Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Everything isn’t what it seems in your family.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“It’s not supposed to. If I give you all the answers, how are you going to figure it out on your own? But here’s a hint, your grandparents and even Nate are hiding something from you.” She waves at me and strides to her car.
What the fuck was she getting at? I know for certain that Aspen wouldn’t have brought it up if she didn’t think it was of vital importance, but I’m also in no mood to play her mental games.
I’m not in the mood for anything. Fuck moods.
Shaking my head, I get into my own car and go to my meeting.
My mind isn’t focused on work or forming interpersonal relationships, though. Usually, I’m the best at this—using my grandparents’ name whenever I see fit.
Nate doesn’t, because he wants a clean break from them, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t. After all, we’ve put up with their snobby, stifling behavior for long enough and we should be able to reap the rewards.
But today, all I want is to leave.
And once I’m able to, I drive back to my apartment. It’s located in a quiet building on the outskirts of Brooklyn. Not only is it spacious and soundproof, with a great view of the city, but it’s also a place where I can be myself.
Not a lawyer, not a Weaver, and not Nate’s nephew.
Not even Sebastian sometimes.
Just…me.
The interior is vast and the wood flooring shines under the late afternoon sun coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The only furniture is a TV that I’ve only turned on a few times.
There’s no sofa or rugs. No decorative things or sacred belongings.
I have a bed in the bedroom, a desk and a library in my home office, some utensils in the kitchen, and that’s it.
It’s been a few years since I moved here, but I’ve never felt the need to make it a home.
Which is another reason why I don’t invite people over.
This is where I get to be alone with myself. Where I can drop whatever mask I wore for the day and just exist.
It’s my haven that I don’t want anyone else in.
But I invited someone over.
Naomi.
I stare back at the text I sent her a few days ago. She read it, but she sent no reply to either deny it or confirm.
When I made that offer in my office, I didn’t expect her to take it. She wouldn’t actually do whatever I want just so I’ll stay away from her husband.
Because if she did, that would be no different than agreeing to an affair.
However, she must realize that I won’t let it go with merely groping and licking her. Even after all this time, she has to know that putting my hand around her throat wasn’t enough.
The mere recollection of that day still gets me fucking hard.
Naomi must’ve seen the sadism and need for more in my eyes, which is why she bolted out while she was still able to.
She might not have told me her number, but she left it with Nate when she gave him her card.
Last night was the date I specified in the text.
She didn’t show up.
I don’t know why that made me fucking livid and drove me to googling her name.
Could be because if she did show up, I would get her, but she’s only doing it to keep her husband clueless about us.
Or maybe because her no-show means that she loves her husband enough not to cheat on him.
Fuck.
I’m backpedaling into the bitter asshole I was right after she left, and that jerk and I don’t get along. At all.
After I place my briefcase in my office, I get undressed and step in the shower.
I tip my head back, letting the scorching hot water cascade over me.
My mind is buzzing with strategies for Akira. I need to get close to him, which would force Naomi back into my vicinity.
She refused to come? Fine. I’ll make the choice for her. Or, more like, take it away so she realizes she should’ve never fucked with my newfound life.
Yes, it wasn’t perfect. Yes, it was all jaded and sometimes forced, but it was all mine. It was what I built for myself to escape her fucking ghost.
The doorbell rings and I roll my eyes. It must be Nate. Not only did he put Aspen on my case, but he keeps bugging me as well.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my waist and head to the door.
I look through the peephole to make sure it’s not the talkative old lady from next door. While she’s friendly and gives me homemade food sometimes, she can chat for hours on end.
It’s not Nate or even the talkative lady.
It’s…her.
The fucking nightmare.
The twisted dream.
Naomi.
She’s wearing an elegant dark blue dress, her hair is styled, and her lips are painted the color of blood.