Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“But I worry more when I don’t know.” I gripped his wrist and slid my hand down his forearm. “Please.”
He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. His grip tightened at my neck. “No. I’m not discussing this. Don’t ask again.”
Stung at his harsh tone, I backed away. He let his hand drop, but he followed my steps until I was backed against the front door.
“Sin, pl—”
“I’m doing the best I can.” He pushed me into the door, his gaze singeing me with its intensity. “I can’t explain it to you, but I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe. But nothing has changed.” His hand was back at my throat, the touch rough as he pressed me against the wood panel. “I still have to win. You aren’t going to stop that. Understand?”
“No. I don’t.” I tried to shove him off but he didn’t let me go, just came right back and pressed me harder, his chest crushing into mine, taking my breath away. I dug my nails into his hand.
Tears welled and ran down my cheeks. “Why is winning more important than me?”
“Because nothing is more important to me than winning the Acquisition, Stella. Nothing.”
“Not me?”
“No.” He said the word with a sharp edge that sliced me so fast I didn’t feel it at first, but then the blood ran from my heart. “Do you think some fucking makes you more important to me than my name, than my own blood?”
I couldn’t catch my breath. He scowled at me—the man who’d just given me the happiest Christmas I could remember, who’d given me more pleasure in one night than a lifetime of nights. Nothing but disgust was written on his face.
“Why can’t you love me?” My voice was choked with tears, but I asked the only question I had left. The only one that needed to be answered.
“It’s not that I can’t, Stella. It’s that I don’t.”
I pressed forward into his hand, forcing him to hold me tighter to keep me in place. I wanted to see his eyes. “You’re lying.”
“You don’t know me, Stella. You’ve only ever seen what I wanted you to. What I needed to show you to keep you in line. Don’t think for a fucking second I give two shits about what happens to you.”
My tears turned to laughter, and I didn’t care if it sounded insane. “You’re lying, but not to me.”
His body vibrated with rage, a frenzy of emotions churning from him. “Shut the fuck up.”
I kept laughing. There was nothing else. He cared about me. I’d seen it. I knew it, and he couldn’t take it away from me no matter what he said or did to me. He loved me.
“I don’t love you, Stella.” But he backed away, only his palm still making contact.
“You’re a fucking liar. Don’t touch me.” I dug my nails in and wrenched his hand away.
I shot past him, darting up the stairs as I felt his eyes on my back. I ran to my room and sank onto my bed. I felt as if I were in shock. There were no more tears, only an empty expanse where my hurt should be. I felt nothing. Had he ripped it all out? Was I broken now? Is this what being broken meant? I lay that way for a long time, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.
Something, some sound—maybe the grandfather clock chiming—woke me from my reverie. I sat up, the night dark and a light layer of snow on the lawn. No moon, just black nothingness above. I let my eyes wander the window sash and then back to my own ceiling. Upstairs. Answers.
I opened my door slowly and peeked into the hall. It was clear, so I crept down the runner and hesitated as I eyed the rest of the way up to the third floor. My spine tingled, but I took the first step. Then another, then more until I was at the top.
The doors were closed up here, and the air was stale with disuse. The lights overhead were dim, but gave enough of a glow that I could creep along and listen at each door. Nothing. I kept moving until I heard a humming sound coming from the end of the hall. I moved closer, a cold sweat breaking out along my forehead.
I forced myself onward, looking for Renee, looking for some sort of answers.
The last door on the left hung open. I peeked inside. Renee sat in a rocking chair and hummed as she did needlework. The white-haired woman, Mrs. Vinemont, slept peacefully.
Renee must have sensed me, because the humming stopped and her eyes opened wide.
“Stella!” Her voice was a harsh whisper.
She dropped her needlework and hurried over to me. She wrapped her arms around me, but I didn’t return the embrace, my arms numb.