Chapter Thirty-Five
Lilac
During the week and a half since Winter’s attack, everyone has been on edge. Lyrical and I avoid the café and the gazebo because we share too many memories with Winter there. Irvin has guards walk me to class when he can’t attend with me.
Our relationship has changed since the night he told me I can’t leave him.
I’ve given up on trying to manipulate him, so now I’m going with the flow. I have to go back to the drawing board on that one. I don’t know if I should continue to fight against him. He made it clear I can’t leave him—or even mention it.
I hated admitting to him that I wanted him. It felt as if he had the upper hand when I spoke those words. And the fact that he doesn’t care he tricked me into this marriage sends a chill down my spine. I was at least expecting an apology, but Irvin doesn’t see anything wrong with his behavior.
I stroke my lips, still feeling the imprint of his mouth on mine. The way he fucked me senseless all night. The way he felt between my legs.
I walk to Winter’s hospital room, and nothing has changed. The doctor said the swelling in her brain went down, but she hasn’t shown any improvement. I try to keep the tears at bay. I try to be optimistic about her condition, but thoughts flood my mind with what-ifs.
What if she doesn’t wake up?
What if Snow and the board members don’t catch the killer?
I’m not a stranger to death, but it doesn’t make it any easier to lose someone you love.
I pull a chair next to her bed and stroke her cheek. Then I pull out her favorite book—a philosophy book, which is part of her major—and read to her. In neuropsychology, I learned it helps with stimulation of the brain.
My phone buzzes. I click on the envelope icon.
Unknown number: Meet me at the auditorium on campus.
My skin prickles. What the fuck?
I drop the phone on the tile, then slowly pick it up. The message disappears.
Who is fucking with my mind?
Another message pops up.
Unknown number: If you don’t show up in twenty minutes, I’ll send this to Irvin and post it on the school board.
A picture loads.
My parents’ murder scene.
My mother’s lifeless eyes. The gigantic hole in my father’s head. It looks like something straight out of a horror movie.
My eyes burn. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. Bile rises in the back of my throat, but I swallow it down.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket, grab my book bag, and rush out of the hospital.
Inside the auditorium, the lights flicker on.
It’s empty. Bare. Just rows of empty desks.
My vision blurs. Heat drains from my face.
The projection screen drops.
A video starts playing—Irvin beating up a guy.
My heart drops. I blink. Hard. I clutch my chest.
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
This video isn’t real.
Irvin’s silver hair shines. The footage is blurry, but I can’t tell if it’s actually him. He punches the guy until all I see is dark hair mixed with blood.
Irvin slits his throat next and tosses him onto a couch. His back faces the camera. The image blurs further.
I step back as another clip plays.
I recognize the guy.
He’s on the football team.
Irek Williams.
Another picture flashes onto the screen—his obituary. He’s part of the American Billionaire Club. The one who was murdered a week ago.
Is Irvin the killer on campus?
No. It can’t be.
He told me he doesn’t kill anyone unless they are a threat.
I can’t confront him; he won’t admit it. I asked him if he killed Elena, and he told me no. What reason would he have to kill her? Why would Irvin target these people? The person who’s behind this knows I’m hiding my identity.
The video plays again.
I rush to the projection room and yank open the door.
No one’s there.
The screen goes black.
Like nothing ever happened.
Did I imagine it all?
I’ve hallucinated before.
Is someone trying to warn me?
Was it Irvin who sent the message—
Am I next?
Is Irvin manipulative enough to play mind games with my life?
He wasn’t in the room when the message was sent the night Winter was admitted to the hospital. He’s never around when the victims are killed. The last message I received from an unknown number Irvin swore the message disappeared.
Is it possible he erased it so he could fuck with my mind?
I leave the auditorium shaken. I’m scared.
Scared that he’s the killer on campus.
I drive home slowly, taking the longer route. I don’t have class for the rest of the evening—it’s study hall day.
What will I say to him?
How can I play it cool?
I can’t say Irvin is the killer. And I can’t say that he isn’t.
When I arrive home, his black motorcycle is parked in the garage.
Heat floods my ears and neck.
I creep into the kitchen, then the living room. My shoulders tighten.
Irvin is resting on the couch, reading a book from one of his classes.
I sit on the edge of the cushion. My eyes widen.
He pulls me in for a kiss. I force myself not to flinch.
My gut twists into a knot.
I bite the inside of my cheek. Iron coats my tongue.
I turn away and run my hands through my puffy curls.
“What’s wrong, my princess?”
I need to frame this carefully—so he won’t suspect I know anything. If he’s the killer—
“I learned about another student’s death, and it hit home. Like Winter’s attack.”
His shoulders straighten. He wraps his arms around my waist. “Go on.”
“Irek Williams. He was a junior. He was in my literature class last year. His throat was slit.” I swallow. “He was a nice guy.” I search his face for a reaction. There is none. “Did you know him?”
He nods. “Yeah. His father works in the HR department at the club.”
A lump forms in my throat.
“Did you know him on a personal level?”
He shakes his head. “No. I only met him once.”
I study his expression again. Blank. No reaction.
Of course, he wouldn’t react. He sees death daily—assignments for the American Billionaire Club.
I might be married to a serial killer.
I might be married to someone who kills innocent people.
It might be him.
He enjoys killing.
He could have killed that man—but Irvin wouldn’t lie to my face, would he?
He tricked me into this marriage.
He lied about having a fiancée to manipulate me.
He used Judy to make me jealous.
I don’t know if I’m safe with Irvin.
His jade eyes soften. “Princess. What’s wrong?”
I shrug, keeping my tone light. “All the killings on campus have me on edge. I don’t want to be on their list next.”
He strokes my cheek. It takes everything in me not to flinch.
“I promise you’re not,” he says. “He won’t come near you.”
He stands, rubs his hands on his pants.
He would say that—because he might be the killer.
Three people on campus are dead: Elena, Shelby, Irek.
The only reason he might’ve spared Winter is because she’s my best friend. And the reason he attacked her was to send a message—because she told me he tricked me into marriage.
I shake my head.
This sounds insane.
But I know what I saw.
I know.
I’m not crazy.
I have PTSD—but not everything is a hallucination.
I straighten my spine. “How can you promise me something like that?”
His sage eyes lock onto mine, flat as a board. “Because I’ll never let any man get near you.”
How does he know it’s a man?
“You don’t think it’s a woman?”
He shakes his head. “Men are more likely to be serial killers. Jameson gives me the inside scoop. Snow and the board suspect it’s a man. He’s a skilled killer.”
“You told me you were a suspect.”
“I am. I’m a skilled killer, too, Lilac. The board suspects it’s one of their top killers in the club.”
“D-do you feel any remorse for those people’s lives?”
He’s eerily quiet for a few seconds. “No. But you already knew the answers to both those questions, my princess.”
He is absolutely right.
“Why are you interested in my background in killing?”
He reaches for my cheek again, but I peel his hand away.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
I bolt inside and lock the door.
I don’t trust Irvin.
I can’t escape him—he’ll find me. But I need a plan.
I’m going to document everything.
And if I find out Irvin is the killer… I don’t know what I’ll do.
If it’s him, and I confront him—what will he do?
Will I become his next victim?
Could I stay with someone like that?
The ceiling spins, and I steady myself on the toilet lid.
I’ve never felt so lost.
And I don’t know what to do.