The Villain

by Shen, L. J.

  “I never thought he’d learn.” She giggled. “Thank you so much.”

  “I’m-I’m-I’m going to-to-to tell D-D-Daddy I can ride a bike. Maybe he’ll come downstairs and s-see us?” Tinder tugged at my blouse. I looked down and smiled, ignoring Joelle, next to me, whose smile turned into a grimace.

  “That’s a great idea, Tin! I’m sure he’s going to be over the moon.”

  Tinder padded back into the house through the glass door, making happy noises, his arms jerking about.

  “Mommy! Look! No hands!” Tree bragged, stretching his short arms on either side of the bike. Joelle hurried to her son in a mixture of awe and anxiety. I wondered what it felt like to watch your own child spread their wings and take their first flight. The horror of knowing everyone falls, gets hurt, gets scarred. That you cannot shield your child from the ugliness of the world forever.

  Not wanting to interrupt their moment, I turned around and entered the house. I’d been wanting to check if they had ingredients for a sponge cake. The boys loved baking in the afternoons, and even though Greta didn’t remember who I was anymore, she always appreciated a good cake.

  The minute I walked into the house, I noticed the walls rattled with a piercing scream coming from upstairs.

  “Just fucking say it. Don’t stutter it. Say. It!”

  I tore up the stairs in a flash, the sounds of Andrew’s shouts drowning the thuds of my feet hitting the wood.

  “I can’t fucking listen to you anymore, you no-good piece of… piece of…crap! You remind me of him. You’re just like him. A little, stupid loser.”

  I screeched to a halt on the threshold of Andrew’s office, panting. It was the first time I’d ever been there. He was crouching down, shaking Tinder’s shoulders, spraying spit all over the poor kid’s face.

  I didn’t think.

  I didn’t even stop to digest what was happening.

  I stormed inside, scooping Tinder in my arms, ripping him from his father’s hands. Andrew stood and staggered backward, his face morphing from anger to shock. He didn’t think he’d have an audience.

  “Persephone.”

  My name fell from between his lips like a curse. Like he wanted to shake me, too. How often did he do this to him? Tinder’s words vibrated in my body, making it hum with rage.

  “It’s a map. If we follow it, we’ll get to heaven, and in heaven, everyone is nice, and no one hits you.”

  The better question to ask was how many more outbursts could Tinder expect in his lifetime—many, I suspected—and how many more victims were out there in the world who suffered under Andrew Arrowsmith’s wrath?

  The last question hit me hard.

  It hit me hard because deep down, I knew there was at least one other person close to me who was shattered by Andrew.

  Traumatized enough to swear off the entire human race afterward.

  “Look, I know what it looks like…” Andrew made a move toward me, his voice soft and soothing.

  I jerked Tinder to my chest.

  I shook my head. “I’m not ready to talk about what I witnessed here before I talk with your wife.”

  “What’s happening here?” Joelle’s voice drifted from the hallway. I turned around to face her. The look on my face said it all. The hopeful, open smile that graced her lips the entire afternoon collapsed into a glare.

  “Oh, no. What did you do now, Andy?”

  Now implied there were a lot of befores.

  “I just told him to speak clearly.” Andrew tried to laugh it off and tousle Tinder’s hair, but the boy buried his face in my shoulder, sniffing.

  “He shook him,” I said quietly, not wanting to add any more details to avoid embarrassing Tinder. Kids were much more perceptive than adults gave them credit for. “I’m going to take the boys downstairs to make a sponge cake. I’m sure you have things to talk about.”

  I offered my hand to Tree, who stood behind his mother, and went downstairs still holding Tinder.

  “Can we make triangle sandwiches first and cut off the crust? I hate the crust.” Tree giggled.

  “Of course. What about you, Tin? Would you like anything for a snack?”

  “A-A-Ants on a log, please. S-S-Sorry I made Daddy upset with my stut-stut-stuttering. I didn’t mean to.”

  He coiled into himself in my arms. I shook my head briskly.

  “Nonsense. I want you to remember something very important, okay, boys? Something I want you to carry with you everywhere, no matter where you go, like the necklace I gave you.”

  We reached the bottom of the stairs. I put Tinder back on the floor and crouched to their eye level.

  They nodded, their big, innocent eyes clinging to my face.

  “Whenever Daddy loses his temper and yells at you, it’s not your fault. We are not responsible for other people’s actions. Only for our own. That is not to say we are never wrong. It is our job to try to do our best to become better and always hold ourselves accountable for our own actions. But never blame yourself for what Daddy or Mommy is doing, okay? Promise me.”

  “Scout’s honor!” Tree put two fingers up.

  “I-I promise, too!” Tinder jumped.

  My heart rattled in my chest like a rusty, empty cage full of feelings I didn’t want to face.

  The family I was trying to build was a threat to these children.

  And their parents were a threat to mine.

  But I couldn’t turn my back on them.

  Not anymore.

  I dropped my half-full duffel bag to the floor, scowling at Petar.

  “Really, dude? You promised he wouldn’t be here.”

  The sound of the front door being thrown open was enough indication my husband walked into the house even though I’d specifically called Petar to make sure the coast would be clear so I could pick up the small stuff I’d left here and move it back to my apartment.

  Petar hitched a shoulder up helplessly.

  “He wasn’t supposed to come until ten or eleven, I swear. Ever since you left the house, he’s only come here to sleep. Sometimes not even that. Three times I had to send a courier to the office with a new set of suits for him this week.”

  Though it was tempting to feel bad for Kill, I pushed the emotion out of my heart.

  I threw the duffel bag on my bed, stuffing the knickknacks I’d forgotten in my haste to leave two weeks ago.

  “Where is she?” I heard Cillian’s rumble from downstairs. Petar did the sign of the cross, looked up, and dashed out of my room. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know where I was, so I left the question hanging unanswered.

  Sure enough, not five seconds later, Cillian was standing at my bedroom door, dark and surly as Hades holding uneaten pomegranates.

  “Back so early?” I huffed, stuffing one of my one hundred thousand flowery self-help journals into my bag. “What would Daddy say? I thought you were born to work.”

  He walked in, closing the door behind him.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I made idle conversation, knowing how much he loathed it.

  “Shouldn’t you be living with your husband?” he shot back.

  “No,” I said evenly, zipping the bloated bag, tugging at the stuck zipper. “You spent the past few months cementing the fact that we aren’t a real couple. All I’m doing is finally listening to you. You did a great job convincing me we’re nothing more than a contract.”

  I avoided looking at him directly. The hornet-sting that came with laying my eyes on his magnificence was too much on a normal day, and completely unmanageable when we were estranged.

  A stranger or an ally, Cillian always had the talent to make my heart sing and my soul weep.

  For a long beat, he just stood there, drinking me in.

  He took a step forward, putting a hand on my arm.

  I wanted to break down and cry.

  To tell him what I saw Andrew do.

  To confess I couldn’t eat or sleep well.

  “I told Sam to pull the surveilla
nce,” he said.

  I looked up at him, through a curtain of unshed tears.

  “And?”

  “And I haven’t touched anyone since I put a ring on your goddamn finger.” His lips barely moved, his jaw was so tight.

  “And?” I arched an eyebrow.

  Give me an emotion.

  Any emotion.

  “And I shouldn’t have broken the contract,” he said gruffly, looking away from me. “I trust you.”

  “Bullshit,” I choked on a dry laugh.

  He said nothing.

  I was beginning to see nothing I could say or do was going to change his mind about people. About me. He was incapable of feelings and pushing him to love me would achieve nothing other than to make him resent me. Even now, he didn’t want me because he liked me.

  Only because I was a comfortable arrangement. A means to an end.

  “You’re not leaving,” he said simply.

  I pulled the bag, hoisting it over my shoulder and turning to face him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He stepped toward me, snarling.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For changing the rules on you. For breaking the contract. For asking for more. I realize that I was out of line. I want you to marry someone who gives you what you want. Who is happy with what you’re willing to give back. And I’m not that person. I meant what I said. As soon as your legal/PR issues are over and everything quiets down, we can get a divorce.”

  I sidestepped him, but he matched my step, getting in my face again.

  “All this because of one mistake?” He scowled. “I already told you I haven’t touched anyone else. You were watched exactly one week, Persephone.”

  I threw my head back, laughing. “You think that’s the only problem? One mistake? Get real, Kill. You never treated me as your wife. Never spent the entire night in my bed. Never took me on one date that wasn’t a fancy event. No honeymoon. No meaningful conversation. I was never your equal. The only thing that’s changed is that now, I finally realize I never will be.”

  His eyes thundered. I bet his precious pulse was skyrocketing. I didn’t think he realized I even knew about it. How he put his fingers to his wrist discreetly to keep himself in check.

  How he cracked his knuckles every time he got ruffled.

  “I dined with you every evening. I fucked you every night. I took you to balls. To family dinners. I bought you jewelry. What more do you want from me, Persephone?”

  “A relationship.” I hurled the duffel bag on the floor, growling.

  “I don’t know how to have one!” he screamed back in my face.

  Kill began to pace, shaking his head.

  “I don’t know what that even means. I never had a relationship. You request something, and I make it happen. Is that not what a relationship is about?”

  How could I even answer that question without sounding like a complete bitch?

  “How did you know I was here?” I asked.

  “This house is wired more than a police informant in a bad cop show.” He rolled his eyes, stopping to examine me.

  “So you left everything and came here?”

  He parked a hand on his waist. “You talk like I don’t give a damn.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Well, newsflash.” He took a step forward, plastering me to the wall, his hand coming to the back of my neck, grabbing it as he tilted his head down. “I do. I’m not fucking happy about it, to be sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

  It was everything I’d wanted to hear since the day I met Cillian Fitzpatrick, yet at that moment, it was too late.

  If life taught me anything, it was that giving your all to someone who only agreed to return a fraction of themselves to you was a bad idea.

  “Come home, Flower Girl.” His eyes fluttered shut, his mouth moving over mine. The sensation was like a roller coaster, when you tip over the edge and your stomach dips. The rush of warmth flaring in my chest made my body buzz. Kill’s words drifted through my clouded brain. “Let me fuck you. Be the wife I need. You just need a bit more training. A few more months and we can fuck each other out of our system.”

  Months.

  We had an expiration date.

  We would always have an expiration date.

  I ripped my mouth from his.

  He didn’t get it, and I was tired of explaining.

  “Give me one reason to stay, Cillian. I’m not asking for many. Just the one. Something to hold onto.”

  “Because I want you to.”

  “No. Something else. Something that’s not completely selfish.”

  “I can’t be anything other than selfish,” he said brusquely.

  I picked up my duffel bag, pushing at his chest.

  “As soon as the lawsuit is over, we’re getting a divorce.”

  This time I didn’t look back.

  I pushed through the pain.

  Numb, prideful, and only half-alive.

  I finally knew what it meant to have your heart broken.

  Understanding—finally—that Paxton didn’t as much as put a dent in mine.

  I got back to my apartment, threw myself into the shower, and shoved a few dry rice cakes down my throat. My improvised version of dinner.

  I hadn’t even unpacked the bag I retrieved from Cillian’s house. Just fell on my sofa in my living room and flipped through channels, battling a headache.

  All the local news headlined the same story, about Cillian and Andrew going head-to-head in the trial that would take place soon. The news anchor cut to a video of the oil rig in the Arctic, an ugly black thing sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of the infinite blue. Crushed shards of ice scattered around it like broken glass. My heart bled for the piece of nature that fell victim to Cillian’s cruelty.

  You and me both, Arctic.

  I picked my phone up and typed my husband a message.

  Me: Stop the Arctic drilling.

  Me: You want heirs so much, have you ever stopped to think about what kind of world you are leaving for them?

  His response came promptly.

  Cillian: Yes. One where they’ll be filthy rich.

  Me: Does being rich make you happy?

  Cillian: Happiness is a feeling, ergo…

  Me: You can’t feel it. Gotcha. What did Andrew do to you?

  Cillian: He made me.

  Me: And what are you going to do to him?

  Cillian: Undo him.

  My doorbell rang, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

  It wasn’t Kill’s style to show up where he wasn’t invited. But I knew there was zero chance of it being anyone else. My parents didn’t know I lived in this apartment and not my husband’s house, Emmabelle worked nights, Sailor was probably off sneaking into archery ranges—only to be chased down by her worrisome husband—and Aisling very rarely raised her head up from the medical books these days.

  Rolling up from the couch, I padded to my door.

  “You really have some nerve coming here after the conversation we just had.” I opened the door, ready to give my husband a piece of my mind.

  My heart dropped as soon as I saw who it was on the other side.

  Paxton.

  Just because I called off Sam’s private investigators didn’t mean I let go of my unhealthy obsession with my wife.

  No. That would be the normal, sane thing to do.

  Not my fucking style.

  In my defense, I set my phone to receive notifications each time her apartment door opened, not because I suspected she’d cheat, but because I wanted to know she’d made it home safely.

  Why I still gave a damn about her well-being was beyond me.

  The piling evidence against her should have, in and of itself, made me drop her like a mic after an amateur rap night.

  Persephone worked for my nemesis on a daily basis.

  Visited Paxton’s grandmother.

  What on earth made me believe she’d be faithful?

/>   Nothing. The answer to that was nothing. And as I watched the blond, broad-shouldered man in the Next Door app shifting from foot to foot on her doorstep, head bowed, fingers tapping the side of his legs, waiting for her to open the door, I realized I’d been played.

  Ridiculed and undermined.

  Betrayed to the highest degree.

  Sam warned me he was unfinished business, and I didn’t listen.

  Now here he was, in the flesh.

  Paxton Veitch.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  The F-bomb was a guest of honor in my vocabulary. I rarely used it but felt the urge to spit it out for this special occasion. My body shook so badly I had to grab the door handle to stop myself from collapsing.

  My ex-husband stood in front of me, looking appallingly healthy for someone who’d been on the run for the past year. Tan, muscled, and at least as far as I could tell, still in full possession of all his teeth. His blond curls scattered about his head playfully, his soulful eyes blinking back at me.

  “Babe.” His lips twisted in a relieved smile, and he let out a sigh. “Fuck, you look just as gorgeous as I remember. Holy shit, Persy. Look at you.”

  He gathered my hands in his, bringing them to his mouth, laughing. Tears coated his sparkling eyes. I was too shocked to shove him away.

  Paxton was here.

  In the flesh.

  After hundreds of unanswered phone calls, emails, and sleepless nights.

  My head swarmed with questions. Where had he been hiding? When did he come back? How did he find his way into my building? There was a doorman at the entrance.

  Mostly, I wanted to know why. Why did he leave me to deal with his mess?

  And if I meant so little to him, why come back and stand at my doorway?

  My hands were still in his, scorching with his betrayal. I snapped out of my reverie, pushing him away.

  “I’ll repeat myself.” I took a step back. “What’re you doing here, Paxton? And how did you know where I live?”

  “Dropped by Grandma Greta’s nursing home. Your name and address were listed as an emergency contact.”