Chapter 3 — Secrets in Shadows

Mia Lawson

The Iron Anchor wasn’t a place Mia Lawson would have chosen under normal circumstances. The pub, with its dim lighting and unapologetically gritty atmosphere, stood in stark contrast to the sleek, polished environments she knew. The creak of the wooden floorboards beneath her heels sent a shiver up her spine, and the mingling scents of saltwater, whiskey, and a faint trace of smoke wrapped around her like an unwelcome cloak. Black-and-white photos of old ships and weathered sailors lined the walls, their faded edges whispering stories of the past. Everything about the pub felt raw, worn, and unapologetically real—like a relic of a world Mia didn’t belong to but was about to step into.

She lingered at the threshold, gripping the strap of her bag as though it might anchor her. Isla’s words from earlier that day echoed in her mind: *You’re not alone in this. Let someone help you for once.* The thought of relying on someone else still felt foreign, but her need for answers outweighed her discomfort. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, stepped inside, and let the door creak shut behind her. A few patrons—a mix of dockworkers, bikers, and locals who seemed as weathered as the pub itself—glanced her way. Their curious gazes prickled at the edges of her awareness. She straightened her tailored gray coat, her polished appearance as much a shield as it was a target in this place.

Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on him. Declan Hayes sat alone in a corner booth, his broad shoulders hunched over a glass of something dark. The low-hanging light above him cast sharp shadows across his rugged features—the defined lines of his jaw, the faint scruff of his five-o’clock shadow, and the slight furrow in his brow, as though he were perpetually dissecting the world around him. His leather jacket, worn and creased, looked as though it had weathered countless storms, much like the man himself. He didn’t lift his gaze, but Mia had the distinct sense he was aware of her the moment she entered. The air between them felt charged, the kind of tension that made her pulse quicken.

“Amelia Lawson,” he said as she approached, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with dry amusement. He gestured to the seat opposite him. “You’re more punctual than I expected.”

“It’s Mia,” she corrected, sliding into the booth. The cracked leather seat groaned beneath her, and she placed her bag carefully beside her. Her back remained rigid, her hands clasped on the table. “And I don’t waste time.”

“Neither do I.” Declan’s piercing blue eyes lifted to meet hers, sharp and unrelenting. He seemed to map her out in an instant—the tension in her shoulders, the faint tremor in her fingers, the shadows under her hazel eyes. “So, let’s get to it. Why hire me?”

Her throat tightened. She hadn’t rehearsed this part, and now that it was here, the weight of it felt heavier than she’d anticipated. Her anger and humiliation from Silverwood Park still burned raw, but the thought of exposing even a fraction of that vulnerability to this stranger made her stomach churn. Her fingers drifted to the smooth metal of her father’s compass in her pocket, tracing the engraved initials, “A.L.” The coolness grounded her, its familiarity easing the knot in her chest.

“I need answers,” she said finally, her voice steadier than she’d expected. “About Ryan Carter. About why he left me at the altar.”

Declan leaned back, his expression unreadable. “So, this is about closure?”

“No.” The word came sharper than intended, and she forced herself to take a calming breath. “This is about the truth. There’s more to what he did than cold feet or second thoughts. I can feel it. And I need to know what it is.”

His eyebrow arched slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched, as though suppressing a smirk. “And what makes you think I’m the right person for the job?”

“I did my research,” Mia replied, her chin lifting. “You have a reputation for finding things most people want to keep buried. And from what I’ve read, you don’t scare easily.”

“Flattery won’t get you a discount,” he said, his wry amusement flickering briefly before fading.

“Cost isn’t the issue. Results are.”

Declan studied her, his gaze as direct as it was disarming. “You don’t strike me as the revenge type.”

For a moment, the words stung, and she fought the urge to flinch. Her grip on her bag tightened as she held his gaze. “Maybe I’m not. But right now, it feels like the only way to move forward.”

Something flickered in his expression—not quite a smile, but something softer, almost understanding. “Fair enough.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His leather jacket creaked softly with the motion. “Here’s how this works: I dig into Carter’s life. I find what you’re looking for. But I don’t sugarcoat things, and I don’t hold hands. If you’re expecting a sanitized version of the truth, you’re better off walking out that door.”

Mia met his gaze head-on, her voice firm. “I don’t want it sanitized. I want it all.”

Declan’s lips quirked, just slightly, before he pulled a small, weathered notebook from his jacket. Its frayed edges and faint ink stains gave it an air of meticulous use. He flipped it open to a blank page, clicking his pen into place. “Let’s start with the basics. Tell me everything you know about Ryan Carter—and don’t leave anything out.”

Her breath hitched. Talking about Ryan felt like peeling back a scab that hadn’t fully healed, exposing the raw wound beneath. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the compass again. Its weight reminded her why she was here. She exhaled slowly.

“He’s ambitious,” she began, her voice quieter now. “Smart. Charismatic. He built his tech company from the ground up—Carter Solutions. He was always the one with the plan, the one who made things happen.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “And he always made sure everyone knew it.”

Declan’s pen moved with quick, efficient strokes. “Sounds like a man who doesn’t like losing control.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“What about the wedding? Any signs he was having second thoughts before the big day?”

Her mind flickered back to those final weeks: the late nights at the office, his clipped responses, the way he’d twisted his gold cufflinks during their last argument.

“There were signs,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I ignored them. I thought he was just stressed with work. He said everything was fine, and I believed him.”

Declan’s pen paused briefly. His gaze lifted to hers, softer now. “You trusted him.”

Mia’s throat tightened, but she didn’t look away. “I thought I could.”

The silence that followed was thick, the noise of the pub fading into the background. Declan’s sharpness softened for a fleeting moment before he returned his focus to the notebook.

“Anything else I should know?” he asked, his tone neutral again.

She hesitated. The cufflinks flashed in her memory—the way Ryan had seemed fixated on them, how he’d avoided her mother’s gaze at the rehearsal dinner.

“He had these cufflinks,” she said finally. “Gold, engraved. He wore them at the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. He seemed... preoccupied with them.”

Declan’s pen stilled, and his gaze sharpened. “Cufflinks, huh?”

She frowned, her curiosity piqued. “Why? Does that mean something?”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone cryptic as he snapped the notebook shut. “I’ll look into it.”

He slid the notebook back into his jacket and stood, tossing a few bills onto the table. “I’ll be in touch when I have something.”

Mia rose as well, her pulse quickening. “That’s it? No timeline, no next steps?”

Declan smirked faintly, his blue eyes glinting with muted amusement. “Patience, Lawson. You hired me for results. Let me do my job.”

Before she could respond, he turned and strode toward the exit, his boots thudding softly against the floorboards. Mia watched him go, her emotions a tangled knot of frustration, uncertainty, and a flicker of something she couldn’t yet name.

Stepping outside, the brisk evening air nipped at her cheeks. She shoved her hands into her coat pockets, her fingers wrapping around the compass. Its solid presence grounded her as her thoughts raced. She wasn’t sure where this path would lead, but as she glanced at the darkened skyline, the faint glimmer of the waterfront in the distance, she felt something stir—a flicker of hope she hadn’t dared to feel since Silverwood Park.

Hope.