Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
I close the door and look around the room. It’s a shell. Soulless and cold. This is simply an address.
Breathing out, I rub my hands down my cheeks. This was like my apartment, my life before Ava. I knew Sarah’s life was me and The Manor, but this has knocked me.
I had sex and drink.
Sarah had her whip and The Manor.
Now I have purpose, and Sarah has nothing.
Because I took it away.
I give up on the tea and get the glass, filling it with water and taking it to her. I sit on the chair opposite, unable to stop myself from taking in this room too. Bare minimal furniture. No photos on the walls, nothing lying around—no books, blankets, or cushions. It screams loneliness.
Solitude.
I have never, not once, thought about Sarah’s life before she met Carmichael. Her family. Did she have any? Does she now? I quickly pull my wondering into line. I can’t go there. Especially not now.
“How’s Ava?” she asks.
“Let’s not talk about Ava,” I say, feeling I need to keep her separate to this.
She nods, looking down into the glass. “She looked beautiful,” she says. “On your wedding day.”
I can’t look at her, the shell of a woman before me, taking me into unknown territory. “Sarah, I don’t know what to do,” I admit.
“You must miss me,” she says, shocking me as I glance at her, full of caution. “I mean around The Manor,” she goes on. “Doing things. Working.”
I laugh, uncomfortable. “Yeah, kind of. I needed to pay for something earlier. Couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Well, because your brain stores all the information I needed to log into my accounts.”
She quickly grabs her phone and swipes, handing it to me. “Here.”
I look down at the screen and see the banking app open. She still has access to my accounts? Of course she does. Fucking hell, how stupid can I be? She could have cleaned me out and disappeared. I’m not sure if I should be more uncomfortable that she hasn’t. That’s she’s still here. After trying to take her own life. I eye her warily and take her mobile. I still have no idea what I’m looking at or what information to input. I shake my head and hand it back, slightly embarrassed.
“You could send me the details and I’ll make sure the money is sent.”
Shame on me, I take her up on her offer, forwarding the email from the dealership. She doesn’t ask any questions, just goes right ahead and sends the hundred grand in a few short, very easy minutes. “Done.” She smiles mildly. “You also have a meeting with Niles on Monday.”
“What for?”
“The new stock is being delivered.”
“Right.” New stock. New stock for my sex club. “Thanks.”
Hope seems to pour into her eyes as she looks up at me, and it makes my wariness double. “I could apologize to Ava,” she says.
“What?”
“For how I’ve been. What I’ve done. I could—”
“What have you done?” I ask softly.
Sarah’s eyes drop to her lap, and a few beats of silence fills the room before she breaks it. “I texted her from John’s phone to get her to come to The Manor,” she says quietly. “So she could see me.” A swallow. “With you.” Intimate. Not sex, but it’s the next best thing for Sarah. Her whip goes hand in hand with sex. “I told her ex-boyfriend you’re an alcoholic and that Ava mentioned him often.”
“You told my wife’s ex that she talked about him often?” She fed him?
Sarah nods. “I know I can never have you, but I didn’t want to lose you either.”
I close my eyes and breathe calmly. “You could have destroyed something amazing for me.” Even though, in the end, it could be my actions that do the most damage.
“I know, and I’m so sorry. It’s only because of how much I care for you.”
I’m sorry too. I fucking hate what Sarah’s version of caring for me has done to my life. And yet here I am, amid my own turmoil and fears, making sure she’s okay. Because, God damn me, I care.
Five days ago, Ava said she loved me. Married me, for fuck’s sake. Said she wanted me as hers forever. Now? She hasn’t called me. I’ve given her space. I’m sorry I’ve done that. The last time I sent her away, when I was drunk and repulsively emotionally abusive, she came back. She wanted to know I was okay.
She cared.
Now? She’s not reaching out to me, not worried for me. I could be lost in vodka for all she knows. Doesn’t she care about that? I wince at the sharp pain in my heart. My wife doesn’t care anymore. So where does that leave me?
A key sliding into the lock on the front door pulls both of our attention there, and John walks in, looking tense and worried, obviously by what he might find. I didn’t call him. He looks between us. “I have to go,” I say, standing, feeling anger rising. Not because of Sarah, but because of Ava’s silence. She doesn’t care.