After the work day, the men had fallen into patterns. They all had their assigned chores and performed them with the politeness of good roommates. They gave her every distant courtesy. She couldn’t fault them in any way—except the emotional chasm they seemed to be digging between her and them.

From the moment she woke until the time she went to bed, Belle’s frustration made her want to scream. And her heart felt so close to breaking.

At least until deep in the night. Then they ceased being distant roommates and came to her as lovers. Every night, they seduced her, touched her, groaned about how good she felt until she couldn’t think straight. They took her with their fingers, mouths, and cocks repeatedly. They impaled her ass with progressively larger plugs and they spanked her. They tied her up and forced her to take them in any and every way they wanted her. They consumed her completely as they made love to her.

Had sex, she corrected herself mentally. They had sex with her. They never mentioned love anymore. They cuffed her and teased her until they made her shout out their names. They grew their collection of toys a little each day and used them on her relentlessly. They taught her the intricacies of a D/s relationship, playing the role of her Masters every single night. And though Eric and Tate still slept in her room, they no longer cuddled her the way they used to. They merely stayed close so she would feel safe. Tate had even dragged an overstuffed chair into the room and began sleeping there.

Kellan always left the moment the orgasms ended. He would make her cry out until her throat felt scratchy and raw. Then he would depart for his own room, and she wouldn’t see him again until he nodded her way as they passed in the hall the next morning like relative strangers.

When they shared their bodies and such pleasure, Belle thought only of how they made her feel. When they were in bed together, she didn’t think about the future. She lived in the moment. But the moment was starting to confine her. Oppress her. Depress her.

With a weary sigh, she stepped away from the kitchen sink and sat at the eat-in table. Restlessness settled over her. She couldn’t seem to quiet the voices in her head. It had been days since she’d told Tate, Eric, and Kellan that she couldn’t return to Chicago with them. Belle still knew she couldn’t resume her old life, but she now dreaded the moment they would walk away. Because they would. Soon they’d realize she wasn’t the woman for them. Despite Tate’s idiosyncrasies and Kellan’s reluctance to get involved, they were a packaged deal. They would never be happy any other way. When they realized she couldn’t fulfill them, they would leave her for good.

Life wasn’t fair. She’d learned that at a young age. She’d watched fate snatch away her mother’s happy ending. After her father’s death, Mom hadn’t believed she had anything to live for. When her men had packed up and gone home, Belle feared she’d feel the same.

Sir scratched at the back door and she got up to let him out, closing the door quickly to keep out the humidity of the night.

At least the air conditioner seemed to be working now. It was a small miracle. Sir barked, and Belle saw the outline of that damn cat prowling around in the dark. The thing seemed to delight in making her dog insane.

The kitchen door swung open, and Eric strode through. He grabbed a beer from the fridge. “Thanks for doing the dishes.”

His tone was so polite, it hurt. “Thank you for cooking dinner. Are you still working?”

He nodded. “Yeah, my hearing got postponed until Monday, but I’ve got to be there. I bought my plane tickets this morning. I’ll only be gone for two days. Will you be okay here?”

She nodded, but the thought of not seeing him even for a few days made her anxious and achy. “Sure. Things should settle down now that the A/C is fixed and the wiring finally seems to be up to code.”

“I won’t be sad to see that pervert go.” Eric had never warmed to Mike. “What’s your next project?”

She hated the distance between them. He didn’t move closer to her, didn’t reach out to take her in his arms. The abyss seemed to widen every day. “The parlor. I’m going to sand the wainscoting and strip the paint from the crown molding so I can stain them and restore both to a more period-appropriate color.”

He nodded again, but it was a negligent gesture. “I’m sure it will be lovely.”

And then he was gone once more, heading back to the living room and leaving a terrible void in his wake.

Something had to give. Right now, she just hoped Eric actually came back from Chicago. What if he got there and remembered how much he loved it, how much less complicated everything was in his office? How much he enjoyed the comforts of his home? What if he called in a few days and told her to have a good life? Kell and Tate would leave shortly thereafter.

At the terrible thought, a sob rose up inside her.

Once, she’d thought they’d all be better off if the guys left. Now, Belle wasn’t entirely sure she’d live through their parting. She’d gotten so used to being with them, to having them in her everyday life. She couldn’t imagine how quiet the house would be without them. But her feelings stemmed from more than a worry about being lonely. Belle would miss them like she’d miss the beating heart they’d tear from her chest when they left.

She took a deep breath and picked up her tea mug. Weariness threatened to invade her bones. Despite the fact that she wasn’t alone at night, what little sleep she got wasn’t restful. Her dreams were still haunted by swinging ropes and screaming women as they were dragged to their deaths. She still heard those whispers in the night that warned her to leave. Often, she’d sit straight up in bed. Then the voices would stop, only to start again when she settled back against her pillow.

The sound from the television drifted from the living room.

Police are still investigating the murder of local madam, Karen Ehlers, age fifty-nine. Ehlers allegedly ran the most upscale brothel in New Orleans. She was found strangled in her home just over a week ago amid rumors that she was preparing to write a tell-all autobiography that would have outed several of New Orleans’s most powerful men as her clients. The police haven’t made any arrests. In a press conference earlier today, they requested that anyone with information about Elhers’s infamous client list or the murder contact them.

Belle shuddered as she walked into the parlor and saw another dead woman center screen. The last thing she needed before bed was to listen to tales of death and mayhem. She already had them running through her head every night.

Belle stretched as she walked into the parlor and turned on the overhead lights. They illuminated the room with warm, golden light as she headed for her favorite chair in the house. It was a big comfortable wingback in the corner. The fabric was an eye-assaulting brocade, but she couldn’t bring herself to change it. Big bookshelves full of eclectic tomes flanked the chair, and the prettiest Tiffany lamp decorated the adjoining side table.

At some point, her grandmother had begun using this space less as a room to greet guests and more as a cozy place to relax. She could envision her grandmother sitting in the comfy chair while reading. Belle had taken to curling up there in the evenings and reading her grandmother’s journal before she retired.

The woman she’d met only at her father’s funeral fascinated her. The diary hinted at some big and slightly scandalous parties back in her day. Belle had wondered more than once what her grandmother would say about her unusual relationship with Kell, Eric, and Tate. Oddly enough, she had the sense that Grandma would have understood.

The overhead lights flickered, blinked twice, and died, sending the room into gloom again. Belle sighed. Maybe they weren’t done with Mike after all. She reached over and pulled the chain on the Tiffany lamp. Luckily, it came on, giving her a small circle of light. Belle settled against the back of the cozy chair, deciding the little pool of illumination was actually quite nice.

She opened the journal, flipping to the place where she’d left off last night, and settled in eagerly.

My darling boy, I hear you had a baby girl. Annabelle. Oh, my son. I’m so proud you named her after my dearest Belle. She loved you so. I sent a gift, but I don’t expect you to receive it well. If you send it back to me, I’ll give it to the orphanage. They can always use the money. I wish I could see her, see the smallest piece of myself in her beautiful, tiny face. You won’t allow it, but know that I love that child like I love you, son. Tell her to have the best life she can. Tell her to find love and when she does, you tell her to never let it go. You tell her to fight in a way I didn’t. I let your father go too easily. You tell her she’ll never regret that she fought. She will only mourn if she doesn’t.

Would it please you to know I sold the business? Likely not. I’m too old to control those girls anymore. I’m far past my prime. I’ll just read my cards in the Square from now on. I’ll tell tourists the futures they want to hear, then maybe—just maybe—they’ll create their own self-fulfilling prophecies and make their dreams come true. Sometimes all a person needs is a little faith. I have the greatest faith that someday you will forgive me. Someday I will prove myself and my adoration to you. I love you, my boy. Take care of your baby girl.

Tears sprang to Belle’s eyes. She sniffled, the words in front of her watery but seared into her heart. She flipped the page to read on, to find out why her father had never forgiven his own mother. But that was the last page of the entry. The rest of the pages remained void—like their mother-son rapport.