Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I let the silence hang heavy for a moment, staring through her like she’s fucking nothing. “Get out of my house.”
She blinks up at me wide-eyed and breathless.
I lean in closer. “Now.”
Ivy
His bedroom door clicks shut behind me, and I flatten my palm over my sternum as if it can stop my heart from beating out my chest. The world spins too fast to hold onto, so I start counting because numbers make sense and this whole fucking situation doesn’t.
One, two, three, four.
Emotional compromise leads to operational failure. Identify the threat. Neutralize the threat. If the threat is internal, compartmentalize. Seal it off. Lock it down.
My hands shake against my shirt, so I curl them into fists, breathing slowly until the tremors ease. Turning the handle, I push into my room.
The second the door closes, I head for the closet and drag out the suitcase I packed after Désamour. I shove the last of my things inside, zip it closed, and stand, giving the room one last look—the rumpled sheets, the cage I thought had me trapped—before heading for the exit.
“Ivy?” Khloe stops when she sees me coming out, her eyes dropping to the suitcase. “What’s happening? What did he—”
“Nothing,” I say, managing a smile that dies halfway there. “It was nice meeting you, Khloe.”
My shoulder brushes hers as I pass, ignoring her voice behind me. There are others at the edge of my vision, though I don’t care enough to look. Also, if I catch Camille smirking, I might accidentally finally kill her this time.
Daniel’s already beside the black SUV, one hand holding the back door open, those frown lines carved deep between his brows. Seeing him loosens the knot in my chest.
I slide into the backseat, cold leather biting the backs of my thighs as I press my forehead to the window, dragging my palm over my cheek.
Wet. Still wet.
Daniel settles behind the wheel without a word, starting the engine as gravel crunches beneath the tires.
My phone buzzes against my lap. I almost ignore it. Almost.
Emeric
My thumb hovers, then taps.
New job. Details incoming. Are you ready?
I stare at the screen until the letters blur. Then I type.
Nonna is dead. I’ve called you seventeen times. Seventeen. And you send me a job?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
I know she’s gone. I haven’t come to terms with it and I don’t want to talk about it.
I grind my teeth until pain shoots through my jaw, gripping the phone hard enough to make the case creak. I want to hurl it through the windshield and scream that she bled out in my arms, that she told me to trust him, that he’d keep me safe.
Will you take the job?
I swipe my cheeks one last time, rubbing all the evidence of my heartbreak away.
Yes. Give it to me.
Because fuck Asher Delacroix. The only way I know how to move on is by turning myself off.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
ASHER
She’s gone.
I’ve tried everything and nothing is working. I’m running out of ideas. Out of patience. Not for her, but for everyone else.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
IVY
It doesn’t matter how many times I clean. I still see the blood, still remember the weight of my gun and the absolute fucking regret. I wish he’d died.
One month. That’s how long I’ve spent convincing myself I’m fine while his ghost follows me from room to room. I thought I was clever, auctioning the place off at some charity gala, but the joke landed squarely on me when the buyer never contacted my lawyers. So what do I do? Move in. Because where better to rot than the one place that still feels like home?
I bite into a carrot, humming along with the bass pounding through the speakers while Alexa reads the day’s news.
Mount Crow fills the window, stopping my hand above the pot. Goosebumps rise along the back of my neck.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find the little red dot tucked into the corner of the room and flip it off.
My smirk barely dies before the front door swings open and Devon walks in carrying a bouquet of sunflowers. The bright yellow petals are almost offensive against the muted tones of the entryway.
Devon is tall, broad shouldered with a narrow waist, and has blonde hair that looks dirty even though I know he showers twice a day. He’s handsome, with blue eyes and—Blah, blah, blah.
“Honey, I’m home.” He waits, grin spread wide.
I set down the knife and cross the kitchen to meet him, rising on my toes to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. “How was the flight?”
Devon sets the flowers on the counter and shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door. “Meeting was fine, the trip itself wasn’t.”
“Poor baby.” I turn back to the cutting board, resuming my chopping. Celery next. Then onions. “Must be hard, staying in five-star hotels and drinking champagne with export executives. Switzerland is beautiful. One of my most favorite places.”