Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
THE CALLER
The house is empty, and I have no idea where Margaret and Aurelia are.
Victor and I sit in my office. He’s always eating something, yet nothing ever sticks to him.
The man is tall, broad, all muscle, but he eats like someone who’s been starved his whole life.
This time, he’s grinding pistachios between his teeth, cracking them open one after another like it’s a full-time job.
We went to the ocean to see if there was any way to dive down and pull Daniel’s body from the depth near the cliff, but he was too far under. So we left him there. His father already had him pronounced dead anyway.
At this point, the sea can keep him until it decides to spit him back out.
“You know what keeps eating at me?” Victor says, dropping an empty pistachio shell onto my wooden desk.
“Yeah?” I ask, my eyes drifting to the window just as Aurelia walks slowly toward the house.
“Your little lovebird,” he says. “She keeps saying she doesn’t remember, but she somehow remembers everything at a very convenient time.”
A laugh slips out of me. I take a sip of whiskey.
“Whatever, man,” I say, exhaling hard. “After all these years of wanting to be with her, I don’t give two shits if she was the one who strangled Lilibeth.”
He lifts his brows. “Maybe your brother did it, and she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I saw her that night in the house. She was walking out when we were coming in. Margaret said she’d come for her cup of tea, because she loves the herbs Helena picks from the garden.”
“Richard?” I ask with a smile, “he’s an asshole, but he wouldn’t kill her. In his own weird way, I think he loved her.”
His eyes widen, like it surprises him that I know.
“Come on,” I say. “You really think I didn’t know my own brother was fucking my wife?” I take another sip of whiskey. “I never touched her, you know.” I drag my lower lip between my teeth. “But I never cheated either.”
“Don’t tell me,” he says, turning his head toward the window, “your broken pianist is your only one.”
“No.” I laugh. “I fucked Vivian, but never Lilibeth.”
“I don’t blame you,” he says, grabbing more pistachios and cracking them open. “She was a very odd woman.”
“The only one I feel sorry for is Helena,” I say, draining the rest of my glass. “She was betrayed by too many people. Her own father, her mother, even Lilibeth. I didn’t believe her. She came to me worried because she read the diary right before I was supposed to leave for England.”
“Something tells me Aurelia did it,” he says, pushing to his feet. “Just a hunch.”
A laugh leaves me as I slide my hand toward the safe beneath the desk. It’s time I finally pay him.
“You know too many things, Victor,” I say with a smirk.
“I keep an eye on people,” he says.
“I do too,” I murmur with a quiet chuckle, my hand hovering over the two choices inside.
The gun on the right side of the safe, or the envelope stuffed with cash I set aside for him.
“Just be careful around her, amigo.“ He smiles. “You might be head over heels, but the way she cold-bloodedly got rid of her ex, you might be next.”
I made my choice.
I smile. “I will, amigo,“ I say, dragging the word across my tongue. “I just can’t have you telling everyone what you know.”
I lift the gun and aim at him.
The shot tears straight through the space between his eyes.
His body drops to the floor.
I step around the desk and walk toward him. His eyes are still open, fixed on me like they’re judging me even now. But I can’t risk any of this. Not now. Not when the path is finally clear for me and my little kitten.
I hear footsteps rushing up the stairs.
I set the revolver on the sofa beside Victor’s body and hurry to the door, stepping outside just before she reaches it, and I pull it shut behind me.
“I heard...” she starts, her eyes red and wet with tears.
She’s been crying.
“A bottle slipped and broke,” I say. “I’ll let Margaret clean it up.”
More tears spill down her cheeks. I step closer and cup her face in my hands. “Hey, hey,” I murmur, trying to calm her. “What happened?”
“She...” She sniffs. “She confessed to killing Lilibeth,” she says, and I wipe the tears from beneath her eyes. “And...”
I pull her into my arms and press a kiss to her forehead. “Shh... Don’t cry.”
She leans back just enough to look at me. “The cops said you were in the same accident I was.”
Fuck.
“Yeah,” I say, choosing each word carefully. “I was in one of the cars Daniel hit when he forgot how brakes work.”
She steps closer, rising onto her tiptoes, her fingers curling into my collar. Her face presses against my neck as she breathes in my cologne, then whispers, “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the man who saved me.”
I nod. “And I’d do it all over again.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asks.
Instead of answering, I pull her closer and crash my mouth against hers, slipping my tongue past her lips. My hand glides to her thigh, drawing her against my hips before I lift her into my arms.
I break the kiss just enough to say, “I forgot.”
She lets out a soft chuckle. I feel her smile against my mouth as I hold her tighter and carry her toward the master bedroom. She wraps her legs around my hips like she was always meant to be there, like she’s letting me take what was mine long before either of us planned any of it.
That room was always hers. The master bedroom belonged to her in the same way the rest of me did, because along the way, she became the master of my life.
She was the air I craved, the only thing that ever felt enough, and God forbid anyone stand in the way of that, because I would kill.
I would kill for her.
I would die for her.
My feet carry us to the bed, and I lower her onto it gently. I slip off her sneakers and socks, then move to her jeans, undoing the buttons and tugging them down her legs until she’s left in nothing but black lace thongs.
“Oh, God,” I gasp as I lean closer. “I missed this pussy of yours.”
She stops me with the press of her foot, biting down on her lower lip. I drag my face along the length of her foot until her toes brush my mouth. I press a kiss there, then guide her foot to my shoulder as I trail my way up, inside of her thighs, taking my time just to feel her shiver beneath me.
She stops me again, lifting my head, her fingers wrapping around my jaw and drawing me back to her. “Kiss me, silly,” she whispers. “And don’t you dare stop.”
My lips find hers and crash hard. I catch her lower lip between my teeth before my tongue slips into her mouth, and she meets me there like she’s been starving too.
It feels like falling into something filthy and ruined and perfect, the kind of kiss I know better than to want and still never could resist.
“I’m addicted to you,” I whisper against her lips. “I’m obsessed.” I kiss her again. “And I want to fuck you so bad it makes me crazy.”
She smiles and pulls me closer, rolling me onto the bed until she’s above me.
She pauses for a second, her thighs settling around my hips while her fingers make quick work of my trousers, pushing them down until they fall near my ankles.
Then she positions herself over me, one hand sliding between us, teasing my hard cock just enough to pull a groan from my chest before she lowers herself on top, taking full length, stealing the rest of my breath.
The heat of her pussy wraps around me, and for one suspended second I can’t think about anything except her. The way she takes me. The way her body is bouncing on top of me.
I can’t wait any longer, just half of my cock is inside her. My hands find her hips, and I pull her onto me, diving deep until I’m fully inside her while her mouth leaves a short gasp.
There’s something about that sound. That small, helpless catch of breath every time I shove myself inside her.
She finds her rhythm. Her fingers move to her blouse, undoing it button by button while she stays above me, every motion slow enough to drive me insane.
She tosses it aside, then presses her hand to my chest to steady herself, her ass rising and falling over mine, turning every breath into a struggle.
A moan slips from her parted lips. Her red hair spills over her damp skin, strands clinging to the curve of her neck already shining with sweat. She arches her back, leaning back, her touch gliding over her round breasts as she moves, and I can only stare, pinned beneath her.
My hands fall above my head as her pussy takes every inch of me, my eyes closing in pleasure.
This woman took everything from me. My soul. My pride. My heart. And somehow I would still hand her whatever is left.
“Faster, Kitten,” I groan.
I can feel the pressure building. My thumb finds her clit, and when she leans back, her pussy all stretched out above me, I press onto her, moving in circles until she moans.
She moves her fingers above mine, guiding me, showing me exactly what she wants, the way she likes it.
And I can’t take it any longer, I feel my cock widens, getting harder, then releasing, allowing her pussy to suck every single drop out of me.
“Oh, fuck,” she moans, locking her eyes with mine as she parts her lips, her brows drawing together.
She tightens around me, and I know she’s close.
I grip the sheets beneath me, trying to hold on for one more second, but she doesn’t let up.
She keeps going, chasing her pleasure with those broken little sounds spilling from her lips until her whole body tenses, and her pussy pulsates while I’m still inside her.
She lets out one last moan and she collapses against me, breathless.
“What got into you?” I ask with a smile when she finally shifts beside me and drops onto the bed.
“I have a clue what it might be,” she says, dragging her index finger slowly across my chest.
Her eyes lift to mine.
“I might be...” She glances down. “Well, I don’t know yet. But... I think I might be.”
I shift over her, settling on top of her, my arms wrapping around her.
“I might be pregnant,” she says finally.
For a second, every word I’ve ever known disappears. I just stare at her.
“You might be a dad,” she whispers, dropping her gaze.
I never thought a day like this would belong to me. But now that she’s said it, it’s all I can see. A life with her. A family with her.
“Say something,” she snaps, hitting my chest.
A laugh slips out of me. “I’m processing.”
“Processing?” she asks, her tone higher.
“Yeah,” I say, looking down at her. “You can’t just casually ruin my entire life in the best possible way and expect me to answer like a normal person.”
“So that’s your response?”
“Maybe.” I lift my brow and slide my hand against her waist and lower myself closer.
“How do you feel about it?” she asks, quieter now.
I smile, resting my forehead against hers. “Happy, terrified, probably insufferable.”
A small laugh slips from her lips.
I crush my lips on hers, stealing her breath just before I say, “You can be unbelievably dramatic.”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m dramatic?”
“Yeah. You could’ve started with, congratulations, your life is over.”
She laughs, and this time, I laugh with her.
And as I look at her, with all that light in her eyes and every future I never once let myself want standing right in front of me, I know one thing for sure.
“I’m the happiest man, and the luckiest man on this planet,” I say, pulling her closer.
And I mean it with every part of me, because I’ve never been a better man than I am when I’m with her.
She stepped into all the broken places inside me and made them feel whole again.
She touched every dark thing I carried and taught it how to breathe in the light.
I’ve done terrible things. Things I can’t take back.
But for the first time in my life, they don’t feel like the end of me.
Because of her, I know whatever comes next can be better.
I know I can give her the life she should’ve always had. A life where love doesn’t come with bruises. Where peace isn’t something that disappears overnight. Where she doesn’t have to go to sleep wondering what tomorrow might take from her. Where safe actually means safe.
This ends here, with the two of us.
I will never be my father. I will never be my grandfather. And I will never be Daniel.
Maybe cruelty does get passed down. Maybe it does come generation after generation, until no one remembers where it started, only that it hurts. But pain isn’t the only thing that stays. So does love. So does mercy. So does the choice to be different.
She was that choice for me.
She touched the wound in me and turned it into a scar instead. She healed it.
And I know, with a certainty so deep it feels written into my soul, that our child will never have to run from home just to feel safe somewhere else. Our child will never learn fear before love. Our child will never look at us and think pain is normal. Our child will never carry what we carried.
Because whatever was broken before us, whatever poisoned the blood before it reached us, whatever turned love into something cruel, it doesn’t get to live past this.
This line ends here.
And if a call from our past ever comes, I know now those are the calls you shouldn’t have answered.