Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
Ellie
Sweat drips from my skin as I plant my hands on the brick wall and wail. My anguish cuts through the silence, terror and frustration
filling me.
“I’m watching you. It will all be over soon.” A thready voice shushes me.
I don’t know where I am, only that I’m trapped.
“Help.” I moan, thrashing, then realize that my wrists are bound. “Help me, please.”
A nurse opens the door of my room and then an alarm echoes through my ears. I wake with a jolt, sticky with sweat, my muscles
tense and aching from the unnatural position I’ve been sleeping in. I gasp for breath, my heart racing as I push myself out
of bed. The door alarm sounds again, the piercing shriek rattling my bones.
“Ugh,” I push a hand through my damp hair and glance at the clock on the nightstand.
“Holy shit.” The time reads 4:30 p.m., in neon blue.
I suck in another breath and then stand, moving across the room to open the curtains.
Sunshine bathes the bedroom in light and makes my eyes burn.
I move in the direction of the bathroom and flip on the light; the first thing I notice is fresh bruises at my wrists. “Oh God.”
I slip my thumb along the shades of bright blue and purple, flashes of my nightmare coming back to me. My wrists bound together,
my pained screams echoing around the small room. Locked in an asylum, left to rot. Just like mom. How’s that for a family legacy?
I push down a ball of emotion and then splash cold water on my face. My reflection, tired and drawn, stares back at me. I’m
starting to look older than my thirty-two years, and the lack of sleep makes me feel older. I really should take some time off for a spa getaway. Or maybe I should just move out. The thought lingers in my mind
unbidden. I never considered leaving my husband, but last night changed things. I can’t quite place my finger on why exactly, but suddenly my perspective shifted. Everything I thought I knew was turned on its head, as if a fog had cleared
in the span of a single moment and I could see my husband for who he truly is.
I shake the thoughts from my mind and leave my bedroom, heading for the front door. When I open it, I find a food delivery.
Not the takeout type, but a box of groceries. I wonder if maybe this is Jack’s way of apologizing. I bring the box in the
house and set it on the kitchen counter. I pull out small glass bottles of milk, cream, and local honey. That’s it. Why would
Jack order such a random arrangement of items? I empty the box and find a small notecard in the bottom that says:
Check your email.
My heartbeat ticks up a few notches. I put the milk and cream in the fridge and then lean against the counter as I open the email app on my phone and refresh my inbox. There it is, another email from The Society.
Dread freezes me. This is it. This is where I find out exactly what they want from me, and what it has to do with my dad.
Special farm-to-table delivery for your next target. Leave the honey and cream at the office for his afternoon tea and the
milk in his fridge at home. You’re the only one he trusts. Dozens of women are counting on you. Don’t disappoint us.
Angry tears fill my eyes as I hit delete on the message and close my email. All I keep thinking is, what’s in that fucking milk? I think back on the cows and bees surrounding the estate in Westchester the weekend I visited. Maybe it’s just that—maybe
it’s just fresh milk and locally-sourced honey . . . or maybe it’s not. No, it’s definitely not. I think back on the email. You’re the only one he trusts. My stomach turns in painful cartwheels. I just found out my father isn’t who he says he is, and now I’m expected to act out
some sort of revenge? On the only man who was there for me? The man who raised me and kept me safe and . . . fathered another child? I swallow down the painful realization before I set my phone down and head back into my bedroom. I need to get out of this
apartment—I feel like I’m going stir crazy. In twenty-four hours, my entire world has turned upside down. I want to jump in
an Uber and go to Westchester and demand answers, but at the same time I want to head in the opposite direction and never
look back. I want to forget the last twenty-four hours even happened. But how could I ever? I have a life here. My father
is my boss—my father is my husband’s boss. I think how deep the implications of this run.
I wander to my walk-in closet and find my favorite outfit, a knee-length, floral summer dress that always makes me feel good when I wear it.
It’s simple, breezy, and makes me feel like I’m about to sip cocktails on the beach in Montauk.
Jack always compliments me when I wear it, so I wear it a lot in the summer.
Fifteen minutes later I’ve added a little blush to my cheeks and slipped on a pair of simple flats and am walking the half dozen blocks to The Peninsula Hotel.
It has a spectacular rooftop view of 5th Avenue, especially after dark, and it’s the place where Jack and I had one of our first dates.
It’s always been nostalgic for me, and I’ve been meaning to ask him if he wants to go since we haven’t been there in a long time, but we’ve been so very off lately.
I reach the rooftop in fifteen minutes and am settling myself at a quiet corner of the bar when I see him.
Jack.
He’s probably here for a client meeting. But . . . didn’t he say he was spending the night in Jersey? Maybe his plans fell
through or a client cancelled. His face looks drawn and exhausted, like a man who slept on the couch last night. A pang of
guilt shoots through me for adding stress to his life. On some level he’s right—he does work hard, and maybe I should be more
aware of that. I decide to walk over to him, if only just to offer him a quick hug, but then I see her.
She walks around the corner, her eyes trained squarely on my husband. I choke on anxiety as it registers that she looks like
she’s on a date—slinky red dress and dark red lips. She looks beautiful, and every part the woman I am not. Elegant, poised,
polished, stunning. Her kohl-lined eyes scan the room and her gaze catches mine. I am chilled to the bone. Her smile falters, and then she seems
to change course and aim directly for me.
She pauses in front of me. “El—crazy seeing you here.”
“Hi, Aubrey.”
“What brings you here?” she asks.
The bartender hovers to take my order but I wave him off, asking for a moment longer. “Just thought I’d take myself out for
a date. You?”
“I’m meeting an old friend,” is all she says, eyes scanning the bar as if she’s looking for someone. “It doesn’t look like
they’re here yet though.”
I glance over her shoulder to see that my husband is sitting by himself, looking anywhere but over here.
“Hey—I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab lunch with me tomorrow afternoon,” she says. “There’s this new noodle bar near
Lincoln Center I’ve been wanting to check out.”
“Yeah—ugh—I’d love to but I have to go over some reports for a big client before Monday, so I’d hate to commit and then cancel.”
“Okay—well, just let me know. I could always bring you takeout too—”
“Thanks, you’re sweet,” I give her a forced smile. “I’ll let you know.”
“Okay.” Her eyes linger a few silent beats on mine before she smiles with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Well, I’ll
leave you alone. Text me later.”
“Sure,” I shoot back, shifting my gaze to the bartender just to have anything other than her to look at. She turns, crossing
the length of the bar before settling at the opposite end, nearest to my husband. She shifts awkwardly on the barstool, eyes
cast down to a cocktail menu in front of her.
The bartender returns to me then, and I shake my head. “I’m not feeling well after all—I think I’m going to skip a drink.
Thank you, though.”
I stand, gathering my bag and attempting to control my rioting emotions before turning to walk back down the hall to the elevators.
I punch the down arrow, and the doors slide open silently.
I step inside, thankful to finally be alone.
As the doors close, stubborn tears begin a slow slide down my cheeks as one thought runs on repeat in my mind.
Is Aubrey having an affair with my husband?