DANIELLE'S POV

I entered Jonathan's office armed with a glass of wine and cups, literally. What had possessed me to consider suggesting asking each other questions about ourselves? I'd been irritated at his question and wanted to get back at him, but I could have done that another way. Plus, the look in his eyes had been challenging me, as if teasing me and asking if I could handle the consequences of what I'd asked.

I dropped the wine and cups on the table, looking at it. Since that night I'd entered it, I hadn't had any other reason to, and so this was my first time in the office in a while.

I sat down, wondering what questions to ask Jonathan next. He had yet to answer the question about his brother, but one thing I was sure of was that the news about him being responsible for his father's death had to be a rumor. I started pacing as my mind whirred with the excess things I wanted to know about Jonathan, but I couldn't easily ignore the main reason I'd started this quest. My father's murder. Perhaps he could have a hint for me.

My eyes narrowed at the open laptop on his desk. Curiosity got the better of me, and I moved closer to the laptop, looking back and confirming Jonathan was in fact not going to catch me in the act. The act that had started it all, getting caught in his office at work, was still fresh on my mind. I tapped the laptop and frowned at the jargons that were on it. I called it that because there was no way I could understand what they were. It simply was a bunch of different words and symbols that made no sense in English, so I could guess they were stuff only computer gurus could understand.

My curiosity abated I took a step away from the laptop and froze as Jonathan entered. I couldn't see my face, but I was sure I looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"What's going on? Are you searching for something?" He asked, and my mind scrambled for a response.

"A pen. I wanted to write what I needed to do tonight so I don't forget." I replied. If he thought my request weird, he didn't mention or show it.

"Check the drawers. There should be one there."

I nodded and opened the drawers, searching for a pen and thinking of how stupid I would sound when I mentioned I didn't have either a book or a sheet of paper. My hand found the outline of a pen, and I raised it up and froze, my mind unable to process anything.

"You found one?" Jonathan asked, his eyes were not on me as he was opening the bottle of wine, but I nodded, my tongue feeling frozen. He looked at me, and his face changed.

"Not that one. Return it to where you found it. There should be another one there."

I didn't move quickly enough for him, I could guess because he stood up and grabbed the pen from me. In a matter of minutes, he handed another pen to me.

"Take it. You said you needed one."

I nodded and collected it. "Thanks. The first one was pretty, though. I'm a sucker for cute pens." I lied, but the pen was cute. It was one of the reasons I remembered it so vividly. Plus, the fact that it never ceased to appear in my dreams when my mind decided it wanted to do a throwback of that horrific day.

He nodded. "It was a gift, so I don't like other people touching it." Or seeing it either, I added for him. If it was that cute and something you adored as a gift, wouldn't it be more reasonable that such a gift would be placed in the open? In a place where it would be easily accessible and more like a display.

He poured wine into the two glasses, and I went to join him. I took a big gulp of the wine, ignoring Jonathan's judgy expression. I didn't see him with the expression, but I could guess what he must have been thinking. It was an expensive wine that should be savored rather than treated like cheap alcohol. Or maybe that was my conscience talking.

"Alright. I've asked the first question. How did your brother die?" I asked directly. No point in beating around the bush.

He took a sip of his wine, swirling the glass around, and looking like the exotic man he was. "He must have been depressed, and no one must have noticed it. He ended it himself." He responded.

I glanced at him and took another big gulp, finishing what was in the glass. If he had died because he was depressed, how come Jonathan was being blamed for his death?

"Was that your next question?" He asked, and I realized I'd spoken out loud.

I shook my head. "No. It's your turn now." I poured more wine into my glass and swirled it around, copying Jonathan's movement.

"Are you being threatened? Is someone holding anything over you?" He asked seriously.

"What??" I exclaimed. "Why would you ask that?" I asked in reply to his question, and he took another sip of his wine.

"Is that a question?"

I rolled my eyes. "No. It's not a question, and no, I'm not being threatened." I remembered something I'd wanted to share with him when he got home. "Although it felt like someone was either watching or following me as I came home."

Jonathan's hands turned into fists on his glass, making him grip it tighter. "What did you say?"

I shrugged. "I wanted to tell you when you came home, but I forgot. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it felt like someone was watching me. From the moment I came down from the car to the moment I entered the elevator."

"Did you notice anything suspicious? Like anybody you'd never seen before? Or even if it was a familiar face?" He asked me.

I shook my head. I had only felt like it, but every time I backtracked or checked my surroundings, there was nothing out of the ordinary there. I was probably just worrying him about nothing, since it was probably my imagination. I had started a murder mystery series the night before, so that could have been what had caused it. "I think I was just imagining it. When I checked, there was no one there. I even asked the security people to call our floor if someone suspicious got on the elevator after me, but they said they didn't notice any suspicion. It's probably because of the movie I started last night. My mind can be funny at times." I shrugged and laughed, but the laughter quickly died down when I realized Jonathan wasn't sharing my humor.

"Was that why you asked? Is someone supposed to be following me?" What was with his overreaction? I'd already assured him it was just in my head, so maybe it wasn't, and Jonathan knew something I didn't.

"Wait. Is someone threatening you? That they will come after me?" My murder mystery movies were finally doing something. I was able to catch on to unspoken clues quickly when it came to matters like this.

"Is that a question for me?" Jonathan asked, and I slammed my glass of wine on the table, making it spill over the rim. Okay, this was frustrating.

"No, it isn't, but this matter is different, isn't it? This concerns my life and safety, so I will appreciate it if you let me know what is going on. Starting with the reason for your question."

He stared at me for a while. "Are you sure you can handle the reason?" He asked, making me frown. Was he teasing me right now? Dangling what I wanted in my face and then taking it away when I got desperate for it?

"Alright. I'm answering this as your next question, and no. Nobody is threatening you or me. I just find you so suspicious for some reason, so I made a wild guess that you were being threatened to do something to me." He replied, and I gaped at him.

While he was right in the sense that I seemed suspicious—after all, I'd approached him for marriage with a reason—it must be difficult living life constantly not trusting people. Not like I was much different, but he was on a whole different scale.

"Do you really have that little trust in people? Maybe you find me suspicious because we're from totally different levels and have yet to adjust to each other's speed yet." I lied.

"I'll ask my next question, then." He responded, ignoring my question like he always did when it didn't favor him.

"Your nightmares. What do you dream of?" I flinched.

"What??" I replied in a weak tone. I couldn't believe he could go there. But as I was wailing my woes, my first question came back to mind, and I knew. I definitely set myself up for this.

"Your nightmares. What do you dream of?" He repeated. After that one I'd had the first night we'd shared a room, it had happened that violently about three other times. The remaining times, I was able to wake up before it got bad, but I didn't realize I'd piqued his interest, since he had never said anything about it since the first time.

"Uhm. Nothing serious…" I started, and Jonathan shook his head.

"Honesty. You were the one that mentioned it." Should I tell him I hadn't been truly honest since this god-awful game began? Even though I doubted he had been honest as well. I guess I just needed to talk more confidently.

"Well. I dream about a traumatic event that happened in my childhood. I don't like reliving it because it usually comes back to haunt me at night, but it was about something I saw that wasn't meant for a child's eyes." I replied vaguely. Hopefully, he would remember his heart existed and not ask anything else.

What I'd hoped for happened, and he nodded at me to continue. I relaxed my body that had gone tense as a result of the last question and, remembering my glass of wine, took a sip. "My question is… At your father's birthday party, your mother said something strange. I asked her about the trophies that were displayed, and she said they belonged to her son, and she wasn't referring to you." To be honest, I'd wondered what his family dynamics had been. As someone that had come from a family that seemed so close to perfect, other people's stories of being from dysfunctional families always interested me. I couldn't relate to them with the amazing relationship I had with my mother, but it had always made me curious.

Jonathan took another sip of his wine. The first he'd poured into the glass. "That's not a question."

I scrunched my nose in irritation. "But you knew exactly what I meant. How is your relationship with your parents, and why did it seem so strained?"

Jonathan's eyebrows lifted. "That's two questions. Not one."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Answer the first one, then." He sure had the gift of pissing me off and making me so irritated.

He smiled. "Alright, if you insist. My brother was the favored child because he was the one that was smarter and more social, and it was so obvious that he loved people. It just became a matter of which child was more affectionate, but our relationship isn't strained. We understand each other perfectly. We just have different ways of coping with our grief. I'm sure you can relate."

I nodded. I definitely could relate to that, and I felt a little relieved. Thank God it was a grief response and not how he had grown up. Playing favorites had never helped any child. Plus, I might end up feeling something for him if he had led a difficult life.

"Why did you go searching in my room the night I traveled for a meeting?" He asked, and I froze. How did he know?

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