<b>Chapter </b>445
James <b>aauntered </b>over <b>to </b>the <b>fridge </b>and <b>fetched a bottle </b>of water, <b>effortlessly </b><b>twisting </b><b>off </b>the <b>cap </b>before <b>handing </b><b>it </b>over to Mirabe. <b>“</b><b>They’ve </b><b>got </b><b>their </b>own <b>fish to </b><b>fry</b><b>,</b><b>” </b><b>he </b><b>said, his </b>voice <b>taking </b>on a nonchnt tone whenever he <b>mentioned </b>Wyatt.
<b>Mirabe </b>let out a soft <b>‘</b><b>oh</b><b>, </b><b>taking </b>the water and sipping <b>it </b>gingerly.
James <b>found </b>his spot <b>on </b>the <b>couch</b><b>, </b>slouched back and sank into <b>the </b>cushions <b>with </b>casual ease. “Make yourself at home here,” he drawled. “Do whatever you please.”
<b>Casting </b>him a sidelong nce, Mirabe offered a genuinepliment, “You’re quite the generous host, boss.”
A wry twitch flickered at <b>the </b>corner of James‘ mouth before he steered the conversation in another direction. “You don’t strike me as the type to stay out without good reason. Trouble at the homestead?”
Pulling a throw pillow to her chest, Mirabe propped her chin atop it and snuggled deeper into the sofa, her voice distant and soft. “We’ve gotpany at home.”
A smirk yed on James‘ lips. “Seems like this guest of yours is someone of importance.” Mirabe waved a dismissive hand, desiring nothing more than tranquility. “Just let me catch some z’s.” With that, she closed her eyes, her serene expression betraying no sign of guard.
James‘ eyes briefly swept over her, his lips curving slightly. He reached for a book on the coffee table, content to let the room settle into a peaceful hush punctuated only by the asional turn of a page.
At one point, his phone buzzed with a message. He nced at the screen, then muted the device andid it back down, inadvertently missing a call from Donald.
Time trickled by, and Mirabe, who had only intended to rest her eyes briefly, slipped into a genuine slumber. It was her phone’s insistent buzzing that eventually roused her. Groggily, she fished it out and paused before answering the call, “Hello, Donald…”
James, descending the stairs with a nket in hand, drew near just in time to catch the name ‘Donald‘ as Mirabe spoke into the phone. He paused, taking a few measured steps to stand by the armrest of Mirabe’s couch.
She wrapped up the call with Donald quickly, hanging up without much conversation.
As James was about to speak, his gaze inadvertently swept over the phone in her hand, still lit with the recent call’s glow. When he saw the number at the top of her recent calls list, his expression took on a peculiar cast. He set the nket aside, asking casually, <b>“</b>Someone looking for you?<b>” </b>
10-49
Mirabe hummed a confirmation, then stowed her phone away <b>and </b><b>rose </b><b>from </b><b>the </b><b>couch</b>, stretching her armsnguidly. “I’d better head back,<b>” </b>she said.
Leaving so soon? Won’t you stay a bit longer?” James‘ voice was gentle, but he made no move to insist.
Mirabe adjusted her jacket, her demeanorzy, “Nah, I’ve got homework to tackle.”
Realizing that she wasn’t going back on her decision, James didn’t press further. He escorted her to the grand iron gates of the vi, watching until she had disappeared inside her own ce before turning back to the quiet of the living room.
Reflecting on the glimpse of the number he’d seen on Mirabe’s phone, James‘ eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He picked up his phone from the coffee table, finding several texts and a couple of missed calls, all from his ‘runaway‘ grandfather, Donald.
After reading the texts, James refrained from calling back. Instead, his fingers traced the screen as he contemted for a moment, then sent a message in response. [You’re with the Davis family.]
He chose an assertive tone, leaving no room for doubt.