by Lily White
“Fun ones, yes. But he’s not the type.”
Glancing up, she laughs and slides the ledger my direction before dropping the pen on the page. “Sign there and the photos are yours.”
While I’m scrawling my name across the page, she sits back in her seat, her voice curious. “Are you a fun one?”
I drop the pen and shove the ledger her direction.
“No, I’m a dick as well, but for different reasons. Are we done now?”
A shake of her head. “Just like my husband.”
Standing, she cradles her stomach again, her free hand splaying over the desk to catch her balance.
“You can pay me when you pick up the photos. I’ll go ahead and walk out there. Give it a few minutes before following. That way nobody knows who the secret buyer is.”
Rebecca leaves the room, and I stab two hands through my hair, my fingers curling to pull at the ends of it. Frustration rides me like a cheap whore, and I consider walking out to leave entirely. Never looking back. Returning to my life like Lincoln has been begging me to do, and forgetting I ever knew Adeline.
Even while considering the thought, I know I won’t leave. I can’t. She’s a compulsion that ensnares me. A trap that I can’t free myself from unless I get desperate enough to chew my fucking leg off and crawl away bleeding.
She doesn’t enjoy being with Grant.
But she wants to be with me.
That has to count for something. So, rather than walking the fuck out of this gallery like an intelligent man would do, I push to my feet and crack the door enough to ensure nobody will see me leaving the office.
I slip from the room and casually stroll into the showroom as if I’d just arrived, my gaze catching Adeline’s when she turns to see the newcomer.
Again, she’s standing with Rebecca and the other woman I don’t recognize, a strange look on her face that I can’t interpret.
Over the years, I’ve memorized every expression, every habit, every reaction, everything there is to know about this woman.
And it kills me that I can’t read her thoughts now.
She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t approach. Doesn’t make any move that shows she’s pleased to see me.
Instead, she turns back to the people she’s with, Rebecca’s blue eyes lifting just enough to find mine, a slight tilt to her head directing my attention to the photos displayed.
I look at the first one and damn near march over to rip it from the wall.
Not because I want to destroy it. Not because it causes my pulse to become jagged, my muscles to go rigid, my eyes to become laser focused on every detail there is to see about it.
But because it’s a private moment I’m not willing to share with the world.
I step up to the large print, glancing at the title card to the side of it.
Defile.
That’s what she named it. And when my gaze returns to the image, I realize that no other title fits.
The shadow has a form now. No longer the black mass that hovers silently over her bed, she’s managed to give it a face, arms, legs, while at the same time hiding the finer features that would make it recognizable. Even with form, he’s still not solid, more like a dream - or nightmare - come to life.
These aren’t straight shots. Adeline doesn’t think like that. She manipulates the images, combines them, processes them until you’re staring at what could be a painting from a distance, the blending done so perfectly that you would expect to feel the rough ridges of brushstrokes if you were to reach out and touch it.
My gaze slides from the shadow to the woman in front of him, to Adeline.
For all the time I watched her from a distance, I never saw her include herself in the shots. Yet there she is, climbing up the crypt where she came on my fingers.
Except she’s not simply Adeline in these shots, she’s an angel, her wings shredded and torn, blood streaking down her legs and her arms, while the shadow uses the halo that should float above her head to circle her throat and hold her in place, choking her as it rips away her innocence.
And despite the violence, there is something raw and sexual about their pose, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her ass to him, his head lowered as if whispering in her ear, and her face turned just enough that you can see her lips parted, both pain and pleasure in the expression she wears, both hatred and want.
I move to the next photo, and then the next, the same theme in all of them, a steady progression as the shadow becomes a demon, still black and barely solid, but a symbol of the evil that is tearing Adeline apart.
When I approach the photo Adeline stands near, I make a wide circle around it, around her, keeping her trained in my peripheral vision to see she makes no move to watch me, her lack of notice so complete that I understand she’s intentionally ignoring me.
A hand lands on my shoulder as I move deeper into the showroom, a sudden slap from behind that causes my hand to fist, my bicep to bunch.
“I was wondering when you’d make it. What do you think of Adeline’s work?”
I’m going to kill this son of a bitch one of these days and it’s going to be for something as simple as putting his hand where it doesn’t belong.
Rounding my shoulder so that his hand will slip away, I turn to lock eyes with Grant.
“They’re brilliant,” I answer honestly. “She has a great eye for detail.”
He smirks, glances at the photo we’re standing in front of, an image depicting Adeline hunched over from behind, large gouges in her back where wings had once existed. The shadow lingers in the backdrop, a black mass with eyes of sparkling silver.
“They’re definitely something,” he comments before his professional smile is in place. “Come with me. I’d like you to meet someone.”
This shit with Grant needs to end. I’m too close to the edge. Bare centimeters from ripping his head off and spitting down his throat. I can’t stand him, and yet I find myself forcing one foot in front of the other to follow him over to where another jackass stands, a man roughly my height, with a slimmer, yet still powerful, build.
He’s staring across the room at Adeline’s group as we approach, but his eyes slide my direction, green like Grant’s, but there’s something else I see in that stare that sets my nerves on edge.
Not fear.
Never that.
But the need to watch my back because you can’t trust a person that has the ability to size you up in five seconds flat.
The man has his arms crossed over his chest, feet set shoulder width apart, still elegant in a tailored suit that undoubtedly cost a fortune.
“Harrison, I’d like to introduce you to Rebecca’s husband, Aiden Oliver. He’s been keeping me company while the ladies enjoy themselves.”
Aiden doesn’t offer his hand in greeting, and I don’t offer mine. Instead, we stare at each other, a mutual, narrow-eyed distrust. His assessing gaze scans me from head to toe, back again, before his mouth pulls into a sly grin as he inclines his head.
My hostility toward him is immediate. There’s something off about this asshole that I recognize...only because like recognizes like.
Meanwhile, Grant is blind to it, his voice filtering into the stare down, annoying as ever. We both turn our eyes to him at the same time.
“Aiden was just telling me that he bought this gallery for his wife.”
Our eyes slide back to each other. And we both relax, our mutual hatred of Grant somehow easing the strain between two shady as fuck characters.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I finally say, Aiden’s grin slicing a line across his face, dark humor at the edges of it.
“I was actually telling Grant that I met my wife in an art gallery. It’s a sweet story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you some time.”
Grant clears his throat because he can’t stand not being the center of attention. Our eyes slide back to him.
“I’m sure Adeline would love to hear the story. She’s mentioned how much she likes your wife. Do you come
to these events often?”
My brow quirks when I realize that Grant isn’t actually curious about Aiden’s involvement with the gallery. He’s attempting to butter up another potential investor.
“Actually, no. But I have a thing for photography and came to this one.”
“Oh? Are you a photographer?”
Here we go...
Aiden smiles, but I can tell by the honed edge to it that he knows what Grant’s up to.
“I am.”
“I’d love to see your work.”
Another sly grin. “It’s a private collection. Nothing I show the world.”
The only positive of having Grant’s attention on Aiden is that I’m free to ignore the conversation and scan my eyes across the gallery. As usual, they land on Adeline.
Every so often, she glances our direction, her focus more on her husband and Aiden. It amuses me how hard she has to fight to keep from making eye contact with me.
It pisses me off, too. But I’ll get over it. Her fight is only temporary.
Hearing my name draws me back to the conversation.
“Harrison is about to invest in the company. I’ve been chasing him down for weeks, it feels like. Maybe I can take you both out for dinner after the show is over tonight-“
“Not interested,” Aiden says with no apology for cutting him off mid-sentence.
I feel a twinge of jealousy.
Grant clears his throat, clearly put in his place. I turn my head to grin, suddenly liking the asshole beside me more.
My eyes lock on Adeline again, watching her move from one print to the next, discussing them with several women.
“Yes, well, I have a feeling Harrison isn’t as interested in the company as he claims. I think his interest is in other things.”
I would have ignored the comment if not for the warning in his tone. Turning back to him, I meet his stare.
“And what interest would that be?”
The tension between us is climbing to dangerous levels.
Aiden glances between us, grin firmly in place, clearly enjoying the exchange.
Grant cocks a brow, but doesn’t answer. Judging by the look on his face, he wants to say more, but he’s also intelligent enough to know pushing me too far would be a stupid fucking move.
He’s smart to step away. “If you two will excuse me, I think I’ll spend some time with my wife.”
Grant emphasizes the last two words as his eyes lock on me in challenge.
I refuse to respond, remaining silent as he strolls across the room to stand next to Adeline. Hand lifting, he wraps it around the back of her neck, fingers tight against the muscle. I don’t miss how she stiffens at his touch, my jaw ticking with suspicion.
A low voice next to my ear. “I really can’t stand that dumb son of a bitch.”
Turning to meet Aiden’s stare, I say nothing. He only smiles more.
“Would be a shame if something happened to him.”
Ignoring the taunt, I return my attention to Adeline, noticing the distance she attempts to put between her body and Grant’s.
Something’s not right. But from what I’ve seen on his security cameras, he hasn’t done anything to hurt her. Why is she acting like an abused pet?
Aiden follows my line of sight, an odd sound rumbling in his chest, a step taken to stand closer to me as his voice drops to a low whisper.
“Do you want my advice?”
“No,” I answer, refusing to look at him.
He chuckles. “Too bad, I’m giving it to you anyway.” A pause before he says, “Sometimes when you want something bad enough, you just have to take it.”
Annoyed, I bark a response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Except I know exactly what he’s talking about, and it takes effort to peel my gaze away from a woman whose existence makes me bleed.
Our stares lock, and Aiden cocks a brow.
“She’s married. But, so fucking what? You don’t seem like the type to let small details stop you. If you want her as badly as I can tell you do, man the fuck up and do something about it. Even if she kicks and screams at first. Eventually, she’ll come around.”
His eyes drift to Rebecca.
“Trust me,” he says, his hand slipping causally into his pocket. “The payoff in the end is worth it.”
“What the fuck do you know?” I ask, uncomfortable with what is now the third person to point out my interest in Adeline.
This is too close.
I’m getting way too fucking close.
His eyes slide from photo to photo, a knowing smile stretching his lips. “I think the exhibit tonight should be your answer. Some women are in need of a demon. And from what I see in those shots, it’s not her husband she’s talking about.”
With that, he walks away, a sophisticated stride as he approaches Rebecca and places his hand on her lower back. He bends to whisper in her ear, and she smiles, her eyes glimpsing up at me before returning to the group of people surrounding her.
A few seconds and a woman runs up to them with a bottle of champagne in hand, the top popping off as Rebecca tells Adeline that all her photos have been sold.
But rather than elation on Adeline’s face, I see relief…and that fake ass fucking smile she always wears.
Grants hand clamps on the back of her neck tighter.
And I’m about one second away from storming up to him to break every finger.
I’ve had enough of the night, and rather than stand in place staring at a man who drives my violence to dangerous levels, I do what’s smart and leave the gallery without drawing attention.
It’s clear Adeline has made her choice, even if something is telling me that choice wasn’t an easy one.
Deciding a new approach is necessary, I’m relieved to know I won’t have to pretend to be an investor anymore. But I also realize that the next time I come face to face with Grant Cabot, it’ll be a meeting he won’t walk away from.
Adeline
Three weeks. I kept telling myself that’s all I had to endure before I could leave Grant. Only three. Twenty-one long days where I would put up with the escalating abuse.
He’s smart, my husband. He doesn’t leave marks where they can be easily seen, each one small and discreet. The placement of them are in places covered by my clothing, each one of them given when I’m too drugged to remember exactly how it had gotten there in the first place.
Bruises. Teeth marks. Small cuts that have no explanation other than a desire to hurt me when I’m too drugged to fight back.
It became a pattern after that first night. Always while at home. Always in the bathroom. I’m not sure why he only hurts me in there, but it makes me fight to avoid walking into one.
A person can go only so long before nature calls, and I was becoming dehydrated as the weeks rolled on, only because I’m trying like hell to avoid it.
Not that it matters. He’s an inventive man. And after the first few nights I tried to refuse what he wanted, I learned it hurts less if I just give in.
Two weeks passed before the gallery show, and I was strong enough to survive it.
If I hadn’t depleted my trust account years ago, I would have left after that first time. I’d thought about going to my old house and sleeping on the floor, but I knew he’d find me there. Knew he’d drag me home.
I thought about calling Ari since he’s the only person I know who isn’t loyal to Grant. Every time I typed the first text, I erased it just as quickly, my fear justified, but for what reason I’m not sure.
If I’m to escape completely, I know I have to do it on my own.
So, I decided to do the smart thing and wait it out to come up with a plan.
I’m now only a day away from leaving my husband. Less than twenty-four hours and I’ll take what little possessions I can carry and flee the state. I used what was left in my account to purchase all the necessary tickets. A short flight, a long ride on a train, a bus to one town and then back on a plane.
I thought about leaving the country entirely, and I still might.
If it wasn’t for the sale of those photographs, I would have never been able to accomplish it.
One more night.
I can survive this...
I keep telling myself that as I sit on the side of our bed, waiting for the pills to take effect that Grant makes me swallow every night.
He walks in front of me, removing his suit jacket to toss over the back of a chair in the corner sitting area, unbuttons his cuffs and pulls at the knot in his tie.
“I haven’t heard from Harrison since your little gallery show.”
Green eyes catch mine from over his shoulder, his back to me as he pulls his wallet from his pocket to toss on top of a dresser near the closet.
Turning, he grins as he tugs at the top buttons of his pressed white shirt to loosen the collar.
“Guess he wasn’t that impressed.”
The knife hits where he’d intended, but I shrug off the sting. Those photos weren’t for Ari. They were for me, a clawing grasp at what I had before this asshole tricked me into giving up every part of myself.
I’ll take it all back eventually. I just have to escape.
“Even if he wasn’t impressed. Somebody was. I sold every piece.”
There is still a little rebellion left in me, only because I refuse to let him break me completely.
Slowly unbuttoning his shirt, he keeps a careful eye on me. Doesn’t react to what I said. He’s watching for my reaction to whatever cruel statement he’ll make next.
“You know,” he says, slipping the shirt from his shoulders to reveal a toned body I’d once found attractive, “I made some calls today I should have made a few weeks ago.”
Dropping the shirt into a hamper, Grant catches my eyes, holds them. “Nobody besides Steven Turner has ever heard of Harrison Nash. I thought it was interesting, so I made a few more calls.”
My shoulders stiffen as much as they can, the effects of the drugs already taking over.
“What I found is he doesn’t exist.”
Grant steps up to me and gently touches my chin, tilts my face to his. “You’re going to tell me who he really is.”
Heart sinking with one painful thump, I tell him the truth. “I don’t know.”