Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132649 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
But how could she have accessed Iris’s private files? The pictures?
As she stared at Trystan’s averted profile, she realized that none of that mattered now.
“I don’t know how this happened, Trystan. I swear to God, I would never do something like this. You know that. You know me.”
“Do I?” Those two words, delivered in a devastatingly cutting monotone silenced her and she swallowed down the pained protest swelling in her throat. “Fuck me, I should have known better. This is my own fault. I can’t even blame you that much. I served myself up on a motherfucking platter and made it painfully easy for you to do this. Maybe part of me knew you would, maybe that’s why I so inexplicably laid my soul bare to you. Of all people. Maybe I’m relieved that my role in Trish’s death is finally out there. No more secrets, right?”
He rubbed his hands over his face, looking tired, defeated, and resigned. He didn’t even look particularly angry, and that—more than anything else—was what terrified Iris the most. He’d given up. On her. On them.
“I was a fool,” he laughed softly, the sound self-deprecating, the words almost absent as if he was speaking more to himself than to her. “You’re a shark… and when you bleed in front of a predator, you get eaten. But I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security, while stupidly ignoring the fact that blood will tell and a predator’s instincts will always win out in the end.”
“No, Trystan. I don’t know how this happ—”
“Give it up, Iris! Your sick little game is over. You’ve won. Okay?”
The car slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder of the road, where it came to a complete stop and Trystan rapped on the privacy window.
“Now would you kindly get the fuck out of my car?” he said, his voice cordial as he gestured toward the door, which Chance had opened.
Iris’s eyes darted to the door, then back to Trystan, who was inspecting his nails with studied disinterest.
“Trystan, no… please don’t do this to us. I didn’t write that article. I swear to God, I didn’t. You can’t leave me stranded on the side of the road.”
He laughed at that, a horrible, scornful sound. “And give you even more dirt to bury me with? I would never. Just get out of my car and out of my life, Iris. I never want to see you again.”
At that moment Iris realized that the driver had also exited the car and was removing her luggage from the boot. He was transferring cases to the second car, which was parked slightly in front of theirs.
“I love you,” she reminded him desperately. “You love me. You said we’d make this work. You said—”
“Yeah, I said a lot of things, most of which are probably in that article somewhere… but the woman I thought I loved doesn’t exist. She never existed. She was someone you made up. And I’ll grieve for her and miss her. You? Not so much. I fucking hate you for preying on the weakness you found in me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you for that.”
Before she was able to properly comprehend what was happening, Iris found herself curled up on the back seat of the smaller black Mercedes-Benz sedan. Her thoughts a whirl, her emotions chaotic, and her heart racing. She was shaking so much that some distant, detached part of her brain recognized that she was exhibiting all the symptoms of shock.
The car started moving and she scrambled upright, desperately searching for the other vehicle. It was two or three cars ahead of this one. She pressed her palms against the window, her breath misting the glass as she hoped for a glimpse of Trystan, wanting to see him, wanting him to recognize the mistake he was making. But the heavily tinted windows of the SUV gave no hint as to the occupant inside of the vehicle. And as she watched, the car slipped further and further away, until it was lost in the sea of vehicles around them.
A quiet, despairing sob slipped out as she finally lost sight of the Maybach. Her eyes continued to restlessly search the traffic around them, hoping to spot the car again, but it was no use. It—he—was gone.
Forever.
At some point Iris became aware that her face was wet with the tears seeping from her eyes. She hadn’t even known that she was crying. It wasn’t a violent storm of tears but a slow, constant flow. It was as if her eyes had somehow sprung a leak that was impossible to stem or repair.
Trystan’s easy dismissal of her protests and denials had ripped open a catastrophic wound in her chest. The pain was brutal, and the consequences fatal to her heart and soul. She wanted to curl up in a ball, claw at her chest, and weep. But all she could do was sit here with hot, salty tears dripping silently down her cheeks while the shards of her shattered heart sliced her to pieces.