34. Caleb
Caleb
I’d tried being patient while plans had been formed. I tried to keep my temper under wraps as people made lists and plotted what-ifs. Enough was enough.
I was done with what-ifs and the idea that fate controlled my every move.
The only person who could control my actions—my emotions—was me. My grandfather was sure to remind me of that when I was young, when my emotions were too big to be bottled up. When he said that, he forgot he was the one who pulled the strings. He was the one who controlled my actions for too long.
I pulled out my phone and typed a message.
Me: I’m done running and hiding. What do you want from me?
I waited for a moment before he responded.
Asshole: Come back to Clearhaven. Your place is here with me, sitting at the table. We have a meeting next week. Contact your betrothed. Your recent vows will be taken care of later this month.
My recent vows. They were really going to dissolve my marriage to Ivy. I’d done it to protect her, but I felt a sense of loss over the fact that she’d no longer be mine, even if it was only a piece of paper. In truth, every night, I felt a sense of loss. The longer she was gone, the more I missed her. The cracks in my chest spread, threatening to break me.
We’d had enough loss and sorrow. All of us. My parents, Ros’ family, and Ivy’s mother. Maya and Ivy. Hell, even each of us hiding in Strathmore, forced to leave Clearhaven.
My fingers flew over the screen while I carefully planned out my next steps.
Me: When is the next Order meeting? I want to attend. Perhaps we can have dinner together the night before. I want to make amends for my rebellion.
I was Vance’s last living heir. Arabella had never been found, and I knew Luthor’s fate. The temptation to mend fences would be tantalizing for him. Or at least that was what I hoped.
Asshole: The meeting is on Friday evening. Time together would be good. We need to address all of your mistakes. Then you can meet the Princeps’ future wife.
The Princeps’ wife? I had never known the Princeps to have one. His wife’s only purpose was to give him an heir. Even then, the child would be tucked away, and no one would know its identity. Everything regarding the leader was hidden in secrecy.
I read the text several times, my anger flaring as I stared at it. By addressing my mistakes, he meant add to the scars that covered my torso. He didn’t know he would never touch me again. In fact, he’d never touch another soul. My grandfather was a cruel man who was masochistic at his core.
I let out a long breath, preparing myself to write Ros. After all the pieces were in place, I would tell Trey and Niko the plan. Sometimes, it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. Every minute Ivy was in their clutches, she was in danger.
Me: I need a favor from you. Can you act like the dutiful fiancée one last time? It’s for Ivy.
I wiped my palms on my pants, trying to remove the moisture. Although it was winter, I was sweating from nerves. Niko and Trey would think that my plan was impulsive. So would Ivy’s brother if he found out. He was a good guy and desperately wanted Ivy home safe, but all of their discussions and plans were getting us nowhere.
It was time for action.
Ros: Sure. Tell me what you need.
Even though my heart raced in my chest, threatening to make me panic, my outward appearance gave nothing away. My grandfather taught me you never show weakness to an opponent, especially not him. Ros stood at my side, playing the role that the Order had given her. She’d always known how to dress the part, what to say, and how to act. She’d learned a lot earlier than me that rebellion was something that had to be done carefully.
I stepped into the house I had once called home and took a deep breath before fixing a stoic expression on my face. Her hand was in mine not only as an act but also to give me strength for what I had planned. The next sixteen hours had to go off without a hitch. Ivy’s future depended on it. So did mine.
When I got her back in my arms, I’d tell her how foolish it was to run. I’d scold her and tell her none of our lives were worth living without her. Maya had yelled at Niko the night that Ivy had vanished, asking him how he could let her escape. We’d all lost enough; without Ivy, we were all shadows of ourselves.
I still didn’t know where Ivy was, but Trey was taking care of that. He had a list of properties owned by not only Order members but also a shell company located somewhere offshore. Now, we simply had to narrow down who had taken her, but that was a problem for tomorrow. We just had to hold on for a little longer.
My footsteps echoed against the walls as I walked to the dining room, contemplating how the house I was in had never been a home. Home was what I had made with the guys and Ivy—even Cam. Home was listening to everyone talk as dinner cooked on the stove while Sergei with Maya bickered in the background. Home wasn’t the place you feared or the terror you felt if you made a single misstep, even if that was all you had ever known.
My grandfather was seated at the head of the table, sipping a glass of red wine. He gave him a hard stare and gestured with his hand for me to sit. “It’s good to have you back finally. We’ll devise an adequate punishment together later, but first, let’s discuss some things.”
Ros sat beside me and lowered her face, staring down at the table. Her place here was one merely of show. Fletcher Vance would never speak to her about anything other than the wedding. For now, he was happy to gloat about the fact I was seated at the table with him once more.
“What do we have to discuss?” I asked casually as I reached for an unopened bottle of wine. “I had my fun, and now I’m back, ready to be the obedient pawn in your game.” The words tasted acrid on my tongue, but I gave him a smile. “Where is the staff tonight?”
I knew exactly where they were. On Sundays, most of them were off. The security member scheduled for the evening was detained for personal reasons, or so he had told my grandfather. The truth was, Niko and Trey were holding him at an undisclosed location. What they chose to do with him was none of my business. There would be enough bloodshed in the coming days.
My grandfather’s staff was only guilty of one thing: blindly following orders to support their families. Paychecks didn’t make a man loyal, not after the horrors most of them had witnessed.
He waved his hand dismissively. “They have Sundays off, or have you forgotten that?”
I clutched the wine tighter in my hand and pushed my chair back. “Let me grab something to open this bottle, then.” Wordlessly, I went to the kitchen, praying that my plan worked. Weeks ago, he’d demanded that I kill Clarissa. It was an event that felt like it had happened in another lifetime.
Afterward, he’d mocked me, telling me that only women killed someone using poison. What he was about to learn was that even if women used poison, there was no discrediting the fact that it was effective. Especially not cyanide. Once ingested, the onset of symptoms was rapid. First, he would feel lightheaded or maybe even giddy, assuming it was from the wine he’d drank. Then he might realize his breathing was rapid or feel like he was suffocating. Perhaps he’d experience anxiety before inevitably going into respiratory arrest.
There was a possibility he’d have a seizure at some point or vomit, but those were things I could deal with. He deserved a fate worse than being poisoned, but I needed his body to be intact. Toxicology might uncover that he’d ingested cyanide, but if we did everything right, they’d assume that it was a suicide. Or at least that was my hope.
I uncorked the bottle of pinot noir and said a silent prayer that it would mask the crystals I poured into the liquid. Swirling the bottle, I said another that they would dissolve. This felt like a hack job compared to the care I’d given Clarissa. The difference was that she didn’t deserve to die, and my grandfather did. I’d just been too scared to stand up to him then. Now, I wasn’t.
I strolled back into the room with the bottle and gave my grandfather a smile before pouring some into the glass by his empty plate. He swirled the glass in his hand before giving me a pointed look. “What are we celebrating, and where is my grandson? He’d usually be sulking about being called home or attempting to rebel, especially after news that the Princeps is dissolving the marriage to his wife.”
I poured wine into my glass as well as Ros’ to keep up appearances. Keeping up appearances was something that both of us were used to. He took a sip, and I gave him a small smile, trying to play the part. His face didn’t change, and if something was off with the taste, he said nothing. It might have had something to do with the price of the wine, or perhaps he’d spent the afternoon drinking in his study. Either way was fine with me.
The only thing that mattered was that my plan worked. “We’re celebrating the prodigal son’s return and the fact that I’m finally ready to listen to you. I know my place and how important my role is now. I also realized what a mistake it was to marry Ivy.”
For show, I grabbed Ros’ hand and held it, hoping that it appeased him, and he continued to drink. If he noticed that neither of us had touched our glasses, he didn’t comment. His knee rocked beneath the table and he rubbed his face. “Tell me. When do the two of you plan on finally getting married? You’ve been running from the inevitable for long enough.”
Ros looked down at our linked hands and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe in the spring. I love the idea of a new beginning.”
My grandfather toyed with his tie, loosening it. His skin was ruddier as he sucked in a breath. “A new beginning sounds wonderful.” He cleared his throat. “For all of us.”
I smiled when he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and wheezed, panic taking over his face. My plan had worked, and I watched him grab at his throat, his skin flush from exertion. There was a reason that cyanide had been used throughout history to commit suicide. It was rumored that its use in warfare dated back to Nero. It was fast and effective.
It didn’t take long for it to work, for him to collapse in his chair, his body sliding to the floor. I stood and untied the tie around my neck. “We’re never getting married, and I’ll never allow you to annul my marriage to Ivy.” I spit at him before turning to Ros. “Ready?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I was born ready. The better question is why your plan didn’t have him lying in bed before this happened. Now we have to carry his heavy ass through an entire wing of the house.”
We hefted his body from the floor and moved him, working as quickly as possible. After tucking him into his bed, I placed the remaining cyanide on his nightstand along with the remaining wine. Next to it lay a note that Ros had written. She’d studied his handwriting, emulating it so closely that not even I could tell the difference. In it, he discussed being devastated over the disappearance of his children and grandchildren, how he was deeply depressed, and how the remaining fortune he wished to dedicate to a charity for victims of domestic violence.
His end wasn’t as bloody as I would have liked. He certainly didn’t suffer enough, in my opinion. It wasn’t equal retribution for the scars that lined not only my skin but also my soul. But it had to do.
Because the whole point wasn’t justice for me; it was a plan to get Ivy back and keep her safe forever.