Chapter 16
Annabelle
My lungs aren’t working. I stare at the three of them, and the world just keeps tilting.
It’s a nightmare. It’s a sick, twisted joke that I’m the punchline for.
My chest is tight, and the air in this place tastes of nothing but ice and panic.
Three of them. Three men who have seen me at my absolute lowest, who have touched me and moved through my house while I was letting them.
At this point, it says more about me than it does about them.
Or maybe the same.
I was so desperate not to be alone, not to have to think that I forgot to… think.
“Get away from me,” I whisper.
I look at Callan. He’s the one who was at the library. The one I thought was Ethan being weird.
Aidan. The one who fucked me until I couldn’t stand.
And Ethan. The one who started it all. The one I came onto and invited into my home to have sex with me.
They’re vultures. They’ve picked over the bones of my life, and now they expect me to just accept it.
“We aren’t going to hurt you,” Aidan says. “The opposite. We have been taking care of you. Now that you know the truth, that hasn’t changed. It’s intensified. We aren’t going to let you fall, little bell.”
“Don’t call me that!” I spit out, but there is no heat in it. Not really. I’m tired. Drained. Beyond caring.
My vision blurs. The room is too big, the glass and marble too cold. I feel small, diminished. Every touch I thought was a lifeline was just another hook in my skin.
“You’re overwhelmed,” Ethan says, as if he’s explaining the weather. “It’s a lot to process.”
“It’s a lie. Everything you’ve done is a lie. You let me believe I was falling for one man while you were all taking turns. How is that protection? It’s a violation.”
Callan stays back, his hands still in his pockets. He’s the quiet one, the one who didn’t want to touch me. I wonder if he’s the only one with a shred of decency, or if he’s just a different kind of monster.
“We did it because we had to,” Ethan says, stepping closer. “Because you needed us.”
“I needed to not be alone. I didn’t need this! I didn’t need to be some sick experiment for three bored rich men!”
I try to stand, but my legs are like jelly. I sink back into the chair, the leather squeaking under my weight. I’m trapped. There’s no way out of this penthouse, and no way out of the mess they’ve made of me.
“We’re investigating your mother’s murder,” Ethan says suddenly, and it stops them stone cold.
The silence that descends makes my skin crawl. I force myself to meet Ethan’s eyes. “What?”
“Not just hers. Others. We have… someone connected. We are trying to find links, evidence.”
Callan lets out a low growl that makes me flinch.
“What the fuck did you just say?” My voice comes out thin and cracked, but it cuts through the room anyway.
Ethan doesn’t look away from me. “We’re investigating your mother’s murder.”
My blood roars so hard I can hear it in my ears. For a second, everything else drops away. Not the lies. Not the triplets. Not the fact that I am trapped in a penthouse with three men who have manipulated every vulnerable inch of me. Just that sentence.
My mother.
I push myself upright in the chair, every muscle tight. “How do you know about my mother?”
Aidan goes still behind me. I can feel the change in the room even without looking at him.
Callan’s expression hardens. “Ethan.”
“How do you know about her?” My voice is harder now.
Ethan crouches in front of me, and the relief he isn’t looming anymore washes over me. I hate that I still feel the pull of him even now. Hate that my body remembers safety while my mind is screaming danger. “Because we’ve been looking into it for a long time.”
“How long?”
He pauses.
The pause terrifies me more than if he had answered at once.
“How long?” I repeat.
“Years.”
“Years?” I repeat, standing up, loud now. “You’ve been looking into my mother’s murder for years, and you thought the best way to tell me was after you lied your way into my bed? Into my house? Into my fucking head?”
“Annabelle,” Aidan says.
“Shut up.” I turn so fast my vision swims. “Don’t talk to me like you know me. None of you know me.”
“We know enough,” Callan says quietly.
My head snaps towards him. “You can’t stand over there acting like you’re better than them because you kept your hands to yourself for five bloody minutes. You watched me at work. You all watched me. You know about my mother. You knew what happened to her. You knew what it did to me.”
His face tightens, but he says nothing.
That silence enrages me.
“Who?”
“Who, what?” Ethan—the ringleader— asks.
“Who is connected to this that you know?”
“Our mother,” Aidan says, and I spin so fast, I stumble.
Ethan catches me, his steady hands cool against my feverish skin.
“Your mother?”
“She was murdered too.”
The world spins. My lungs contract. My vision blurs, and sweat covers my skin. Darkness tugs me under.