by Lily White
“It’s going to be all right, kid. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
Slapping the tears away so they won’t ruin my makeup, I stare at my reflection in the mirrored door, my heart flying into my throat when the elevator begins its quick descent.
Within a half hour, Lincoln and I are walking into the police station, the receptionist’s eyes widening when she recognizes my face and picks up a phone to call someone.
By the time we reach the desk, she points a finger to a set of double doors and says, “Go right through there. Detective Bishop will be waiting for you.”
I nod my head and do as she asks, a flurry of activity erupting around us as we walk through the doors to find five uniformed officers and one in a suit walking toward us.
“Mrs. Cabot,” the man in the suit says, his eyes casting a weary glance at Lincoln before landing on me. “We have a conference room where we can talk. You’ve made quite the impression on the city as of late.”
Looking him square in the eye, I round my shoulders, my voice startlingly strong when I tell him what I came to say.
“You’ve made a mistake, Detective. I wasn’t abducted from my husband’s house. The truth is I left the bastard for another man when I found out Grant was fucking his secretary.”
Ari
My little monster has grown up to be quite the impressive woman.
Adeline looks fierce as she descends the large half circle steps of the police station, her shoulders back and chin tipped high. Approaching the wall of microphones and reporters without the slightest hint of fear or aggravation, her smile is wicked, her eyes shining with the revenge she’s taking on her husband.
Watching the reports on television in real time, I also have my computer logged in to Grant’s cameras so I can monitor his reaction to the breaking news that Adeline Cabot has been found.
“Mrs. Cabot! Mrs. Cabot!” The reporters yell over each other, all jostling to be up front for their feature stories. Adeline ignores them all while stepping up to the podium. She gives Lincoln one glance as if needing the support, then turns to the microphones and cameras.
“I’ll give one statement as to the situation I’m facing at home as well as my recent whereabouts.”
My gaze flicks to the computer to see Grant standing stock still in front of the television, his expression as tight as his shoulders.
“I apologize to every person who has been burdened with the report that I was abducted. Unfortunately, my soon to be ex-husband, Grant Cabot, has lied to the entire city, for what purpose, I can’t tell you, but what I can say is that I was not abducted by Harrison Nash.”
Eyes back to Grant, I watch as the tumbler of cognac slips from his hand, the glass shattering over the white marble beneath him.
“The truth is that I discovered my husband was having an affair with his secretary, Patricia Myers. And after making the discovery, I allowed myself to enter into a relationship with Mr. Nash that was a hell of a lot more exciting than being the wife of Grant Cabot.”
Grant’s face darkens with a rush of blood, his hands curling into fists. I watch as his jaw ticks wildly, his eyes staring at the television screen with every plan to kill his wife.
“I left Grant for Mr. Nash and have been staying with him at a secluded property that he owns. We are in love and plan to marry just as soon as I can finalize a divorce with Grant.”
This is so much fun, the real time destruction of a man who insists on giving the appearance of having his shit together. It’s not as fun as fighting with Adeline, but it definitely runs a close second. I grin as I watch Grant pace through the room, his eyes wild as his hands stab through his hair.
“I want everyone to know I apologize again because it seems that my husband made this entire thing up to protect his precious ego. But I can assure all of you that I’m alive and well.”
She grins, the little minx.
“In fact, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Let’s just say Mr. Nash has been able to make up for all the failings of my husband.” She sticks out her pinky finger as if referencing the size of Grant’s cock.
Laughter bursts from my mouth, and I glance over to see Grant destroying his house, his mouth opening on a roar I can’t hear due to his shitty security system, but I can imagine what it sounds like as he swipes his arm across the entire wet bar in the room, launching all the liquor bottles over the ground where they burst into a mess of broken glass and liquor at his feet.
I’ll have to save this footage before he calms down enough to erase it. The replays alone will be hours of entertainment.
“So again, thank you all for your concern, but at this time, I’d like things to go back to normal. I’m returning to my home and rebuilding my life. It’s my hope that Grant will be smart enough to do the same.”
Oh hell. It’s a good thing Grant doesn’t have any weapons at his disposal. With the way he’s yelling and carrying on, he might put a bullet in his own brain and ruin all my fun.
Adeline steps away from the microphones, and Lincoln leads her through the crush of reporters and flashing cameras. The video follows them as they get into the back of a black car he rented, the screen returning to the shocked face of a reporter once the car pulls away.
I turn off the television and hurry to save all the footage of Grant losing his mind, my feet practically dancing in place from my excitement to show it to Lincoln and Adeline.
Knowing they’ll be at the house in less than twenty minutes, I shut my computer, taking it from the top of the piano to slip into my bag on a nearby sofa.
I spin in place to take a last look around at the new furniture I ordered and had delivered today, as well as the instruments I had moved from my penthouse. It’s as close as I can make it to what her house used to look like, every room furnished according to what I can remember after the years of watching her here.
The only thing I can’t replicate is the insanity of her prior bedroom, the mishmash of color and styles, the chaos that is Adeline’s head when decorating her space.
She’ll have to accomplish that on her own, but for now, I had it furnished with a king size bed, the headboard an intricate iron design with plenty of places for tying her hands up.
It looks nothing like her old bed, but I took the liberty of deciding on the improvement.
The house is done as far as I can tell, and I added heavy light blocking curtains on every French door and window that she’ll learn to use if I have to beat the habit into her.
Stepping outside, I lean a shoulder against one of the porch pillars and wait for their car to arrive.
The black Lexus pulls silently to the curb, the driver stepping out to run around and open the door for Adeline. She steps out looking absolutely incredible, a broad smile stretching her face as she waves at me and moves to let Lincoln out.
Without waiting for him, she walks quickly in my direction, her eyes holding mine before she ascends the steps to wrap me in a hug. I glance over her head and nod in Lincoln’s direction, letting him know I have her. He climbs back in and the car pulls away, the silence of the early evening wrapping around Adeline and me where we stand.
“I did it,” she says against my chest, her body tugging away just enough to glance up at me.
“You did. I’m proud of you. The added pinky reference was a nice touch.”
Her grin is pure mischief, the twinkle in her gaze stunning.
Stepping back, I grip her shoulders and say, “I have a surprise for you.”
That’s when I see it again, the hope in her expression. It stabs me in the gut every time because I know I’ll smother the light inside of her, that I’ll rip the rug out from beneath a set of feet that have just found their balance again.
I want to hope she’ll forgive me, but after years of seeing the world for what it is, I know better than to believe in fairy tales and happy endings.
“Come on, monster. Let me show you what I’ve done.”
Opening the door, I let her walk in
ahead of me, damn near colliding with her back when she stops in place. The expression on Adeline’s face is one I can’t interpret.
I’d expected happiness.
Gratitude, maybe, or surprise.
Instead, it looks like someone ran over her puppy...twice. Backing up again to be sure to make the scene more grotesque.
“You don’t like it.”
She blinks, looking at me and back at the room before stepping through to look into all the individual rooms leading from the foyer.
“When did you do this?”
There’s sorrow in her voice, the sound of it tugging my brows together.
“Today. I can have it all returned. I just thought this would be better than sleeping on the floor.”
“No, it’s not the furniture. Everything is beautiful, it’s just-“
Her voice trails off, and I stand there like a jackass with my hands tucked in my pockets.
Another glance around before she spins back to me. “Are you planning on leaving once this is all over?”
How the fuck do I dance around this question? Same way I always do, I guess. Tell a half-truth and hope she doesn’t dig any deeper.
Breathing out, I lock my stare with hers. “It’s not my intention to, no.”
Because it will be her choice in the end. And knowing what I know, the choice will be one I’ll have to live with.
“Are you sure? Because I-“
Looking away, she takes a few steps into her father’s office, her body going still as she stares at the desk.
“I don’t think I can handle it if you leave. Not after everything.”
It’s safer to keep my distance, to give her the space she’ll need when I finally spill the truth of how I know her.
“I’m not a good person, Adeline. I never lied to you about that. You should want me to leave when you’re safe again.”
Her hand brushes over the surface of the desk.
Fucking hell. Why did she lead me in here of all places? Right into the heart of the crime I’d committed against her.
Fingers shaking, she touches the back of the leather chair as she rounds the desk, pain so evident in her expression that I want to kill the man that put it there.
Me.
“There are ghosts in this house, you know? I guess I should tell you that since you’ll be staying here. My father-“
Her voice chokes up, a shake of her head as she straightens her shoulders searching for the strength the memory she’s reliving has stolen.
“My father killed himself in this room.”
Eyes lifting, she asks, “Do you know my dad killed himself? Did you know me then?”
And...shit. This conversation has careened straight down Fucked Up Lane after turning the corner at Ari is a Lying Asshole Trail.
I give her another half-truth. “You told me about your father in the cemetery.”
A nod of her head, the half-truth enough to suffice. Adeline slaps at a tear and gives me a shy smile.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump directly into the most depressing conversation of all time. It’s just hard...coming back here is hard.”
Reaching out, I grab her hand and pull her from the room. “I think I have something that will cheer you up.”
“You do?” Blue eyes lift to mine glimmering with the tears she fights back.
“Yes. I recorded Grant’s reaction to your news broadcast. I thought you might want to watch how your words affected him.”
At that, her smile returns, pure evil lighting up her eyes. “Actually, that makes me feel a little better.”
I lead her into the kitchen while grabbing my bag from the floor, and after cueing up the video, I watch her face as she grins to see Grant so angry.
It’ll be a week at least before the asshole makes a move, but I can’t feel excited for it, only because I know what will happen after.
Still, I go through the motions of a man who loves the woman who cast her spell on him when she was an out of control teenager, and with that plan in mind, I show her the rest of the house after the video, feeling like a fucking dick the entire time because I know how the truth will ruin her.
But it is what it is.
You can’t script reality. And as much as any person would like to go back and rewrite certain passages, the ink is permanent on the pages of our life.
My pages just happen to be written in blood. In the lives I’ve taken and the families I’ve destroyed. Including Adeline’s.
Accepting it and learning to live with it is the only option we have when truth becomes unbearable and secrets are revealed.
It’s too bad my secrets are exactly what make Adeline’s dreams of what I am to her impossible.
Adeline
One thing I should have known with Grant is that he’s not stupid.
Bad tempered? Vain? Egotistical? A lying, cheating bastard? All yes. But stupid? No.
Not my husband.
Grant has too much to lose in all of this, and although his pride took a hit with the public statement I made, his control didn’t snap like we hoped it would.
Everything he does is calculated. Just like Ari. And rather than flying off the handle to be outed as a liar, a cheat, and a shitty husband, Grant made a public statement of his own, lighting a fire under Ari and me in the process.
Who is Harrison Nash?
It’s a question buzzing around the city with only dead ends. Ari assures me that there’s a paper trail the police will follow, leading them to a different country and the appearance of legitimacy, but he was like a tiger caged for the first few weeks, pacing the rooms of my house with an expression on his face that made him unapproachable.
Rather than taking the hit, Grant spun the investigation up again. Called me a liar. Claimed I was in on a game with a man nobody can find. He accused me of being a criminal, although with what motive, nobody is sure.
According to Grant’s most recent interview, he believes I married him for his money while in a relationship with Harrison all along.
Unfortunately, his power and influence make him more of a believable character than me, the police often coming to my door with more questions.
All I can do is tell them that I no longer speak to Harrison, that he left me after he saw my public statement, and that I have no idea where it was he took me when I left Grant.
Playing it off that I was in an emotional state, I claimed I hadn’t paid attention. I just knew the flight took three hours and the drive after we landed took several more.
I wasn’t aware. I hadn’t cared. I slept through most of it, on the way and when coming back.
I have no clue, is what I told them. And, having no evidence of a crime I’d committed, the police had no choice but to slink away to investigate it on their own.
The scrutiny of my life made it difficult for Ari. He can’t be at my house during the day, and when he comes at night, it’s usually through a back window or door after ensuring I’m not being watched by police. Sometimes, I am, and he doesn’t come on those nights.
I wake up in sweaty, twisted sheets the next morning when he’s not here, my throat sore and my eyes swollen from crying.
He’s the only person who can help me sleep, but when he’s gone, my disorder is worse than it’s ever been.
Stress is a factor. The constant worry that he’ll be caught.
But mostly it’s the feeling I have that he’s distancing himself from me. That he’s walking away when he told me he had no intention to do so.
My shadow is diaphanous again, hovering just out of reach.
After two months of this nightmare, I know I need to move on with my life. Grant isn’t coming after me, not in the way we thought he would.
Instead, he’s destroying my life through the media and his public influence, and I refuse to sit back in a pretty cage while the rest of the world moves on without me.
It’s why I’m in a car now, heading downtown. I didn’t contact Ari for permission, didn’t tell Lincol
n. Fuck them both. It’s not like they’re bending over backwards to stay in touch with me.
My babysitters will have to deal with the fact that their little monster has remembered she’s the type of girl who isn’t told what to do.
“That’ll be twenty-six even.”
The car idles near the curb as the driver turns to look at me. Smiling back at him, I swipe my card and add a ten dollar tip. I have money now after Ari bought my last set of photographs, so I’m not destitute without the means of taking care of myself.
Saying “thanks” as I let myself out of the car, I walk the sidewalk with my head lowered and my hair hanging down to disguise my face as much as possible.
The media frenzy has made it difficult to get around town without people staring, but fortunately nobody approaches like I’m a celebrity or anyone of importance. They just whisper to each other and move along.
Air conditioning sweeps out as I let myself in to the Weeping Willow, my eyes lifting to see Rebecca standing in front of a photograph on the wall, her perfectly shaped brows tugged together in the center as she scrutinizes the piece.
I step up behind her and startle at the dark and sensual shot.
Taken from behind, the line of the woman’s body is curved back, her hands bound above her head in black leather as she’s kneeling on the ground. Red lines are evenly spaced down her back, wisps of blood leaking over pale skin, a subtle pink handprint on her naked butt.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, my head tilting slightly as I make sense of it.
She spins at that, her hand going to her chest. “Shit. You scared me.”
“Who’s the photographer?”
Her cheeks glow pink. “Uh, it’s nobody. This is for a private show.”
Hand gripping my shoulder, she hurries me away from the shot as much as she can with how pregnant she is.
Once we enter her office, I take a seat and nudge my chin at her belly. “Any day now, huh?”
“A few weeks,” she smiles and relaxes back in her seat, manicured fingernails steepled and tapping against her chin. “So? You were abducted. How does it feel to be free again?”