can you stay with me tonight? I don't want to be alone."

I used Beckham's "death" to justify my actions.

Keegan's eyes widened in shock and pure joy. Our relationship had crossed a major threshold.

In my heart, there was absolutely no feeling left for Beckham. Any lingering affection had been thoroughly incinerated.