Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Ariana
Warmth pressed against my face, like bright rays of sun, and I fluttered my eyes open to see Henry’s bedroom bathed in light.
Normally when I woke up, the world was still hushed and gray, the first streaks of dawn barely visible over the horizon.
Not today.
Today, sunlight poured through the curtains.
I glanced at the clock and sucked in a large breath.
12:17 p.m.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept past seven, let alone noon.
Victor never allowed it.
Even the mornings after he’d spent all night torturing me, I was expected to be at the dining room table for breakfast at seven-thirty on the dot.
But Victor wasn’t here anymore.
Not just because I’d escaped.
But because he was gone.
Dead.
The thought hit differently than last night.
I understood it now. I may have escaped the prison he’d trapped me in, but I’d never be free while he still drew breath. I did what I had to do. For myself. For my future.
Just like Henry did all those years ago.
I rolled away from the sun, instinctively reaching for him.
But his side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold. I wasn’t surprised. I may not have been an expert, but I had a feeling it took a while to dispose of a body.
What did surprise me was the folded piece of paper resting on the pillow, my name written across the front in his bold, decisive handwriting.
I sat up and opened it, my heart warming as I read his words.
Ariana,
I didn’t want you to start your day without knowing how much I love you. Your determination. Your strength. And your fire.
You are a goddamn warrior. Never doubt it.
All my love,
Henry
In my old life, my mother used to encourage me to begin my mornings by meditating, repeating positive affirmations. How I was strong. How I deserved happiness.
But then I met Victor, and he beat any positive thoughts out of me, making me think I was nothing. That I deserved everything he did to me.
But Henry’s note was exactly what I needed this morning.
A reminder that he’d seen me at my lowest of lows and still chose me. Still believed I was worthy.
Still saw me as a warrior.
I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom, going about my business before splashing some water on my face to clear the cobwebs. The mirror reflected a version of me I barely recognized, my hair tousled, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes clearer than they’d been in ages.
Not haunted.
Not hollow.
Alive.
After slipping on a t-shirt and some shorts, I made my way down the hall. I wasn’t sure what scene would greet me, considering when I was last in the living room, the floor was littered with glass from stray bullets, along with Victor’s body lying in a pool of blood.
But as I looked down at the open living area from the second-floor landing, it appeared exactly like it always had, not a single indication last night ever happened. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if I’d imagined it all.
An excited bark tore through my thoughts, forcing my attention back to the present, and I continued down the stairs, purposefully avoiding looking at the spot where Victor’s body lay mere hours ago.
The second I stepped into the living room, my mother rounded the corner from the kitchen, Cato close on her heels, her eyes wide with concern and relief.
“Ari…” She crossed the room and pulled me into her arms, squeezing me tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
I had no idea how long she’d been awake or what she knew. Based on the way she currently hugged me, I had a feeling Henry must have told her something.
“I’m okay,” I assured her, not wanting to say too much. Henry and I hadn’t exactly discussed what we were going to tell her.
“And you’re free.”
I closed my eyes, a ball of emotion tightening my throat. “I am.”
“It’s about time that bastard got what he deserved,” she bit out, holding me several more seconds before pulling back and swiping the tears from her eyes.
Cato weaseled his way between us, and I gave his head a scratch, his tail thumping excitedly in response.
“You must be starving,” Mom said, her voice still somewhat shaky. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
“You don’t have to,” I replied, starting toward the kitchen. “I can do it.”
“Let me take care of you. You’ve had to take care of me for so long. It’s my turn.”
“Okay.” I gave her a sincere smile, following her into the kitchen.
As she pulled out pans and bowls, I prepared myself a cup of coffee. After taking a sip, I hoisted myself onto one of the barstools.
“Is Henry in his office?”
“He left early to run an errand.” She glanced at the clock. “But he should be home soon.”
I nodded, taking another long sip of coffee, not pressing for details. I had a feeling I knew what this errand was, and it most likely wasn’t a stop at the nearest grocery store for a gallon of milk.
“What did Henry tell you about—”
“I know he took care of Victor when he broke in last night.” She squeezed her eyes shut, tightening her grip on the knife.
“I should have known. Cato was barking and scratching at the door to get out. I thought he wanted to try to catch that rabbit he’d been chasing all day.
I never…” She trailed off. “Well, he’s finally out of our lives forever. ”
I reached across the island and covered her hand with mine. “We’re finally free.”
She held my gaze for a beat, then pulled away. “Speaking of free,” she began, clearing her throat, “I’ve been thinking.”
I straightened, something about her tone setting me on edge. Especially with the way she kept her eyes averted, focusing intently on dicing peppers with meticulous precision.
“I’m thinking about spending some time with your Aunt Violet.
The therapist Henry found me has encouraged me to reach out to old friends and family, start taking back my life.
So I reached out to your father’s sister.
I didn’t tell her everything, just that I’d never had Lewey Body Dementia and had been drugged to mimic the effects.
She offered me the guest room in her house if I wanted to come stay for a while. ”
I furrowed my brow. “Doesn’t she live on Staten Island?”
“She does.” She stole a glance at me before returning her attention to the vegetables.
No wonder she insisted on cooking. Whenever she had something difficult to talk about, she’d always do it while preparing food. Probably to serve as a distraction.
“I’d have to talk to Henry. This isn’t a decision I want to make without discussing it with him.”
Mom snapped her eyes up to meet mine. “I didn’t mean for you to think you would have to come with me.”
I blinked repeatedly. “What are you saying?”
She set the knife onto the cutting board and grasped my hand in hers. “I’m saying it’s time I finally live my life again. I love spending time with you, and Henry has been more than welcoming. But this isn’t my home.”
“It’s not mine either,” I attempted to protest.
She pushed out a long sigh. “I think it is, sweetie. I think you’ve finally found your place.
Finally found someone who can be your home.
Just like your father was to me. This is all I’ve ever wanted for you.
To find someone who looks at you the way Henry does. Who cares for you the way Henry does.”
“But I just got you back,” I managed to say through the tightness in my throat.
“You still have me,” she soothed, skirting around the island and wrapping me in her arms. “I’m not leaving right away. Maybe in another month or so. Once the dust settles around here.” She pulled back. “You can come visit anytime. And I’ll fly down here to see you, too.”
I parted my lips, searching my brain for something to say. An argument for why she couldn’t go.
But I knew what it was like to feel like a prisoner. To yearn for freedom.
She had that now.
Just like I did.
“This is really what you want, isn’t it?”
“It is. I’m finally able to make my own choices. Live my own life. The same goes for you.”
I nodded, all too familiar with why she felt she needed to do this.
A few weeks ago, I was in her shoes. Planned to leave this place the second it was safe for me to do so.
Now, the only place I wanted to be was with Henry.
It was time for my mother to find her place, too.
“I just hope Aunt Vi has another guest room since I plan on visiting as often as possible,” I said, pulling out of her embrace and swiping at my eyes.
“I think that can be arranged.” She gave my arm a squeeze before returning to the other side of the island and cracking some eggs into the large mixing bowl.
“Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t let Aunt Vi take you to her salon. Or clothes shopping. Someone needs to tell her leopard-print leggings and teased hair went out of style in the nineties.”
She threw her head back and laughed, the sound so full of life. Just like my mom.
“You know how it is on Staten Island. Everything’s bigger. And bolder.”
“That’s for sure,” I muttered around a sip of coffee just as the front door opened and Henry’s familiar footsteps echoed in the space.
When he turned the corner into the kitchen, a warmth filled me at the sight of him in a Henley shirt, dark jeans, and work boots.
Just like he wore up at the cabin in Maine.
“Morning,” he murmured as he approached and brushed his lips against mine.
“Morning,” I sighed into him. “Although technically it’s afternoon now.”
“Time is all relative.” He winked before his expression turned serious, his analytical gaze sweeping over me. “How do you feel?”
“Surprisingly…peaceful.”
“Good.” He gave my leg a squeeze before shifting his attention to my mother and quirking a brow.
“It’s okay. I told her my plan,” she assured him.
I snapped my eyes between my mom and Henry.
“You knew about this?” I asked.
“I only found out this morning when she mentioned it,” he explained.
“Told me if I didn’t tell you, he would,” Mom added. “Something about refusing to keep secrets from you.” She gave me a sly wink.
“I promised she could visit any time she wants. And you can visit her any time you want. It’s a short flight. Plus, I’ve been thinking about buying a place in Manhattan. This would be a good excuse.”
“You’d buy a place in Manhattan just for me?” I asked in disbelief.
“I do have a branch of my company there. But yes. If it gives you peace of mind to know you have a home up there, too, I’ll buy you a place in Manhattan. Hell, we can move up there if you want.”
I instinctively scrunched up my nose at the thought. While I grew up near New York City, the idea of living there didn’t appeal to me. Not anymore. Not after Henry.
“I like the farmhouse better.”
“Me, too.” He touched a soft kiss to my mouth. “Does this mean you want to stay?”
I was taken aback by his question. To think he worried I’d leave now that Victor was gone. Granted, that was once my intention. Hell, only a few days ago, I’d yearned for freedom. To be able to go wherever I wanted.
To be free of Henry.
Not anymore.
“I couldn’t imagine not being near you. Not having you in my life.”
“Neither can I,” he exhaled as his mouth found mine once more.
I sighed into him, everything about this moment feeling right. A stark change from a mere twenty-four hours ago. I knew it wouldn’t always be like this. That we’d undoubtedly face more than our fair share of hurdles, but I wasn’t going to think about that right now.
I was going to enjoy this moment and not worry about the future.
A loud chiming cut through the serenity, and Henry pulled away, retrieving his phone from his pocket. When he looked at the screen, his brow furrowed.
“Excuse me for a minute.”
He stepped away to answer the call, slipping into the living room, his gaze focused out the back door and over the acres and acres of rolling hills. I tried not to listen, but unease tightened in my stomach with every clipped response.
“Yes. … Understood. … I see.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to think of something else. But I couldn’t shake the feeling this was an important phone call. Did someone track Victor to this property and figure out what we’d done?
What we’d covered up?
Finally, Henry ended the call, but didn’t immediately return to the kitchen. He simply stared out the windows.
I slid off the barstool and moved toward him, touching a hand to his bicep. “Henry. What is it?”
He spun to face me, a myriad of emotions washing over his expression. Then he pulled my body into his.
“He’s alive,” he stated, his voice thick.
“Who?” I met his gaze, panic racing through me at the idea of Victor being alive.
But it was impossible. I stabbed him. Watched the life drain from his eyes. Stared at the puddle of blood surrounding him.
“Blake.” He exhaled what I could only describe as a breath of relief. “Blake’s alive.”