Which might be why, when Chandler was in sixth grade and Pierson was in eighth grade, they seemed to disappear. No school records.
Hell, no records of anything.
I sat back in my chair, running a hand over my face as I tried to figure out what this meant. How it related to everything.
Maybe it didn’t.
Maybe it was exactly as Ariana suggested.
Maybe I was looking for a villain.
Maybe Blake simply reacted the way he did because the word “chosen” reminded him of the school this girl he’d been trying to find for years had attended.
If I were in his shoes and heard someone mention being “chosen”, I probably would have done a double take, too, especially with how infatuated he seemed to be with finding information on Chandler.
After all, if Blake were somehow involved, why would he have put his life at risk so I could get back to Ariana? Why would he have told me about all the women Schaffer sterilized? He wouldn’t have. He would have lied to me about all of that, too.
The sound of footsteps cut through, snapping me back to the present. I lifted my eyes toward the winding staircase, my lips lifting in the corner when I saw Ariana descending toward me, the sunlight streaming through the open space catching in her golden hair, making her look almost ethereal.
Like an angel coming down from heaven.
Or Persephone descending to the depths of Hades’ Underworld.
She wore one of my button-down shirts, only a few buttons fastened, revealing her long legs and ample cleavage.
I’d never been a fan of wearing formal attire. Despite owning one of the most successful cybersecurity firms in the country, I much preferred wearing t-shirts and jeans. I’d lost count of the number of investor and board meetings I’d attended wearing precisely that.
But seeing Ariana in my button-down shirt with nothing but skin beneath it made me reconsider my position on formal attire… Especially if having her wear it was my reward.
“How long have you been awake?” she asked as she approached, her voice husky with sleep.
“A while,” I said, gripping her hips as she leaned down to feather her mouth against mine.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“I had a lot on my mind.”
Her gaze flicked to my laptop that currently displayed Chandler Meadows’ sixth grade yearbook photo. “What’s that?”
She hopped onto the edge of the table and reached for a strawberry from the plate beside my laptop.
“The white rabbit that led me down a bit of a hole this morning.”
She arched a single brow. “And what did you find?”
I blew out a long breath. “That you were right. With Victor gone, I was just looking for another villain.”
She grabbed another strawberry and popped it into her mouth, her eyes gleaming. “Say it again.”
“I was looking for another villain,” I repeated.
“Not that.” She leaned closer. “The other thing.”
I blinked, trying to determine what she was referring to. Then understanding dawned, and I angled toward her, sliding my hands up her legs.
“You were right.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and a tiny whimper fell from her throat. “God, yes. Say it again.”