Chapter 37
The drive into the city was suffocating. The morning sun was too bright, even with my sunglasses on. It stabbed through the windshield in sharp slants that made me squint even harder. Xanthy was still fast asleep, and the damn tie at my throat felt more like a noose than a fashion statement.
I kept my glasses on, even when we finally arrived at the overly fancy venue.
“Baby, wake up. We’re here.”
Xanthy sat upright, blinking and looking around. Her pale lavender dress made her look radiant, and all her primping would surely have her looking better than any of her friends. She was humming softly, her hands folded in her lap, a nervous habit I knew all too well.
“Hey, you’ve wanted to go to this thing for weeks. What’s wrong, Babe?”
I was fucking here. Ready to be a damn show pony for her.
Ready for…after.
She had no idea how much weight pressed against my chest.
I glanced at her profile, at the curve of her nose and the way her lips curved up ever so slightly, even when she wasn’t smiling. She was content, if not a little uneasy.
“I’m sad about Carmen. She was my friend, and it won’t be the same without her here.”
The name pinged an uncomfortable memory, and the shrieking corpse with Xanthy’s voice played in my mind.
“I’m sure your other friends will make you feel comfortable. They’re all grieving, too. But this is about, uh, Grettel’s big day. A joy and whatnot, okay? I’m here.”
Xanthy sighed but leaned over to kiss me. That’s what she wanted today—me beside her, polished, attentive, and the very proof to her friends that she’d chosen well. That Shiloh, the sweet boy with a doctor’s title in Kentucky, had grown into a man worthy of her.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter.
The truth pressed hard at the back of my skull. Tonight wasn’t just this fucking wedding. It held so much. And later, I’d meet up with Carrington.
Tonight, I’d put to words what I hadn’t dared say…that I was choosing my light. That whatever passed between us all those damn times before, however much it tore me up inside, I was binding myself to Xanthy to keep my mask strong.
I couldn’t let Carrington devour me in darkness. I fought too hard to let go now.
It should’ve brought relief to know I was so close to being what I'd wanted my entire life. But breaking the heart of the man I loved didn’t do anything but shatter my own.
I used the car mirror to fix my suit and tie. I looked outside at the wedding hall, it was all flashy white stones, arches covered in flowers, and polished cars all fucking lined up in neat, tidy rows. The kind of place where Xanthy’s friends lived.
A world that wasn’t mine.
“Ready?” she said, her bright eyes shining with that nervous excitement that made her look younger, softer.
I gave her a smile I didn’t feel. “Always for you.”
The hall smelled of flowers and polish. It was way too clean and exorbitantly expensive for someone like me.
Xanthy’s hand was looped through my arm, her lavender dress brushing against my sleeve as we walked in.
I could feel her nerves in the way she gripped me, the faint tremor in her fingers, even though she smiled as if she belonged above the rest.
“This way,” she whispered, tugging me toward a cluster of women in jewel colored gowns. A fucking rainbow of fabric. “You’ll like them. Be nice, please.”
I doubted that, but I nodded anyway.
Her friends swarmed us, laughing. The perfume was so damn strong, my eyes watered behind the sunglasses. A nameless face kissed her cheek with bright lipstick, then turned her eyes on me like she was inspecting a prize horse.
I’ve got the cock to match, bitch.
“So this is the Shiloh we’ve heard about? My my, he’s certainly one to look at, Alexandra darling.”
“That’s me,” I answered, keeping my voice steady. “My title is Doctor Anderson. Though I’ve got to say, I’m not half as interesting as Xanthy makes me out to be. She’s the true star. I am only lucky to exist in the light she casts.”
That earned a ripple of ‘awes’ and sappy bullshit love quotes. I read that off a fortune cookie once, but I’m glad socialites were too dumb to understand anything of substance. My grip tightened around Xanthy’s waist, letting her gawking friends see my possession and care for her.
Even if it was all a show, I did care for Xanthy. I did feel possessive, but only because I refused to give up my own mask.
They wanted to know how we met, and I told them the story. The way she’d shown up in my backyard last spring, lost and muddy, hanging onto some rich shoe like her life depended on it.
My old roommate’s dog, Roxy, nearly ate her face for trespassing, but I left that part out. “She looked like she’d fallen out of the sky and landed in my grass,” I said, my eyes sliding to hers. “And I couldn’t believe she was real. I thought surely an angel was gifted to me by God himself.”
An angel gifted to the devil.
Xanthy’s cheeks flushed, and her thirsty friends sighed. That was what they wanted—a man polished enough to charm them, yet rough enough to keep their attention. I played the part well. I shook hands, smiled, and nodded at all the right times.
Sharing our story brought on a slew of memories. I remembered how in that first week, she’d sat curled on my couch in flannel pajamas, her feet tucked under her, asking question after question about my life.
I remembered the lake house in July when we’d first fucked in the water, and how fragile she seemed.
I remembered the way she’d squealed when I pushed her in the deep water, her arms wrapping around my neck when I jumped after her.
She had been so fragile from the man before me.
I remembered her falling asleep in my bed one night, not from sex, but exhaustion, and how I’d stayed awake just to listen to her breathe. She’d said things aloud that night—memories of pain and fear.
I told myself I could keep her safe, and every day since, for better or worse, I had. Her body was safe, but not her heart.
Because her brother had mine.
A year of moments stacked between Xanthy and me, each one building this picture-perfect image of love.
And still, Carrington lingered at the back of my mind, replacing every moment I had with the woman beside me.
His eyes in the haunted maze.
His strong hands were gripping me through the prison bars.
I shoved the thoughts down and let Xanthy lean into me, so they could all see the perfect couple on display.
“Shiloh, this is Darren,” she introduced a tall man in a gray suit.
We shook hands as expected. His grip was firm and testing.
I gave mine back stronger. His eyes flickered before nodding in approval.
I smiled the way I’d seen men in her world smile, all perfectly polished and unbothered.
I listened to the man yap about golf. At least it was a mindless act that kept the other women away.
For a little while, this facade worked until I heard it.
A laugh.
Low, sharp, and edged.
A booming sound that was cutting across the music like a dull blade. The kind of sound that didn’t belong in polite company, but dared the room to challenge it.
Who the fuck was this?
My head snapped toward the doors. A man had just stepped into the reception. Late and well past the actual stupid walking, talking, and “I dos.”
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his suit was a shade too slick for my liking. He wore black as if this were a funeral, an insult to the couple.
His hair was combed back, and his smile was wide, like a cat toying with their prey. His eyes roamed the hall with a practiced ease.
The way he carried himself, like everyone already knew him, and like no one here could touch him, set my teeth on edge.
Beside me, Xanthy froze.
Her hand slipped from mine. Her shoulders went stiff, and all the light in her face dimmed in an instant. I frowned, staring down at my girlfriend and seeing pained memories practically flash through her eyes.
She didn’t say his name, but she didn’t need to. The way she shrank into herself told me more than words.
This had to be Tyler.
I’d only ever known him in fragments. Her quiet voice during late nights, telling me about the boy who’d broken her down, the shadow he’d cast over her teenage years and into her early college ones.
I’d never seen his face, only heard his name.
She opened up little by little, speaking about the bones that healed, but the internal scars on her mind hadn’t.
She told me that this man was why she became a therapist. She wanted to help other women who had suffered from abuse.
It had her family questioning her, never understanding why she’d admit to what they saw as weakness, but it was one of the reasons I came to feel for Alexandra Harding…because of her strength.
Standing here, watching the smug tilt of her past’s smile, and the cold hunger in his eyes as they swept the crowd, I knew exactly the kind of man he was.
Ego radiated off him. And darkness did, too.
He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t even looked her way yet, but I could feel his hold on her—a ghost, as heavy as any chains.
I slipped my arm around her waist, drawing her closer until her hip pressed into mine. “You alright, Baby?” I murmured, low enough for only her to hear. “I’m here.”
She nodded too quickly. “Fine.”
Her voice was thin and brittle.
I didn’t press—not here, not in front of her friends. But I kept my eyes locked on Tyler as he moved through the room, laughing and shaking hands. His charm was as slick as an oil spill. He was the kind of man who looked polished to strangers, but the rot was visible to anyone who knew better.
To the other monsters.
Like me.
Something in me tightened, a coil winding in my chest at how small Xanthy became in my arms. I didn’t lash out, didn’t make a scene.
Not yet.
But the splinter was there, lodging deeper with every chortle I heard from his mouth.
No matter how much blood I’d worn for Xanthy, this was the man who’d carved everlasting scars into her. And I couldn’t unsee the way her body folded in on itself the second he walked through the door. I couldn’t stop looking at the marks on her pale skin where he broke her.
Tyler didn’t rush. Men like him never did. He moved slowly and deliberately, collecting attention like it was his birthright. People clapped him on the back, while women leaned in closer, their nervous laughter following in his wake. Feared by men and adored by women, it sounded familiar.
I kept my arm snug around Xanthy’s waist, watching her smile too hard at her friends, trying to follow the conversation as her knuckles went white where she gripped her champagne glass. Every time he laughed, I felt her flinch a little more.
“Xanthy, darling!” one of her friends squealed suddenly, cutting through the music. “There’s someone you absolutely must see. A special guest just for you.”
And then Tyler was there.
He slid into the circle of silk and perfume as if he belonged there, his smile sharp enough to ooze arrogance in every pore. His eyes landed on Xanthy and lit up, like she was something he’d dropped years ago and was pleased to find untouched.
“Alexandra Francis Harding,” he drawled, his stupid fucking voice smooth as honey. “Haven’t seen you since—well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, baby?”
Her smile faltered as his eyes met hers.
“Tyler,” she said, just his name, tight and polite, but her throat bobbed when she swallowed.
He looked her up and down slowly, like a fucking slab of meat he was tempted to buy, before his cat-like gaze flicked to me. “And who’s this? Alexandra, dear, you’ve always been so nice to strays. Must we bring them to your dearest friends’ weddings?”
I met his stare head-on. His eyes were dark, glittering, and hungry for a reaction.
“Dr. Shiloh Anderson,” I said evenly, squeezing Xanthy’s hip. “And you are? Sorry, I have not met you once in the year I’ve been with Xanthy.”
Bait, set, match, bitch.
Something flickered across his expression, curiosity, disappointment, or maybe even challenge, when I didn’t look away. Then his grin widened, all teeth. “Well. Aren’t you a pleasant surprise, Doctor?”
Xanthy shifted beside me. “Tyler—”
But he cut her off with a chuckle, shaking his head like the three of us were sharing a private joke. “Relax, silly, little girl. I’m just making conversation. Nice to meet you, Dr. Shiloh.”
He offered his hand.
I stared at it for a beat too long before finally taking it. His grip was firm, the kind of handshake meant to prove something. My grip was stronger. Neither of us looked away, except my girlfriend.
Beside me, she let out the faintest of breaths, so quiet no one else would’ve noticed. But I felt it. Saw the tension pulling her shoulders higher, her body angled slightly toward me like she was using me as a shield.
He’ll never hurt you again.
When Tyler finally released my hand, I flexed my fingers to keep from balling them into fists.
His gaze slid back to Xanthy.
“You look beautiful,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just hollowed her out with the weight of his presence alone. “Lavender suits you. Reminds me of a few of my favorite pieces of lingerie.”
She stiffened.
“Excuse us,” she murmured, too quickly, and turned away, tugging me with her. Tyler laughed, and Xanthy walked faster.
We moved through the crowd, her friends watching with wide expectant eyes, likely whispering already. My blood roared in my ears, and the sound made me feel momentarily deaf.
When we were far enough away, I leaned down, my voice low against her ear. “What did that man do to you?”
Her lips pressed tight. She shook her head slightly, her pale eyes glassy. “Not here. Please, Shiloh.”
She is begging for protection, yet blocking me out. Holy fuck, women were a mystery.
I let it go for now. But the splinter was driven deeper. Tyler had laid his poison in the open, and I’d seen the way it cracked her armor.
I knew before the night was over, I’d have to become the light she wanted, hide the darkness, and go toe-to-toe with the villain.
That was if and when she decided she wanted her Prince Charming to save her.