by Mason, V. F.
How could they have done it to me? How can you deceive someone so much that you are willing to marry them in order to be with someone else?
Just remembering them entwined on the bed raises the bile in my throat while my body shakes with fury and anguish, my nails digging harshly into my palms as I sob.
I don’t want them to know I shed a single tear because of them.
I rest my forehead against the wall, and then on wobbly legs step inside the elevator the minute it signals its arrival. Through my blurry vision, I press for the ground floor, all while wiping away my tears.
“We can’t be anything but perfect, Giselle. We have a family name to uphold.”
Even though I’m no longer the nine-year-old girl who accidentally threw up during the dinner party of a senator, I can still hear my grandfather’s voice ringing in my ears and immediately straighten up as if he stands next to me.
Showing weakness to outsiders is beneath Walkers.
My mind travels back to upstairs, as if wanting to rub more salt on the wound, and no matter how much I shake my head, the images seem permanently imprinted in my brain. And with them comes deep humiliation, which awakens old nightmares that have the capacity to destroy my carefully placed façade.
I need to run away.
I need to escape before I collapse on this floor.
At last, the dzing sound echoes through the space and the doors slide open, allowing me to exit, only to bump against a hard chest. I stumble and my heel sticks in the elevator crack. A loud yelp slips past my lips, and I almost fall, except strong hands wrap tightly around my waist, snatching me up so that I come face-to-face with a stranger.
Gasping for breath, I lean back to see a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing sport clothes and a hoodie. His eyes are covered by black sunglasses that mirror my reflection.
A very disastrous one, I might add—not that I care much about it. At this point, I should be grateful I didn’t face-plant on the freaking floor, or I’d have a bruise as a memorable souvenir from this day.
His muscled body feels almost like granite under my palm, and that’s when I realize my hands are splayed on his chest! “I’m so sorry,” I mumble, shifting back, and his arms, albeit slowly, allow me to slip from his hold. “Thank you for helping me.” Music blasts from his headphones hooked over his neck, so I’m not even sure he heard me.
We stare at one another for a second, or maybe a minute, before he walks past me into the elevator and presses the button.
I finally snap out of my stupor and resume my walk, dialing Isla’s number, but the stranger’s presence doesn’t go away. A tremble rushes through me, and I don’t know if it’s a good one or bad.
What kind of man whom I’ve never met can evoke such a reaction?
If I only knew.
Callum
I turn on the TV to watch the latest footage, and my mouth curves in a smile when she enters right on time to catch her perfect fiancé and her sister fucking.
The pain in her face, the devastation in her words, and finally the look of utter horror she has… they bring me pleasure that no other victim could.
It’s funny how people are played like chess pawns without realizing it, just like rag dolls who are 100 percent controlled by another.
Everything goes according to plan.
First, you destroy her life.
Then you make what is left a living hell, so she’ll burn in the fire of your creation.
My beautiful Persephone is about to fall through the gates of Hades.
Some might think my greatest desire is to kill her.
But no… my greatest desire is to possess her in ways that are considered a crime for normal people.
They say obsessions and insanity go hand-in-hand, but I have another theory.
Possession and desire go hand-in-hand, because they create such deep insanity a man is willing to eliminate everything and everyone in his way to get to what he wants.
I flick my fingers and knock two pawns from the chessboard, ready to strike again.
By the time this is done, there will be no one but the queen left standing.
Chapter Three
Giselle, 8 years old
The car stops abruptly, and I press my back against the seat, blinking in surprise as a lady in the front seat says cheerfully, “We’re here, darling.” I glance through the window to my right, but only see a man in a funny suit with a longer jacket, opening the door widely for me.
He extends his white-glove-covered hand and announces, “Welcome to the Walker manor.” I look at his hand and then at him, but he just gazes above my head, expecting something.
What does this man want?
He must have noticed my confusion, because he clears his throat, and for a fraction of a second, his face softens as he explains, “Let me help you to the ground, Miss Giselle.” Without thinking, I comply with his request, and he picks me up from the big car that felt like a tank inside and places me on the ground.
I put my hands on my mouth when I see the huge house right in front of me. It spreads sideways to no end, while the three floors all have lots of windows with all the lights turned on inside them.
Lightning strikes above as heavy clouds fill the sky, and the lady sighs. “It will rain again.” She shivers a little and then pats me on the back. “Let’s get you inside before you get wet.”
I stand still though, still gaping at the manor with my mouth dropped open.
The manor is made of brown bricks, and I smile widely when I see green flowers spreading over the edges of the building, as if permanently glued to them, creating a mysterious atmosphere around them. A few thick steps with several cracks in them, allowing pieces of grass to grow in between them, lead to the brown front door where lamps brighten the place so much it’s a wonder we’re not blind from it.
“Giselle.” She pats me again, albeit this time more forcefully, and I raise my eyes to her. “Let’s go.”
I wrap my hand around her wrist, hiding behind it even though she is cold as ice. But in this moment, the only person I know is this lady who showed up at our house after Mommy died.
Familiar sadness spreads in me and I whimper, remembering Mom’s warm scent right before they took her away. “Giselle,” the lady says, but this time no one can miss the annoyance skirting her tone, but she still keeps her smile intact.
What if there is some kind of monster living inside? “It’s scary,” I whisper, hoping we’ll go somewhere else where I can start a new life.
I’m not sure what it means, but the lady repeated those words many times on the way here, “a new life.”
I don’t want a new life. I want to go back to Mommy, but they say it’s not possible.
She huffs and steps back, so I wrap my arms around myself instead. She opens her mouth to say something, but that’s when the funny man kneels in front of me, his slightly wrinkled face coming into view. His brown eyes warm a little and he takes out something from the pocket of his jacket.
My eyes widen when I understand what it is, and before thinking, I snatch it away from him and gasp in delight. “Crocus Sativus!” One of the rarest species of orchids! My thumbs caress the soft petal, so fragile to every touch. “Mommy’s favorite,” I murmur, and for a second something crosses his face, but it goes away, and he nods.
“I have more of those in the garden.”
“You do?” I ask with wonder and step closer to him, twisting the flower between my fingers. “Can I see them?” All thoughts about the scary house leave me, because where there are plants, there is life.
Or that’s what Mommy always said.
“Unbelievable,” the lady mutters, but the man pays her no attention.
He gets up and extends his hand to me again, and this time I take it, while excitement dances in my bones.
Finally, we reach the door, and he ushers me inside. My head moves from side to side, blinking at various big figurines that are yellow. “Why is a horse yellow?” I question, and the man chuckles
, finding something funny in my words.
I frown and tap my foot, and this time full-on laughter erupts. “It’s gold.”
“Gold?” I’ve never heard this word before. Is it a different shade of yellow?
Before he can explain though, footsteps echo through the space along with the sound of a cane being slapped against the marble. I turn toward the sound to see an old man walking toward us.
His hair is white, and he wears a suit, but it’s not as funny-looking as the other man’s. His cold green eyes focus on me, and he barks, instantly scaring me, “What took you so long?”
Instinctively, this time I hide behind the man while the lady quickly answers, almost breathlessly, “Mr. Walker, my apologies. Our flight was delayed, and we caught traffic on the way. But she is here now.” She points at me and then gives him some papers. “The paperwork is done too.”
He raises his hand, and she stops talking, just shifts nervously to the side. “I don’t appreciate excuses, Marta. I hired you because you are the best.”
She becomes pale, and I can’t take it anymore. The man is a meany! “Don’t be mean to her,” I say, and his gaze returns to me, something flickering in it, but I continue. “I needed to pee on the way, and that’s why we stopped.” I smile at Marta, hoping this will help her. Mommy always told me that a job is important, and no one should ever put anyone in the position where it’s threatened.
What if he fires her, just like Mommy’s boss who got sick of her coughing?
I address the man next to me. “Can I see more Crocus Sativus now?” I don’t want to be in the company of this odd man.
A beat passes as everyone stays silent, just the man and the old man looking at each other, before the old man calls my name. “Giselle, come with me, child.” Although his tone is even, I don’t miss the sternness of it.
With a reassuring pat on my head from the man next to him, I step in his direction. He takes me to the garden that will become my salvation for eight long years.
I don’t know it yet, but I’ve just met my grandfather.
One of the monsters who lives inside the castle.
Giselle
I blow into the tissues as Isla pours more wine into my glass and places it in front of me on the kitchen counter.
I gulp it quickly, welcoming the sweet taste in my throat. “He is an ass,” she says, sliding a dish of berries toward me, clearly wanting me to munch on them, but I scrunch my nose.
“Yeah, we established that on drink five.”
She huffs in exasperation and drops next to me on the chair, picking a berry and throwing it into her mouth. “Even good guys screw you over.”
“Then they weren’t good guys from the very beginning, right?” I suggest, refilling my glass, but Isla stills my movements with her arm. “Are you sure you want to get drunk?”
My bitter laughter sounds fake, even to me. “Oh, I’m sure.” I mean, the most disastrous thing happened. How can I not need a bottle? And oddly enough, Kevin has nothing to do with it.
“Will you tell your parents?’
“No.” I shrug, pressing the glass to my cheek. “I’ll just call off the wedding. There is no need to upset them.”
“Right.” Sarcasm laces her tone, but before I can dwell on it, she asks another question, one I avoid like the plague, because my own mind constantly voices it too. “What about Lucy?”
Lucy.
My baby sister.
For a moment, I’m again in that room, watching them get it on while they are both so into it they don’t even notice me standing there. Lost in the throes of passion where the outside world ceases to exist for them.
My stomach flips, and humiliation runs through every bone in my body, because revisiting those memories almost seems like an intrusion of their privacy. Like I am the villain in this situation, and not the two people who were supposed to love me the most and not betray me behind my back. “She is my sister.”
“Right,” she says again, but this time doesn’t hide the anger crossing her face. She drums on the counter, probably doing her best to keep her mouth shut and not express an opinion on the statement I always repeat whenever Lucy screws up.
I said that when she destroyed my orchids for a national competition, thus eliminating me from the contest, and my school lost as a result. I said that when she crashed my car into a brick wall while showing off to her friends. And I even said that when she slept with my boss’s husband and introduced herself as me, so the boss called me names and fired my ass without any recommendations.
I can go on forever, because no matter what she’s done, she always stays my sister.
But how can I forgive her for sleeping with my fiancé… in my own apartment… two weeks before my wedding?
I’m not sure we can ever come back from that. “Cutting her out of your life will be a good decision, Giselle.” Isla leans on the counter, sipping her drink. “It’s not like it will be a major loss anyway. All you do is clean up her messes.”
She shoots an arrow straight into my heart without even realizing it. “It was hard for her when….” I can’t believe I’m still sitting here and defending her, but old habits die hard.
Besides, don’t they say blood is thicker than water? Kevin really isn’t worth ruining my relationship with my sister forever.
But he was worth enough for her.
Realization slams into me, almost knocking me off my stool, when I understand my true devastation.
If I’m willing to forgive her and worry more about what will happen to us… and not give a shit about Kevin… did I love him at all?
Why did you say yes?
I block away the tiny voice of reason from within, and my head starts to throb from all the tension zipping through me. Rubbing my temples in circles several times, I finally crack. “I need to sleep. I’ll decide everything tomorrow.”
“You are jobless and in need of an apartment. I don’t think you want to live in the place where they screwed each other.” My best friend sure doesn’t hold back any punches; I’ll give her that.
One of the reasons we became best friends was because she always spoke her mind and put people in their place, while I soothed the edges and tried to form bridges.
Two sides of a coin, so to speak.
“Yes, thanks for pointing it out.”
She raises her glass and salutes me with it. “Always welcome, babe.”
I step in the direction of her guest room, but then spin around and march right to her, hugging her close. She does the same, spilling a little wine onto my shirt, but I don’t care.
Because no matter what, I will always have Isla. “Thank you.”
She pats my back, and then teases, “Someone has to take care of you, or you’ll forever live in those greenhouses of yours, nurturing your plants.” Then she adds, “And starve.”
“With my love for Italian food? Highly doubtful.” We both share a laugh that oddly enough erases some of the weight from my chest, and I squeeze her one more time before leaning back. “Now off to bed to change the world for the better tomorrow.”
“This is so—” The shrilling ring of her home phone cuts off whatever she wants to say, and she quickly picks it up, while muttering to me, “Who the hell calls a landline these days?”
I shrug, because I have no freaking clue either. The only reason she still has it is because her grandmother can’t figure out cell phones. “Hello?” She listens for a second and then shifts her attention to me. “Yes, she’s here, but how—” Then her eyes widen, and she tightens her hold on the phone. “Yes, I did.” Another second, and she murmurs, “Sure.” And then she motions for me with her hand to come closer while covering the phone with her palm. “This is amazing, Giselle. Say yes.” That’s all the warning I get before she passes the phone to me.
Clearing my throat, I mouth to her, Oh my God, before saying, “Hello?”
“Giselle Walker?” The rich, deep, husky male voice greets me, and I blink as an unfamiliar awarene
ss rushes through me, awakening every hair on my body. “It’s nice to speak with you.”
Jesus, I had no clue such voices existed in this world. It’s as if he tastes each word in his mouth and utters them with profound carefulness, hypnotizing people with them.
Or maybe I’m just really drunk and coming to idiotic conclusions. “This is she.” Isla snorts into her palm and I give her the death glare, before quickly adding, “I mean it’s me, yes.”
“My name is Callum MacRae. I’m the owner of CaMacRae Gardens.” I stay silent, racking my brain for any recognition but come up blank. He must have guessed that, so he continues to explain. “We specialize in creating greenhouses across the states to preserve rare flowers in rich natural gardens.” He waits a bit then says, “And such.”
He clearly waits for some kind of reaction from me, but I have no clue what to say. I shake my head at Isla while she tries to mumble something, but I can barely register her words. “Best in the field,” she says louder, and then covers her mouth with her hands.
“I see your friend knows more about it than you do. Considering she is a detective, I’m impressed.” And finally the company name registers in my mind, and I gasp, groaning. “Oh, I see it hit you,” he murmurs again with this freaking voice of his that probably clouded my judgment before.
CaMacRae Gardens is one of the best botanic companies in the States, managing various organizations and gardens where they invest heavily in research. They have the best supplies, laboratories, and access to one of the rarest flowers. It’s almost impossible to get a position with them unless you know someone.
Even an internship is a pipe dream, and considering my dad is the future senator, it speaks volumes of the hiring policy. “I’m sorry. I’m just… out of it today,” I try to excuse myself lamely, although I probably kissed my chances goodbye. At this point, I can only pray he doesn’t take me for a clueless idiot.
He chuckles into the phone, sending prickles down my spine, and I wonder if I’ve gone insane. “I got your résumé submission for the botanic position we have.”
“What?”