The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Royce's abscondence from the farmhouse left a resounding silence, the echo of the slamming door reverberating through the air.

A cocktail of disbelief and worry tightened in my chest. I found that our interactions seemed to orbit this dance lately—him in tempestuous retreat and me in hasty pursuit.

My heart pounded in my chest as I pursued Royce. Mud clung to my sock-clad feet like quicksand, and the cold, wet grass soaked through the ends of my jogging bottoms.

However, I remained unperturbed. I was already dishevelled from the earlier downpour, so a few more droplets on my face were of little consequence.

Royce strode ahead, his shoulders hunched and his jaw clenched, his anger radiating like a dark aura.

I trailed behind him, his fury a tangible presence that enveloped me, even in the shadows.

"Royce," I shouted, struggling to keep up with his long, powerful strides. "Will Levi be okay? He looked upset."

Royce unlocked his vehicle with a metallic clink. He settled into the driver's seat, his mismatched eyes fixed on the house. His jaw was still tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel like vice clamps. He sat there for a moment, his brooding silence as heavy as the cumulonimbus clouds overhead.

My hands shook as I grappled with the driver's side door, the icy wind howling through the cracks.

I wrenched the door shut as hard as possible and tumbled into the truck. In a blank state, I sat there shortly after, unsure what to do or say next. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"What are you? My fucking shrink?" Twisting the ignition key, he powered the truck, the engine roaring ferociously, its frame quivering with anticipation. The moment he shifted and floored the accelerator, it lunged forward, trailing a plume of exhaust fumes intermixed with splatters of filthy rainwater. "No, Liv. I don't want to talk about it. You weren't even supposed to be here."

Averting my gaze to the window, I dared not look at Royce, fearing that his short fuse would reduce me to tears. I feared that any word or action of mine would provide a pretext for his chastisement.

Royce's voice was barely above a whisper as he said, "Thank you. For helping with my old man." His eyes met mine briefly, and I saw a hint of vulnerability in their depths. I knew he was still shaken by his father's aggression and alcoholism, and I was grateful that he felt comfortable enough to let me see that side of him. "I didn't expect you to do that for me."

Given Royce's strained relationship with his father, his willingness to help him was unobjectionable. In fact, it was admirable, a reflection of his moral qualities.

How could I not intervene after witnessing his magnanimous act of lifting his father from the ground, carrying him into the room, and untying his shoelaces? I know of no one in my social circle who would be so solicitous and benevolent, regardless of familial ties.

I smiled demurely. "It's okay."

He drove slowly down the country road, one hand on the wheel, the other tracing the outline of his lips. "What's the score with you tonight?" he asked, his words veiled in ambiguity. "You don't have a key to get in, remember?"

"Oh," I said, recalling my predicament. "I will have to contact the surveillance company in the morning. They will probably send a representative out to issue a new set of keys."

He hummed softly, his voice deep and resonant. "So, where are you sleeping?"

I had not considered the future beyond the present moment. I could seek refuge at Hannah's residence, but Keith would likely inform Daniel of my whereabouts.