Chapter 2: Dinner With the Devil—And a Dangerous Lie

Until the day I was bandaging a bleeding arm, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Green, suddenly said, "Mr. Hawthorne will be joining you for dinner tonight."

I'd just been trying to figure out if the system was real, and then, just like that, he walked right through my door.

"Let the kitchen know to make a few more of Marcus’s favorite dishes," I said.

Mrs. Green looked at me like I’d grown a second head. I repeated myself. She finally nodded and left.

The old Autumn Sinclair hated Marcus and never cared about his tastes, so no wonder the staff looked shocked.

But I’m not the old Autumn. Now that Marcus and I are stuck together, I’ve got to make this work.

That evening, Marcus actually showed up—just like he said.

I watched through the window as he strode in, still in his leather jacket, carrying that dangerous, keep-out energy. Classic.

He looked like he’d just stepped off a Harley—wind in his hair, all sharp lines and shadows. Even the way he walked made the staff scatter. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and pasted on my best happy-wife smile.

"Honey, you're home! Dinner's ready," I called, trying to sound cheerful, and I looped my arm through his.

He stiffened, his sharp eyes narrowing. Suspicious.

"These are all your favorites," I said, gesturing to the table. "I asked the kitchen to make them since you were coming over."

While he sat, I kept up my act, introducing every dish, piling his plate high. Overkill, maybe.

I rattled off the names—pot roast, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, even his favorite apple pie. I was practically the poster child for Southern hospitality. Go me.

But Marcus didn't touch a bite.

Instead, he asked for a new set of plates and silverware. Seriously?

What the heck?

I tried to please him, and he acted like I was serving poison. Nice.

That night, he stayed in the guest room.

"Let me help you get settled."

"I can handle it," he replied. He stripped off his jacket, but left the rest on as he lay down.

I was frustrated. Seriously, what was his problem?

So cold to me—what happened to the tragic-muse filter, anyway? Did he have a girlfriend out there?

He’d been gone for a month. I guess it was possible.

Later that night, while he slept, I quietly lifted the comforter. I wanted to check if he had a wound on his left arm like mine.

I crept closer, heart pounding, trying not to make a sound. The moonlight spilled across his arm. I reached out, fingers trembling.

Before I could reach, he grabbed me and pinned me down.

"What are you doing?"

I choked. "Let me go, will you?"

His grip on my neck was so tight I could barely breathe. Not good.

To hell with being the muse—this author was a scammer, I swear. Clearly, I’m just cannon fodder.

Marcus’s gaze was wild. For a moment, I thought I was really going to die.

Desperate, I blurted out the only thing I could think of. Anything to get him to stop.

"I'm pregnant!"

His grip loosened instantly.

Marcus looked stunned. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that.

In the original, I secretly took something to end the pregnancy. Messed up.

"Pregnant?"

His voice shook a little.

I nodded hard, letting a tear slip down my cheek.

He gently wiped it away.

His cold fingertips brushed my skin, and I flinched.

But Marcus didn’t get angry. Instead, he pulled me into his arms. Unexpected.

Thank goodness I woke up here early. The original hadn’t had time to end the pregnancy.