Regret Came Too Late (Grace and Ethan) novel Chapter 102

Henderson Group's records room was huge, with a good 3,200 square feet of filing space.

Grace walked in carrying a broom, figuring she'd be stuck cleaning for hours, but the place was obviously professionally maintained. There was not a speck of dust in sight, so there was no need for cleaning.

She grabbed a random book, plopped it over her face, and settled for a nice, guilt-free nap. She had lost track of time when the book was suddenly lifted from her face.

Grace blinked the sleep from her eyes, looked up, and nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of Ethan standing there.

Ethan lifted the book, eyeing the cover before reading aloud in his rich, deep voice. "Sharing a Home With My Boss?"

Seriously? Since when did the records room stock this kind of trash?

Grace had just needed something to shade her eyes. She hadn't even looked at what she was grabbing! It must've belonged to one of the cleaning staff. Heat flooded her cheeks, and her whole body grew tense.

"That's someone else's," she rushed to explain.

The door was closed, and Ethan was standing beside her, no longer in his wheelchair. The afternoon sunlight draped over them like a warm blanket. He turned to the first page with a graceful flick of his finger.

Grace wanted to disappear. That title alone promised way more than she ever wanted Ethan to see. She lunged for the book, yanking it away and tossing it across the room.

"Mr. Henderson, trust me. You don't want that filth in your head."

Ethan, clad in a black suit, took in her flushed face before turning away. "You were supposed to be cleaning, not napping."

"Sorry," Grace said instantly, dropping her gaze.

Slowly, he sank into the wheelchair with an almost unreal presence. In a detached tone, he said, "We're going somewhere."

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

Westridge Cemetery...

She had been piecing together the story about Eleanor. Rumor had it Eleanor was buried at Westridge Cemetery—an ultra-exclusive resting place where wealth meant nothing but connections meant everything.

Every headstone belonged to someone with a name that mattered. The security was beyond excessive, requiring face scans just to visit.

Sweat coated Grace's palms. Had she really played a part in Eleanor's death? Was Ethan bringing her to the cemetery alone to finally settle the score for Eleanor's sake?

She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror and, unexpectedly, straight into his stare. There was no denying Ethan had hit the genetic jackpot. But when that flawless face turned stormy? It was downright terrifying.

Forcing an uneasy smile, she pushed through the heavy silence. "Are you visiting someone there, Mr. Henderson?"

Ethan usually had files spread across his lap during car rides, but his hands were empty today.