Betrayed, Then Claimed by Fate

Chapter9 Bikini Blonde

Lynn's POV

My phone rings at exactly nine AM, dragging me from the first peaceful sleep I've had in weeks. The California sunshine streams through my floor-to-ceiling windows, warming my skin with the promise of a perfect day.

"Ms. Quinn? This is Jessica from Hartwell Real Estate. I have excellent news about your property."

I sit up instantly, my pulse quickening. "The house sold?"

"Better than sold—we had a bidding war. Final price came in at fifty thousand over asking, all cash, closing in five days."

Laughter bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest. "That's incredible."

"The buyers waived inspection and are taking it completely as-is. I've never seen a property move this fast, especially at that price point."

After I hang up, I lie back against the pillows, letting relief wash over me in waves. No more mortgage payments. No more reminders of the life I'd planned with a man who wanted me dead. Just freedom and a bank account that puts me completely in control of my own destiny.

Time to explore my new city.

I shower quickly. When I emerge, I dress in white shorts that show off my newly toned legs and a coral tank top that hugs my curves. The California sunshine calls for confidence, for the kind of clothes Charles used to criticize as "inappropriate for a lawyer's fiancée."

'f**k what Charles thinks. f**k all of them.'

I grab my purse and head for the door. Maybe exploring the city will help me think. Help me figure out my next move.

The hallway is quiet, morning sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. I'm halfway to the elevator when a door opens behind me.

"Morning, beautiful neighbor."

I turn to find Logan stepping out of his apartment, looking unfairly handsome in dark jeans and a white button-down that stretches perfectly across his broad shoulders. His dark hair is slightly messed, like he's been running his fingers through it, and those blue eyes light up when they see me.

Despite everything—the rage, the fear, the murderous conspiracy—I feel something ease in my chest.

"You're up early," he says, that devastating smile making my pulse skip. "Thought you'd sleep in after yesterday's travel."

"Couldn't sleep." The admission slips out before I can stop it. "Figured I'd explore the city. Clear my head."

Logan's expression shifts, concern flickering in those ocean-blue eyes. "Everything okay?"

'No. My fiancé just took out a five million dollar life insurance policy so he can kill me and run off with my sister.'

"Just a lot on my mind." I force a smile. "New job, new city, new life. You know."

He studies me for a moment, and I get the distinct impression he sees more than I'm saying. But he doesn't push, just nods slowly.

"Any recommendations?" I ask, desperate to change the subject. "For exploring, I mean."

"Depends what you're looking for. Beach time? Shopping? Tourist traps?"

"All of the above?"

Logan's smile returns, warm and genuine. "In that case..." He pulls keys from his pocket—not car keys, something smaller. "Want some company? I know all the best spots."

"Don't you have to work?"

"Perks of being senior partner—I make my own schedule." He heads toward a stairwell I hadn't noticed. "Come on. I want to show you something."

I follow him up two flights to a section of roof I'd missed yesterday. The morning air is crisp, the city sprawling below us in golden light.

Covered by a sleek black tarp is something large and unmistakably powerful.

Logan pulls off the covering to reveal a motorcycle that looks like it belongs in a movie—all black chrome and dangerous curves, built for speed and sin.

"You ride?" I ask, trying to sound casual instead of incredibly turned on.

"Among other talents." He hands me a helmet, fingers brushing mine with enough electricity to make me forget, just for a moment, about insurance policies and murder plots. "Trust me?"

I should say no. Should make excuses about safety, about keeping things neighborly.

But something about Logan—his steady presence, his genuine warmth—makes me feel safe for the first time since watching that video.

"Let's go."

The bike purrs to life beneath us, and I wrap my arms around Logan's waist. His body is solid warmth against mine, all hard muscle and confident strength.

As we glide out of the garage and into the city streets, I feel something shift inside me. The panic from Charles's call starts to recede, replaced by the simple pleasure of speed and sunshine and possibility.

Logan navigates traffic with easy confidence, pointing out landmarks whenever we stop at lights. "Best bookstore in the city," he calls over the engine's growl, gesturing toward a charming corner shop. "That coffee place has pastries that should be illegal."

I file away every recommendation, imagining myself really living here—not just surviving or hiding, but thriving.

We head west toward the coast. The urban landscape opens up to reveal the Pacific Ocean stretching endlessly toward the horizon. Logan pulls into a parking area overlooking golden sand dotted with colorful umbrellas.

"Welcome to Manhattan Beach," he says, killing the engine.

The beach is everything I imagined California would be—perfect sand meeting perfect waves under perfect blue sky. The air tastes of salt and sunscreen and pure possibility.

"It's beautiful," I breathe, removing my helmet.

"Wait until you see the sunset from here." Logan's voice is warm with genuine enthusiasm. "Ready to walk?"

We stroll along the boardwalk, and I notice how many women do obvious double-takes at Logan. Their gazes linger hungrily on his profile, his broad shoulders, the confident way he carries himself.

And I notice their envious glances at me.

For the first time since discovering Charles's betrayal, I don't feel like the fool who got played. I feel like someone worth envying.

"You okay?" Logan asks softly. "You seem a million miles away."

I glance at him, surprised by his perceptiveness. "Just thinking."

"About?"

'About how my fiancé is planning to kill me. About how my sister is helping him. About how I need to destroy them both before they destroy me.'

"About how different everything feels here," I say instead. "Like I can finally breathe."

Logan's expression softens with understanding. "Running from something?"

"More like running toward something new." I meet his eyes. "Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense." His hand finds the small of my back, a touch that's both casual and comforting. "Everyone deserves a fresh start."

The simple words, the genuine warmth in his voice—it does something to the tight knot of fear in my chest. Loosens it just enough to let me breathe.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "For this. For showing me around."

"My pleasure." His smile is devastating. "Besides, I have ulterior motives."

"Oh?"

"Getting to spend the day with a beautiful woman who doesn't bore me to death with small talk?" He grins. "That's a win in my book."

I laugh—actually laugh. "Glad I'm not boring."

"Trust me." Logan's eyes hold mine. "You're anything but boring."

Something passes between us—awareness, attraction, the promise of something more.

For a moment, I let myself forget about Charles and Amy and murder plots. Let myself just be a woman walking on a beach with an attractive man who makes her feel safe.

"Logan!" a voice calls from behind us.

We turn to see a stunning blonde jogging toward us in a bikini that barely qualifies as clothing. She's gorgeous in that artificial, high-maintenance way—all enhanced curves and perfect tan.