Shit.
I took a step back instinctively. One second, I was in front of the wardrobe door; the next second, I stepped into the shadows beside the wardrobe.
My back hit the wall, my hand coming up to cover my mouth.
The door handle turned again, and I stopped breathing.
Ryan stepped inside.
From where I stood, hidden in the narrow space between the wardrobe and the wall, I could see him.
He walked in slowly and paused.
My breath stuttered.
He knew something was wrong.
My pulse roared in my ears, and I couldn't breathe.
Ryan's gaze swept the room.
The desk.
The bed.
The floor.
And then his gaze stopped on the open panel.
My stomach dropped.
He stepped toward it, each step measured, his movements deliberate.
He stopped, staring at the empty space where the diary had been.
Then he let out a slow exhale, his eyes narrowing.
I could tell right then that he had figured it out. He knew it was me.
