Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
What a fool I am.
My thoughts come in the form of chaotic, dizzying images as I lie here trying to make sense of all the people and events that have shaped my life up until this day, this moment, the things that led me into that car with Ethan and Chandler.
Through it all, I see only one thing clearly.
Silas walking out of my house dressed in that tuxedo, looking so beautiful, so determined, so strong.
Silas stepping through fire, through the ashes he made of my past.
It’s his betrayal that has me sobbing, tears pouring when I can’t move any other part of my body, when all I want is something to numb this pain that makes my heart ache.
Because it’s always been him.
Because I loved him.
All these years, I have always loved him.
2
SILAS
The darkness here is complete. There’s no light pollution this far from Sinistral, an hour away from any town in any direction. That darkness is only broken by headlights in the very far distance. Snow is coming down hard. You’d have to be a fool to drive the winding, narrow road along the cliffs tonight.
My gaze shifts from the thick, densely packed white flakes falling beyond the single-paned window to my own face reflected in the glass. I look like hell. I haven’t slept apart from an hour snatched here or there when I can’t keep my eyes open. My usual five o’clock shadow has grown into a beard, and circles ring the skin around my eyes.
I turn to look into the room. The fire in the wood stove is burning down. I go to it, open the glass door and set another log on. I remain crouched and watch it as it takes, a flame shooting high, wood crackling as fire engulfs it. I close the door and stand, thinking about her house.
Did the flames take as quickly there as they have here? According to Nigella, who has read the detective’s reports, they did. Fueled by gasoline, it had taken no time at all for the years of memories to turn to ash in a matter of minutes.
I brush off my hands, turn my back to the fire, and watch Ophelia lying still and small in the bed that seems too large for her. It’s been almost a week since Sly had me dragged out of The Sinistral in handcuffs. In that time, I’ve learned what Horatio Hart’s box contained and why he was hiding it.
My shoes are quiet on the threadbare carpet as I cross the room to stand over the bed. I look down at Ophelia, pushing my hands into my pockets. She’s asleep, has been since I got her here. Ethan drugged her. I know that much. But she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt when I crashed my SUV into their limo. None of them were. She smashed her head against the window so maybe it’s not quite that she’s asleep but unable to wake.
The thought is terrifying.
Driving my SUV into their limo was the only thing I could think to do. I didn’t realize it would cause the damage it did. All I knew was that I needed to stop Ethan from taking her.
It all makes sense now. The lack of a prenup had never been a matter of trust—not that I’d thought it was. Sly and Ethan must have known for some time about the Carlisle-Bents. Sly Fox was playing the long game. He was in no rush. My guess as far as his plan was that once Ophelia came of age, she and Ethan would marry. After that, he would reunite Ophelia with her long-lost and very wealthy grandfather, Gordon Carlisle-Bent. One man stood in his way, though: Horatio Hart.
Did Sly make a call and tip off the FBI about the missing funds that landed Hart in prison? Did he plant evidence and set Horatio Hart up for embezzling funds from a company Hart had built from nothing? A company I do not see him stealing from. Was it to remove him from the picture altogether or am I wrong about Hart? Had he truly stolen that money? Greed is greed, after all, and no man is immune. Money corrupts. Once you have it, you want more of it.
But was it Sly Fox who pinned the crime on Horatio?
If so, didn’t he expect that he, too, might get swept up in the investigation and be charged as an accomplice? In striking that match and setting that fire, Sly had left himself exposed not only to prosecution but also to me. If he defaults on the loan I made him, Hart & Fox Enterprises falls to me.
Something about the contract we agreed on has always niggled at me. It was too easy, and it isn’t like Sly to leave himself without options, without some out where he’d walk away smelling like a fucking rose all the way to the bank.