Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
His eyes narrowed slightly at the statement. “I never want to hear you say that again.”
“But I mean it. I wish I’d listened.”
“I broke your trust on two separate accounts. Technically, three. Stop the cruelty.”
“You even said—”
“I spoke out of anger, and I’m ashamed I did so.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his anger turned sharp like a knifepoint. “You deserve the world, sweetheart. Nothing less and only more.”
20
ASTRID
When I walked into his study, I found him sitting in his favorite armchair, a cigar in his mouth with a cloud above his head. His eyes were glued to the painting on the wall, the one that he’d connected with the moment he laid eyes on it. The stare lingered before it switched to me.
Shirtless in his sweatpants, his beautiful skin covered in ink, his muscles bulging from his body, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel. With eyes that showed the gates to the underworld, he was dangerous…but not dangerous to me.
He blinked then put his cigar out.
I moved to the couch beside him and sat with a straight spine, my back not touching the cushions, my hands in my lap.
He stared at the painting a moment longer before he looked at me.
I met his stare, but I wanted to blink, wanted to flinch. His commanding presence was unnerving…but also comforting. Conversation wasn’t necessary to cushion the silence. Even the tensest moments with him were more comfortable than easy moments with anyone else.
He continued to stare at me, his chin moving to his closed knuckles.
“You still like the painting.”
He continued his stare.
“I thought you might take it down, because it would remind you of me.”
“It does remind me of you.” He left the armchair then walked to the table where he kept his scotch and his glasses. He poured two glasses then came back to me, leaving one on the table to grab if I wanted it. “Tell me what happened.”
I stared at the glass on the coaster.
“And be brief.”
I swallowed, not wanting to take this trip down memory lane. “He’d really changed. Was more affectionate than he’d ever been. Committed. Everything I’d ever wanted. And then he left for his contract, texted me when he got there…which was a first. But he left his tablet behind by mistake, and I watched it glow as messages popped up.” The story didn’t make me angry. I’d been over it for a long time. Felt no sense of betrayal because I hadn’t wanted him in so long. “That’s when I saw messages from this woman named Carson, who seemed to be a long-term girlfriend. I confronted Bolton when he came home, and he was so remorseful and apologetic. In his messages to her, he said he wanted to make this work for me, that he realized what he had and didn’t want to lose it. He seemed to be a reformed man after everything that happened between us, but it wasn’t enough for me.”
Theo’s eyes were locked to mine as he listened to the tale, showing no emotion in the depths of his gaze.
“And this is where it gets creepy, because he was so broken. He begged. He cried. I’d never seen him cry…ever. It almost made me feel bad for wanting to leave. Almost. I told him it was over, and he would need to move out while I packed up my things and left. And that was when everything changed. Within the snap of a finger, he was a different person. His eyes were dry. They were vile. He gave me this hollow stare, like all his humanity had disappeared. Then he said he would never let me go, and if I tried, he would hurt me.” I still remembered the moment vividly because it was one of those out-of-body experiences, where I floated high above the scene and watched it unfold. The biggest disassociation there ever was. “It wasn’t a bluff because he made good on that promise.” There was more to the tale. Details that made my hair stand on end, made my throat dry. My imprisonment felt like an insane asylum. I was scared every day until I stopped being scared, because I stopped feeling. But I spared Theo those details because they didn’t enrich the story, just made it more unbearable.
Theo turned his gaze away. At first, he stared at the ashtray where his cigar had gone cold. Then he looked at the fireplace, which hadn’t been lit because it was a warm day. His stare lingered as his thoughts remained locked behind the high gates of his exterior.
I let the silence pass, let it pass as long as he needed.
He said nothing for minutes. His stare turned to the painting on the wall. Another bout of silence stretched as he rubbed his fingers across his hard jawline. “I hope his death brings you peace—because I’m going to kill him.”