“I’m going to kill my brother,” Sailor announced.
She was standing in the middle of Belle’s studio, cradling her baby bump.
My sister, Ash, and I were tucked on the couch inside a giant throw, sipping wine in glasses the size of fishbowls. I called the girls for an emergency meeting the minute I’d left my house.
My husband’s house.
Our marriage wasn’t real, and neither was our partnership.
Right now, both seemed in real jeopardy of surviving the latest blow.
“You’ll off Sam, I’ll murder Kill,” Belle talked to Sailor, rubbing my arm reassuringly. “I’m leaning toward castrating him and letting him bleed out. Not necessarily using a blunt object. Something that would make the process slow and painful.”
“Medically speaking, I don’t think there’s a non-painful way to castrate a man to death,” Ash murmured into her wine glass, her eyes flying in my direction. “Was it really that bad?”
“Yes, it was,” Sailor retorted before I had the chance to answer. “You know Pers, she’d never breathe a bad word about someone if her life depended on it. Hunter was there, and he told me himself. Said he was shocked by Kill’s behavior. Recently, he was under the impression Cillian and you had a good thing going.”
“Honestly? I was dumb enough to think the same.” I burrowed into my sister’s neck. Now that I didn’t have to be strong and resilient anymore, all I wanted was to break down and cry in the arms of the people I knew would never judge me.
Aisling wrinkled her nose, placing a hand on my knee.
“You know I think Kill having private investigators follow you is deplorable, but you never actually told us what the nature of your relationship was. Again, I’m not trying to make excuses for my brother. I grew up seeing him at his best and his worst, so I know both versions of him are frightening to the average person. But your relationship was never explained,” Ash said gently. “I just want to make sure we’re getting the entire picture so we can advise you accordingly.”
“Ash’s got a point.” Belle peered down at me. “You just told us you’re getting hitched one day, then poof!” She snapped her fingers. “You were a married woman. Every time we see you with your husband, he looks at you like you’re the brightest star in the sky. At the same time, we all know you did not go the usual couple route. Tell us how you became Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”
The question wasn’t unwarranted. What we had looked bizarre to outsiders.
Heck, it was weird from the inside, too.
My friends rolled with the punches because that was what we did—we had each other’s back unconditionally—but nothing about my marriage made sense.
I grabbed a handful of tissues, dabbing my nose and eyes. My head hurt from all the crying. Taking a breath, I started.
“When Paxton left me, he didn’t leave me with nothing. He left me with a hundred thousand dollars of debt. It was the worst eight months of my life. The loan sharks he’d been indebted to chased me around, lurked outside my workplace, patrolled Belle’s apartment…it got real bad. They even physically attacked me one time.”
A shiver that felt awfully like Kaminski’s finger ran down my backbone.
Belle’s hold on me tightened. Aisling held her breath, and Sailor stared at me with open horror. I turned to my sister.
“It was the time I told you I got mugged. I didn’t want to ask Hunter, Sailor, or Aisling for the money. It wasn’t a small sum. It was a straight up fortune.”
“We wouldn’t have minded!” Aisling cried out.
“Don’t be stupid.” Sailor rolled her eyes. “Of course you could’ve asked us for it. You’re family.”
I shook my head. It didn’t matter that I almost did. All that mattered was that I hadn’t.
“When things went from bad to worse with the creditors, I went to Cillian’s office and asked for a loan. He said no. A few days later, he came back with the marriage proposal. He said all my problems would go away if I said yes, and…well, he kept his promise.”
I told them about our contract. About my hesitation, stemming from how much I’d always liked him. How my crush on him never fully wore off. How I convinced myself marriage would come first, but that he would grow into loving me back as time went by.
I took a shovel, dug into the ugly parts, and dumped them on the coffee table for my friends and sister to dissect and interpret. By the time I was done, there was only one more confession to make in order to feel completely liberated.
“Wanna know what the worst part is?” I grabbed the cheap bottle of wine—was it our fourth or fifth?—pouring a generous helping into my glass. “That I still love him. I’ve always loved him. The first time I saw him at that charity ball Sailor dragged us to because she didn’t want to be alone with Hunter and I set my sight on Cillian, I knew. I knew one day he would take my soul, set it on fire, and walk all over my ashes when it was all done and dealt with. I’d known it from the very moment I found myself staring at him while he was watching Emmabelle from across the room. He was lost in my sister, but I found myself—everything I’d ever wanted—in him.”
“Kill never looks directly at the things he wants.” Ash squeezed my hand. “He says desire is a weakness. If he wanted Belle, he wouldn’t have looked at her.”
“I don’t know what to do.” I dropped my head to me knees, sighing. “I told him I want a divorce after the Green Living lawsuit is over. I need to leave. Leave before he breaks whatever’s still left in me. Leave before he leaves me.”
The last sentence robbed me of my breath. There was a good chance Cillian was going to come to the conclusion I wasn’t worth the drama. Cut his losses and move on to the next wife on the list. Nothing went smoothly between us. I wasn’t pregnant yet. I was working for his enemy, still keeping in touch with my ex-husband’s grandmother…
It was not what he wanted, and Kill Fitzpatrick always got what he wanted.
Not to mention, I couldn’t live like this anymore, either. Straddling the line between real and fake.
Belle was the first to speak.
“My mind and my heart are at war right now. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m about to give you my heart’s advice. Remember at the cabin, all those months ago? When Cillian bet his ass in poker and left the money for Sailor and me to take? The only thing he asked was for us not to badmouth him to you. It was very telling, mostly because Kill’s name is being dragged through the mud on a daily basis in the news and he doesn’t seem to give a shit. I think he cares for you. I think he doesn’t want to care for you, but he does. He doesn’t want your loved ones to tell you not to be with him. I lost a bet, and I intend to respect it. I can’t tell you to leave him, Pers. Not now. Not yet.”
My gut twisted.
“Sam always says, a child who is not loved by his village will burn it down to feel its warmth,” Sailor said quietly. She took a seat on the edge of the coffee table, raking her fingers through her fire-red hair. “I think Cillian has been watching everything around him burn for far too long. The Fitzpatrick men are wounded, but they hide it very well, and from what I gather, very differently. If anyone can stop him from destroying the rest of the world, it’s you. Give him time,” Sailor whispered. “It’s the most precious gift of all.”
I turned to Aisling. She was the only person to remain quiet. She was also the only person who didn’t lose the bet with Kill.
“I think”—she bit her lower lip—“my brother wants you. I think he cares for you. But I also know he was the same man who blackmailed you into marrying him. He knew your life was in danger, and he took advantage of you. I don’t know if this is the kind of environment you want to raise your child in.” She rubbed at her forehead, struggling to let the words out. “I grew up in a dysfunctional family, and I don’t have it in me to recommend you go the same route. I don’t think you should stay.”
We were split down the middle now.
Stay or walk away?
My heart said one thing; my brain said another.
In the end, it was my body that won.
I fell asleep in the arms of my best friends.
My estranged husband did not contact me for two weeks.
I’d spent every single day with Tinder and Tree, ignoring Cillian right back. Just because I didn’t truly leave him, didn’t mean I was going to actively seek him out. Something had been broken the day I’d found out he had me followed—maybe even cheated on me—and I needed time.
I moved back to the apartment he’d set up for me. Just a little F-you to my husband, letting him know I intended to make use of all the plush amenities he’d offered me.
When Saturday rolled around, I showed up to my tutoring session with Tinder and Tree bearing gifts. I wasn’t Gerald Fitzpatrick. I couldn’t fault the two nuggets for their father’s sins, and I’d grown to love and care for them.
Especially Tinder, who needed every ounce of love he could get.
“Guess who is here, and with presents!” Joelle announced when she opened the door for me that morning. I marched in carrying bags of goods. Tinder and Tree descended the stairway, squealing in delight. Tree slid down the bannisters making pirate noises while Tinder bounced on his toes all the way down. They both tackle-hugged me. We fell on the floor in a heap of breathless giggles.
“Auntie Persy, look what I made for you.” Tinder shoved a drawing in my face. The title gave me pause. He thought of me as family, and I wasn’t family. I was, in fact, just the opposite. Still, I plucked the paper between his pudgy fingers, gasping and asking questions.
“It’s a map. If we follow it, we’ll get to heaven, and in heaven, everyone is nice, and no one hits you!” Tinder exclaimed.
I whipped my head in his direction, about to ask him who, exactly, hit him, when Tree pounced on me.
“What’d you get us?” Tree grabbed my cheeks, squashing them. “Is it a truck? I told Mommy I want one for Christmas. Red. It has to be red. It must. Your favorite color, right, Auntie Persy?”
“Tree, my gosh, why would you say that? Any gift is welcome. The fact she thought about you is enough.” Joelle scoffed. Our eyes met, and we shared a smile. In the past few months, we’d built a tentative friendship, based on our shared love for her sons. I knew it wasn’t easy for her to open up to me. Especially seeing as she had to slam her door in the faces of journalists and cameramen on a daily basis every time my husband leaked an unflattering piece of news about hers.
Andrew Arrowsmith was no longer the media’s sweetheart thanks to my husband.
Now they were both bad men who hated each other and stopped at nothing to destroy one another.
I wanted to give her the tools to be there for Tinder and Tree.
Especially now that I’d been with the family long enough to know Andrew’s presence in the boys’ life was almost nonexistent.
“You’re here,” Andrew’s steely voice rumbled, and we all looked up to the top of the stairways.
The timing of him being here made my heart leap. “Andrew.”
“How’re you doing, sweetheart? Is that savage husband of yours still giving you trouble?”
“Andrew!” Joelle yapped, blushing.
I raised my hand up.
“It’s okay.” I turned to smile at her husband. “Actually, I moved out.”
The words felt bitter on my tongue. What an incredibly traitorous thing to say. But I had to throw my plan into high gear. I didn’t know how much time I had with the family. How much time I had with Cillian. I was working against the clock.
“You did?” His eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “Why, if I may ask?”
I was still sitting on the floor, the twins in my arms.
“I’m not so sure it’s going to work out after all.”
“I see. How unfortunate.”
I smiled politely. “Well, I have a day full of activities with the kids. I better get started.”
He nodded distractedly. “Yes. Of course. I won’t keep you. I have some…some phone calls to make.”
To his lawyers, no doubt. He probably wondered if it was the right time to ask me to testify against my husband.
“Thank you for sharing this information, Persephone. It means a lot to us to have your trust. You’d tell us if Mr. Fitzpatrick mistreated you in any way, wouldn’t you?”
And there it was.
The bottom line.
The master plan we both had for my being here.
“Of course. You guys are like family to me.”
The Lannisters, but whatever.
Andrew turned around and made his way back to his office. I proceeded to hand Tree and Tinder their gifts, with Joelle standing next to us. I motioned for her to come join us. She did.
“Thank you, you shouldn’t have.” She crouched down. “I know you save every penny.”
“I love the boys.”
Tinder unwrapped his first gift. A chewing necklace. Shark-toothed shaped. He yelped in delight, thrusting it in his mother’s hand.
“Can y-you put it on m-me, Mommy?”
She stared at him for a moment, shocked. I had a feeling she didn’t have many moments like these with her children.
“I…of course. Turn around, sweetie.”
I watched them as Tree unwrapped his present—a bike helmet—blabbing happily about how he wanted a motorcycle when he grew up. Joelle’s hands shook as she wrapped the toddler necklace around her son’s neck. Tears pricked my eyes. Somewhere along the way, Joelle had forgotten how to mother. Or maybe she never got the chance to be one at all, always helping her husband chase his dreams.
Tinder twitched, curling and uncurling his fists, making animal noises, which he did often.
“I was raised by au pairs,” Joelle said grimly, her eyes still on the necklace she was putting on Tinder. “I thought that’s the way things were supposed to be. I never planned on having a son who is…”
“Special?” I finished for her softly. “It’s a blessing. It makes you grow. Find your strength. There’s a lot we can learn from children. Things we’d already forgotten but shouldn’t have.”
“Like what?”
“Like what’s important in life. Family. Friendship. The beauty of a lone cloud sailing across a perfectly blue sky. Kids have their priorities straight. It’s us adults who sometimes forget the meaning of life. Now come.” I stood, offering her my hand. I was forming an unlikely friendship with a woman who fantasized about destroying my husband no less than I wanted to topple hers. “Let’s make new memories with the boys. It’s not too late. It’s never too late.”
I led everyone to the two bikes I’d purchased earlier that week. I used my own paycheck, refraining from touching Kill’s allowance. The money continued piling up in my account, like a mountain of broken promises and cracked dreams.
We spent the rest of the afternoon in the backyard, teaching the boys how to ride a bike with no training wheels. Tree got the hang of it quickly while Tinder clung to me and made me promise not to let go of his bike the entire time. It took four hours and a hundred attempts before Tinder managed to ride a zigzagged line, but he did it, and my heart was ready to burst when I saw his face light up.
“I’m doing it! I’m riding!” He laughed. Tree followed behind on his bike, making racecar noises. Joelle and I looked at them, laughing.
“I never thought he’d learn.” She giggled. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m-I’m-I’m going to-to-to tell D-D-Daddy I can ride a bike. Maybe he’ll come downstairs and s-see us?” Tinder tugged at my blouse. I looked down and smiled, ignoring Joelle, next to me, whose smile turned into a grimace.
“That’s a great idea, Tin! I’m sure he’s going to be over the moon.”
Tinder padded back into the house through the glass door, making happy noises, his arms jerking about.
“Mommy! Look! No hands!” Tree bragged, stretching his short arms on either side of the bike. Joelle hurried to her son in a mixture of awe and anxiety. I wondered what it felt like to watch your own child spread their wings and take their first flight. The horror of knowing everyone falls, gets hurt, gets scarred. That you cannot shield your child from the ugliness of the world forever.
Not wanting to interrupt their moment, I turned around and entered the house. I’d been wanting to check if they had ingredients for a sponge cake. The boys loved baking in the afternoons, and even though Greta didn’t remember who I was anymore, she always appreciated a good cake.
The minute I walked into the house, I noticed the walls rattled with a piercing scream coming from upstairs.
“Just fucking say it. Don’t stutter it. Say. It!”
I tore up the stairs in a flash, the sounds of Andrew’s shouts drowning the thuds of my feet hitting the wood.
“I can’t fucking listen to you anymore, you no-good piece of… piece of…crap! You remind me of him. You’re just like him. A little, stupid loser.”
I screeched to a halt on the threshold of Andrew’s office, panting. It was the first time I’d ever been there. He was crouching down, shaking Tinder’s shoulders, spraying spit all over the poor kid’s face.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t even stop to digest what was happening.
I stormed inside, scooping Tinder in my arms, ripping him from his father’s hands. Andrew stood and staggered backward, his face morphing from anger to shock. He didn’t think he’d have an audience.
“Persephone.”
My name fell from between his lips like a curse. Like he wanted to shake me, too. How often did he do this to him? Tinder’s words vibrated in my body, making it hum with rage.
“It’s a map. If we follow it, we’ll get to heaven, and in heaven, everyone is nice, and no one hits you.”
The better question to ask was how many more outbursts could Tinder expect in his lifetime—many, I suspected—and how many more victims were out there in the world who suffered under Andrew Arrowsmith’s wrath?
The last question hit me hard.
It hit me hard because deep down, I knew there was at least one other person close to me who was shattered by Andrew.
Traumatized enough to swear off the entire human race afterward.
“Look, I know what it looks like…” Andrew made a move toward me, his voice soft and soothing.
I jerked Tinder to my chest.
I shook my head. “I’m not ready to talk about what I witnessed here before I talk with your wife.”
“What’s happening here?” Joelle’s voice drifted from the hallway. I turned around to face her. The look on my face said it all. The hopeful, open smile that graced her lips the entire afternoon collapsed into a glare.
“Oh, no. What did you do now, Andy?”
Now implied there were a lot of befores.
“I just told him to speak clearly.” Andrew tried to laugh it off and tousle Tinder’s hair, but the boy buried his face in my shoulder, sniffing.
“He shook him,” I said quietly, not wanting to add any more details to avoid embarrassing Tinder. Kids were much more perceptive than adults gave them credit for. “I’m going to take the boys downstairs to make a sponge cake. I’m sure you have things to talk about.”
I offered my hand to Tree, who stood behind his mother, and went downstairs still holding Tinder.
“Can we make triangle sandwiches first and cut off the crust? I hate the crust.” Tree giggled.
“Of course. What about you, Tin? Would you like anything for a snack?”
“A-A-Ants on a log, please. S-S-Sorry I made Daddy upset with my stut-stut-stuttering. I didn’t mean to.”
He coiled into himself in my arms. I shook my head briskly.
“Nonsense. I want you to remember something very important, okay, boys? Something I want you to carry with you everywhere, no matter where you go, like the necklace I gave you.”
We reached the bottom of the stairs. I put Tinder back on the floor and crouched to their eye level.
They nodded, their big, innocent eyes clinging to my face.
“Whenever Daddy loses his temper and yells at you, it’s not your fault. We are not responsible for other people’s actions. Only for our own. That is not to say we are never wrong. It is our job to try to do our best to become better and always hold ourselves accountable for our own actions. But never blame yourself for what Daddy or Mommy is doing, okay? Promise me.”
“Scout’s honor!” Tree put two fingers up.
“I-I promise, too!” Tinder jumped.
My heart rattled in my chest like a rusty, empty cage full of feelings I didn’t want to face.
The family I was trying to build was a threat to these children.
And their parents were a threat to mine.
But I couldn’t turn my back on them.
Not anymore.
I dropped my half-full duffel bag to the floor, scowling at Petar.
“Really, dude? You promised he wouldn’t be here.”
The sound of the front door being thrown open was enough indication my husband walked into the house even though I’d specifically called Petar to make sure the coast would be clear so I could pick up the small stuff I’d left here and move it back to my apartment.
Petar hitched a shoulder up helplessly.
“He wasn’t supposed to come until ten or eleven, I swear. Ever since you left the house, he’s only come here to sleep. Sometimes not even that. Three times I had to send a courier to the office with a new set of suits for him this week.”
Though it was tempting to feel bad for Kill, I pushed the emotion out of my heart.
I threw the duffel bag on my bed, stuffing the knickknacks I’d forgotten in my haste to leave two weeks ago.
“Where is she?” I heard Cillian’s rumble from downstairs. Petar did the sign of the cross, looked up, and dashed out of my room. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know where I was, so I left the question hanging unanswered.
Sure enough, not five seconds later, Cillian was standing at my bedroom door, dark and surly as Hades holding uneaten pomegranates.
“Back so early?” I huffed, stuffing one of my one hundred thousand flowery self-help journals into my bag. “What would Daddy say? I thought you were born to work.”
He walked in, closing the door behind him.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I made idle conversation, knowing how much he loathed it.
“Shouldn’t you be living with your husband?” he shot back.
“No,” I said evenly, zipping the bloated bag, tugging at the stuck zipper. “You spent the past few months cementing the fact that we aren’t a real couple. All I’m doing is finally listening to you. You did a great job convincing me we’re nothing more than a contract.”
I avoided looking at him directly. The hornet-sting that came with laying my eyes on his magnificence was too much on a normal day, and completely unmanageable when we were estranged.
A stranger or an ally, Cillian always had the talent to make my heart sing and my soul weep.
For a long beat, he just stood there, drinking me in.
He took a step forward, putting a hand on my arm.
I wanted to break down and cry.
To tell him what I saw Andrew do.
To confess I couldn’t eat or sleep well.
“I told Sam to pull the surveillance,” he said.
I looked up at him, through a curtain of unshed tears.
“And?”
“And I haven’t touched anyone since I put a ring on your goddamn finger.” His lips barely moved, his jaw was so tight.
“And?” I arched an eyebrow.
Give me an emotion.
Any emotion.
“And I shouldn’t have broken the contract,” he said gruffly, looking away from me. “I trust you.”
“Bullshit,” I choked on a dry laugh.
He said nothing.
I was beginning to see nothing I could say or do was going to change his mind about people. About me. He was incapable of feelings and pushing him to love me would achieve nothing other than to make him resent me. Even now, he didn’t want me because he liked me.
Only because I was a comfortable arrangement. A means to an end.
“You’re not leaving,” he said simply.
I pulled the bag, hoisting it over my shoulder and turning to face him.
“I’m sorry.”
He stepped toward me, snarling.
“Sorry for what?”
“For changing the rules on you. For breaking the contract. For asking for more. I realize that I was out of line. I want you to marry someone who gives you what you want. Who is happy with what you’re willing to give back. And I’m not that person. I meant what I said. As soon as your legal/PR issues are over and everything quiets down, we can get a divorce.”
I sidestepped him, but he matched my step, getting in my face again.
“All this because of one mistake?” He scowled. “I already told you I haven’t touched anyone else. You were watched exactly one week, Persephone.”
I threw my head back, laughing. “You think that’s the only problem? One mistake? Get real, Kill. You never treated me as your wife. Never spent the entire night in my bed. Never took me on one date that wasn’t a fancy event. No honeymoon. No meaningful conversation. I was never your equal. The only thing that’s changed is that now, I finally realize I never will be.”
His eyes thundered. I bet his precious pulse was skyrocketing. I didn’t think he realized I even knew about it. How he put his fingers to his wrist discreetly to keep himself in check.
How he cracked his knuckles every time he got ruffled.
“I dined with you every evening. I fucked you every night. I took you to balls. To family dinners. I bought you jewelry. What more do you want from me, Persephone?”
“A relationship.” I hurled the duffel bag on the floor, growling.
“I don’t know how to have one!” he screamed back in my face.
Kill began to pace, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what that even means. I never had a relationship. You request something, and I make it happen. Is that not what a relationship is about?”
How could I even answer that question without sounding like a complete bitch?
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“This house is wired more than a police informant in a bad cop show.” He rolled his eyes, stopping to examine me.
“So you left everything and came here?”
He parked a hand on his waist. “You talk like I don’t give a damn.”
“You don’t.”
“Well, newsflash.” He took a step forward, plastering me to the wall, his hand coming to the back of my neck, grabbing it as he tilted his head down. “I do. I’m not fucking happy about it, to be sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
It was everything I’d wanted to hear since the day I met Cillian Fitzpatrick, yet at that moment, it was too late.
If life taught me anything, it was that giving your all to someone who only agreed to return a fraction of themselves to you was a bad idea.
“Come home, Flower Girl.” His eyes fluttered shut, his mouth moving over mine. The sensation was like a roller coaster, when you tip over the edge and your stomach dips. The rush of warmth flaring in my chest made my body buzz. Kill’s words drifted through my clouded brain. “Let me fuck you. Be the wife I need. You just need a bit more training. A few more months and we can fuck each other out of our system.”
Months.
We had an expiration date.
We would always have an expiration date.
I ripped my mouth from his.
He didn’t get it, and I was tired of explaining.
“Give me one reason to stay, Cillian. I’m not asking for many. Just the one. Something to hold onto.”
“Because I want you to.”
“No. Something else. Something that’s not completely selfish.”
“I can’t be anything other than selfish,” he said brusquely.
I picked up my duffel bag, pushing at his chest.
“As soon as the lawsuit is over, we’re getting a divorce.”
This time I didn’t look back.
I pushed through the pain.
Numb, prideful, and only half-alive.
I finally knew what it meant to have your heart broken.
Understanding—finally—that Paxton didn’t as much as put a dent in mine.
I got back to my apartment, threw myself into the shower, and shoved a few dry rice cakes down my throat. My improvised version of dinner.
I hadn’t even unpacked the bag I retrieved from Cillian’s house. Just fell on my sofa in my living room and flipped through channels, battling a headache.
All the local news headlined the same story, about Cillian and Andrew going head-to-head in the trial that would take place soon. The news anchor cut to a video of the oil rig in the Arctic, an ugly black thing sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of the infinite blue. Crushed shards of ice scattered around it like broken glass. My heart bled for the piece of nature that fell victim to Cillian’s cruelty.
You and me both, Arctic.
I picked my phone up and typed my husband a message.
Me: Stop the Arctic drilling.
Me: You want heirs so much, have you ever stopped to think about what kind of world you are leaving for them?
His response came promptly.
Cillian: Yes. One where they’ll be filthy rich.
Me: Does being rich make you happy?
Cillian: Happiness is a feeling, ergo…
Me: You can’t feel it. Gotcha. What did Andrew do to you?
Cillian: He made me.
Me: And what are you going to do to him?
Cillian: Undo him.
My doorbell rang, nearly making me jump out of my skin.
It wasn’t Kill’s style to show up where he wasn’t invited. But I knew there was zero chance of it being anyone else. My parents didn’t know I lived in this apartment and not my husband’s house, Emmabelle worked nights, Sailor was probably off sneaking into archery ranges—only to be chased down by her worrisome husband—and Aisling very rarely raised her head up from the medical books these days.
Rolling up from the couch, I padded to my door.
“You really have some nerve coming here after the conversation we just had.” I opened the door, ready to give my husband a piece of my mind.
My heart dropped as soon as I saw who it was on the other side.
Paxton.
Cillian
Just because I called off Sam’s private investigators didn’t mean I let go of my unhealthy obsession with my wife.
No. That would be the normal, sane thing to do.
Not my fucking style.
In my defense, I set my phone to receive notifications each time her apartment door opened, not because I suspected she’d cheat, but because I wanted to know she’d made it home safely.
Why I still gave a damn about her well-being was beyond me.
The piling evidence against her should have, in and of itself, made me drop her like a mic after an amateur rap night.
Persephone worked for my nemesis on a daily basis.
Visited Paxton’s grandmother.
What on earth made me believe she’d be faithful?
Nothing. The answer to that was nothing. And as I watched the blond, broad-shouldered man in the Next Door app shifting from foot to foot on her doorstep, head bowed, fingers tapping the side of his legs, waiting for her to open the door, I realized I’d been played.
Ridiculed and undermined.
Betrayed to the highest degree.
Sam warned me he was unfinished business, and I didn’t listen.
Now here he was, in the flesh.
Paxton Veitch.
