Chapter Thirty-Four
I was eighteen when I checked on Andrin again. By that time, I was no longer scrawny, awkward Gabriel Doe. I was Tate Blackthorn, lacrosse star, Harvard darling, the mysterious son of a real estate mogul, a prodigy, the most handsome Prince Charming on New York’s social roster.
A quick Google search was enough to reveal Andrin’s destiny, and it wasn’t what I was expecting.
Three months after I moved out of the boarding school, Andrin found his death in a suspiciously unfortunate skiing accident. Suspicious because fucker didn’t ski.
Even more so because it wasn’t an injury that caused his death.
The article stated he veered off course onto a secluded mountaintop, where he was mauled by forest animals.
The death, the article suggested, was slow and painful and took three or four days.
His body—or whatever was left of it—was found scattered a couple of months later.
Peculiar still was the fact that he was found holding a black thorn.
There were no plants or bushes on the snow-covered mountaintops.
I didn’t have to ask Daniel about it. I knew.
Because I remembered that three months after I was adopted, Daniel called his mother—Nana Nelly—to watch over me for the weekend as he conducted urgent business in Zurich.
No part of me found it immoral or distressing that Daniel dealt with my abuser.
He did what he had to do. What I’d do for someone else if I ever was stupid enough to allow myself to love.
He took a life so I could live mine peacefully.