Chapter 88

Dominick waved Marissa away. "You should go," he mumbled, rubbing his temples. "It's not appropriate."

Marissa, sensing his need for solitude, smiled sweetly. "Of course, Dom. Get some rest. Call if you need anything." She slipped out, closing the door gently. But escape was impossible; her mind buzzed with possibilities.

Paisley woke refreshed, oblivious to the night's events. Serena, however, was frantic, demanding a visit to her injured Teddy. As they stepped into the hallway, they saw Marissa emerging from the adjoining room. The same outfit, the same telltale signs…Marissa had spent the night.

Marissa moved stiffly, hand pressed to her lower back, dark circles heavy under her eyes. She offered Paisley a bright, "Morning, Ms. Sution," but Paisley remained impassive, cradling Serena.

Undeterred, Marissa sauntered closer, her unsteady gait and constant back-rubbing broadcasting her discomfort—a performance, Paisley suspected.

"Crazy last night," Marissa purred, "Barely slept. Aches all over. Look at these bags!"

Paisley’s brow furrowed. "Ms. Prescott, is this really appropriate in front of a three-year-old?"

Maria, standing nearby, glared at Marissa.

Grayson's voice cut through the tension. "Marissa," he said from the doorway of room 3302, "Shouldn't you be packing your bags?" He hadn’t seen Paisley since their encounter at the stables.

As they left, Grayson noticed Marissa's discomfort. "Don't tell me your back's killing you from sleeping on the couch?"

Marissa tensed. "No, Grayson…I didn't…"

"Why wouldn't you use your own room? The couch must have been awful!" Grayson pressed, utterly bewildered. "What made you stay?" Yesterday's events at the stables—the brooch, the lie—flashed through his mind.

His gaze fell on Paisley; guilt washed over him. He wanted to apologize, but the words eluded him.