Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Ellie
“What are you thinking?” Aubrey asks the moment we enter her apartment after leaving Kat’s West Village townhome. I thought
about going back to my own place, but the possibility of seeing Jack sets my blood on fire.
“I’m wondering if I married a monster, of if he became one the longer he worked for my dad.”
“Both, maybe,” muses Aubrey, who’s wasted no time in pouring us each a glass of wine. “Evil runs through the heart of all
of us, it just takes the right set of circumstances for it to show itself. Greed, power, money . . . name your poison.”
“Optimistic.” I can’t help the snarky tone of my voice.
“Life is messy, dark, dangerous. And it’s made all the worse when powerful people get away with despicable things.”
“I wonder how many other secrets Jack’s hiding. I wonder if he’s ever had an affair,” I say, thinking out loud.
Aubrey lets my question linger in the air before she finally replies, “Maybe. Men like him are used to getting what they want.
Do you think he has?”
I think for a few long moments. “I don’t think so.
I think . . . maybe only after my emotional affair last year.
That’s when things really seemed to shift between us.
He worked more; we talked less. Things fell apart.
” I sip my wine as I think about everything Jack and I have been through. “Have you ever been in love?”
“No.” She swirls her wine, watching the red liquid coat the inside of the glass. “Honestly, I don’t think I can be. I know
it sounds weird, but I was raised in a home where love just wasn't a thing. Some people might call my mother neglectful, but
I just think she was a pragmatic single mom. She put herself first always—there were no hugs or after-school-special, heartwarming
talks. I used to be so jealous of my friends who had loving families, but now I think my mom made me who I am—ruthless and
calculating, but also strong and clever and controlled. I like who I am—maybe kids and a white picket fence aren’t in my future,
but I’m okay with that. I like being driven and commanding. You heard what Kat said about the women in her family: men will
take what you give them and run with it. I refuse to give any man any of me. I’ll never have a real love story, but I’ll also
never know what I’m missing because I never had it to begin with. How could I miss something I’ve never experienced? I’m just
not built for connecting like other people are. What about you?”
“I like being in love,” I admit. “Even if it’s the watered-down Disney version, I like having my person with me. It’s nice being a family.”
“Even if it’s a false sense of family?” she asks, genuine curiosity sparking in her eyes.
“Well . . .” I frown as I consider her words. “Yes. I think so. Does that make me weak?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She smiles softly, nudging my shoulder with hers. “Na?ve maybe, but not weak.” Her gaze cuts away from mine, hovering out the window that overlooks 60th. “Do you think you’ll divorce him?”
I take a deep breath. “Do you think I should?”
“I think it doesn't matter what I think. But . . .” she holds my gaze again, “if it were me . . . being the pessimistic and
pragmatic girl I am . . . I think you catch more flies with honey, and I think the best way to get revenge is to keep your
friends close and your enemies closer.”
I nod, letting her words settle somewhere inside of me. “You’re going to turn me into you, you know that?”
“Here’s hoping,” she giggles.
“I just can’t shake the idea that he has more secrets hiding right under my nose,” I confess. Warmth from the wine, and from
our connection, hums through me. Aubrey may say she isn’t capable of love or family, but for the first time I feel like I’ve
found a sister—not just biologically, but in a real and supportive way. I can’t explain why I’ve been so quick to trust her,
but despite the fact that we’re opposites in so many ways, I still feel a kinship with this woman.
“Maybe we should go all Nancy Drew on his ass,” she laughs.
I chuckle. “Yeah?”
She nods, enthusiasm lighting up her green irises. “Let’s conduct our own investigation. Starting in your apartment.”
My eyes widen at her suggestion. “I already did do some searching—that’s when I found the extra laptop and the security cameras
and—”
“Ugh, of course he has security cameras. The bastard thinks he’s entitled to so much power and access.”
“I imagine he would say it’s for safety—so I don’t hurt myself.”
“Well, how does that land now knowing that everything you’ve been told about your mental illness is a lie?”
“Is it, though?” I muse.
“Of course it is—everything Jack and your father said was meant to undermine your confidence and independence.”
“But the bruises, the cutting, the sleepwalking—that’s not made up,” I say.
Aubrey doesn’t answer. What can she say? There is no answer. I did do those things to myself—the evidence is embedded in my
skin. I carry the scars of my self-harm as plain as day.
“Maybe it’s the stress of being an abused woman that’s caused it . . .” Aubrey finally says.
“Maybe,” I say, but I don’t believe her.
“Well, we won’t know until we find out more about what Jack has been up to.” She finishes her glass of wine and then stands
from the sofa.
A minute later we’re walking into my silent apartment. There’s no sign that Jack has been here since I left early this morning,
but that doesn't mean he isn’t watching.
Waiting.
Ready to ruin me one poisoned arrow at a time.