Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“I begged you to stay.” Her hand reached across the table but stopped short. “How could you ever think I would want you to go?”
I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t allow myself to get sucked back into her lies. So I retrieved my phone and pulled up the financial transactions that had occurred since my supposed death. The evidence was there on the screen, and she couldn’t deny it when I showed it to her.
“What is this?” Her eyes moved back and forth as she examined the documents. “What is this supposed to mean?”
“This is the proof that you’ve been funneling money into an offshore bank account. Cashing out my investments, selling off assets.”
“What assets?” she demanded. “Lucian, this is insane. I don’t know anything about this, I swear. I just… I don’t know how you could believe I did this.”
“How could I not?” I scowled. “It’s the game you play, isn’t it?”
She stifled a sob, and this time, Birdie was the one to answer. “She doesn’t do that anymore, and you have no fucking right to come in here accusing her of—”
“Birdie,” Gypsy pleaded. “Stop.”
“No.” Birdie stood, her blue eyes piercing into me. “For months, I’ve watched her cry herself to sleep. I’ve watched her shrivel up and die inside because she thought you were dead. And where the fuck were you?”
I intended to answer her, but she cut me off as her tirade continued. “Where were you when someone sabotaged her car in an attempt to kill her? Are you going to accuse her of doing that too?”
I looked at Gypsy, my stomach threatening to empty the contents of my meager dinner as I processed those words. “What is she talking about?”
Ace interjected. “Someone cut the steering shaft on the car. Birdie was driving it to the store when it snapped.”
I glanced at Birdie’s casted arm, my gut churning as I considered that if this was true, it could have been Gypsy. It could have been my wife, heavily pregnant with my child. Rage burned inside me, threatening the edges of my vision.
“That can’t be right,” I murmured. “It must have been a mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” Ace argued. “And to be honest, I think the girls are right, Lucian. I don’t think they had anything to do with this.”
I looked at my friend, who in my absence, had suddenly been won over by my wife, and betrayal coated my tongue. “How could you know that?”
“Because he’s been here the entire fucking time,” Birdie snapped. “He’s the one looking out for us while you’re off in hiding, letting everyone think you were fucking dead like a selfish prick.”
“That wasn’t my doing.” They all looked at me like I was the one who lost my goddamned mind. “I left after I got the letter. What else did you expect?”
“What letter?” Gypsy asked.
“Your letter.” I didn’t want to show her the crumpled paper in my pocket. I didn’t want her to see how many times I’d read it, studying the words while I tormented myself on repeat.
Her voice softened when she replied. “I never wrote you a letter.”
I craned my neck back to relieve some of the tension that had gathered there. This bit was tiresome, and I was over it. I wanted her to admit the truth. I wanted to hear the words from her own lips.
I retrieved the folded square of paper and handed it to her. She opened it and stared at the worn ink, her face blank. There wasn’t a word said between us as she pored over the letter that described how she wished I’d just let her go in the beginning. How she hated herself for what she had to do, but this was who she was. She described how she dreaded my death because of the burden of guilt it would bring her, but freedom would release her in the end. There were so many personal truths in that letter, and I expected a reaction from her. I expected that this was the evidence she wouldn’t be able to deny. But when she finished, she carefully folded it back together before ripping it into two pieces and throwing the remnants into the middle of the table.
“I didn’t write that.”
“Of course, you didn’t.” I sighed.
“Who gave it to you?” Birdie glared.
I looked at Father Hawk, who hadn’t said a word so far. I didn’t expect him to. And I didn’t much like bringing him into this either, but I had no choice. Everyone looked at Cristian as I nodded in his direction. He was quiet, his hands steepled on the table while his brows pinched together in concern.
“I brought him the letter,” he admitted.
“But I didn’t give it to you,” Gypsy insisted.
Cristian was quiet for several moments before he inclined his head and shook it. “No, you didn’t.”