Chapter Thirteen
Eddie
“I forgot to say something,” I say simply, my voice low, leaning against the door.
Her eyes lift to mine, wide and questioning. “What?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I take a step closer, unable to look away from her. “I wanted to say thank you for earlier.”
My grandfather has a way with words. Ever since he found out about my plan for revenge, he’s been on a mission to stop me—not physically though. He’s clever like that. He started small, trying to talk me out of it, throwing around words like “let the law of nature handle it” and “doing the right thing,” as if those still meant anything to me. When he saw that wasn’t working, he dug deeper. He tried to get inside my head. He brought up my parents. Not just their death, but them. What they would’ve wanted. Who they would’ve wanted me to be. It’s been his favorite weapon ever since. He hasn’t stopped. He’s been relentless and unyielding.
Lawliss doesn’t know about any of that. She doesn’t know what’s coiled inside me, what I’m carrying, or how close I’ve come to unraveling under the weight of it all. But earlier, she stood up for me anyway. Defended me without hesitation, without needing an explanation, as if I were someone worth standing up for. The thought twists in my chest because I’m no longer the same person she knew.
I had deliberated going upstairs to my room or going to see her. After everything, after I’ve calmed down, all I can think about is her. The way she looks at me. She thinks I don’t see it but I do. She stole several glances at me today when she thought no one was watching and there’s also the unspoken attraction between us she tries to deny. God, I want to kiss her, if only to lose myself in her for just a second, to let her pull me out of the dark place I’ve been clawing through. She grips the edge of the door, trying to steady herself. I can see it in the way her shoulders shift and how her gaze flickers between cautious and curious.
“You came back to thank me?”
I nod, “Yeah. My grandfather tends to say stuff, but he means well.” I rake a hand through my hair.
“I’m grateful you spoke up for me,” I add. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard. She’s gripping the edge of the door like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. She doesn’t step away from me, though. Not really. It’s like she’s torn between bracing for a fight and letting me in.
“It’s fine, Eddie.” She settles on and tries to close the door but I don’t move. Instead, I step inside her house. She sighs and she steps back, her movements instinctive but not unwelcoming. She gives me space, but I close the distance between us, stopping right before her. From this close, I can see the faint rise and fall of her chest and hear the quickened rhythm of her breathing.
“You have a cool place,” I say, softer, almost a whisper. Her house mirrors mine reversely. So where everything is of a darker theme at my place, hers is a minimalist shade of shadow and light, yet striking. It’s just so like her.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
“Would you like something to drink?” She asks, her voice breathy and uncertain.
My eyes drop to her lips, and I catch the hitch in her breath. The space between us thickens, heavy with unspoken words.
“Lynx…” The name I carved for her comes out rough, almost unsteady, like I need it to ground me. And then the air shifts. I can’t tell if I’m leaning in or if she’s the one closing the distance, but suddenly, there’s no distance at all. My hand brushes her arm, and the contact sends a spark straight through me. She tilts her head slightly, and I swear I forget how to breathe.
Her lips are so close, warm breaths mingling with mine. The faint scent of her, soft and familiar, wraps around me, pulling me under.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper, my lips just a hair’s breadth from hers
She doesn’t answer, not at first. Her eyes flutter closed, and I feel her leaning into me; the pull between us is undeniable. I’m caught, lost in her, in the tension that’s been years in the making. But then she exhales, a single word breaking through the haze.
“Stop,” she breathes, her voice trembling as she steps back abruptly. Her hands come up like a shield, a barrier between us that feels sharper than it should. “Ed, we can’t.”
She doesn’t know it yet, but we can now. I’ve made sure of that. I blink, the weight of her words sinking in fast and hard. Disappointment flashes through me, but I mask it as best I can. I nod, taking a step back, my hand dragging through my hair in frustration.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice tight, raw. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Go,” she cuts in, her tone firmer now, more resolute.
For a second, I just stand there, searching her gaze, hoping to find something—just anything that tells me I’m not the only one who feels this. But her expression is closed off, guarded. She’s not ready to share what’s buried inside, and I can’t push her. So I nod again and turn, walking out the door without another word.
The door clicks shut behind me, and the night air is cool against my skin. I take the stairs two at a time, my thoughts circling the way her voice trembled when she said, ‘Stop.’ If I hadn’t pulled back, would she have let me stay? It doesn’t matter. She’s not ready.
I arrive at my floor in the two-story penthouse and step inside to find Josh sprawled on my couch, a violin sound coming from the television. His feet are on the coffee table, a beer bottle in one hand and a bowl of popcorn beside him as he watches Sherlock.
“Really, Josh? Holmes and Watson?”
“Figured I’d brush up on how to deal with a brooding genius with questionable ethics. Sound familiar?” Josh answers without even bothering to look away from the screen.
“Careful. You might get yourself fired,” I scowl, brushing past him and heading to the bedroom. His words stick in my head like burrs, irritating and impossible to ignore. But that’s Josh’s style—always watching, always poking at the edges of what I’d rather keep hidden. He thinks Hanley is the only one who does that to me without realizing he’s worse.
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure out your next move before you can make it. That’s the whole point, right?” He shouts, his voice carrying too easily through the penthouse. I don’t need to see him to know he’s grinning—far too amused with himself. I change quickly and walk back to the living room, dropping into the armchair with a sigh.
“Maybe you should worry less about Sherlock and more about yourself.” Josh finally pauses the show and sits up straight, turning to look at me with that annoying mix of concern and humor he’s mastered.
“Are we talking about me, or are we talking about you?”
“What about me?” I shoot back, sharper than I intended, but I don’t soften it. Josh tilts his head, that smug, knowing look in his eyes. I hate that look. It’s like he can see straight through me, and worse, that he thinks he’s right.
“Everything.” He takes a long pull of his beer, dragging it out like he’s daring me to interrupt.
“You’ve been pushing for the company headquarters to be moved here for a while now, and after we achieve that, what do you do? You bury yourself in more work than ever. Your insomnia has worsened. As if that’s not enough, you keep acquiring properties without any real explanation. Today, you buy a bar. Tomorrow, you sponsor a start-up. Oh, and let’s not forget that you also bought shares in a textile company, which, by the way, is not in our industry. Normally, I’d say fine, whatever, but then you went and bought shares in the Dua Group. THE Dua Group?”
He pauses for a moment, giving me that look like I’ve lost my mind. “What’s next, Eddie? Another textile company? Or are you planning to buy a coffee chain just to round things out?” The words hit their mark, sharp and precise, knocking the air out of me for a second. I push it down, keeping my voice low and controlled. “Tread carefully,” I warn, the edge in my tone unmistakable. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, glaring at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Josh doesn’t even flinch. “Don’t I?” I chuckle at that, short and bitter in response and he just shakes his head.
“I’m serious, Eddie. You’re not thinking clearly. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re supposed to win your wife’s love. The same wife who doesn’t even know she’s married to you. You need to hear this. Love isn’t like a business transaction.”
“I never said it was,” I snap, the words cutting through the air like a blade.
“But your actions say something different,” he fires back, and I can see the frustration creeping into his expression now.
“I get it. I really do. You’ve loved this girl longer than I’ve known you, and I’ve known you for a decade. But using her family? Their business? That’s wrong. If not for anything, think about the love they showed you. Look at what they gave you when you had nothing.”
I close my eyes, trying to calm the fire roaring in my chest. But any mention of Lawliss gets a rise out of me. Always. She’s a button I can’t stop pressing, even though I know I shouldn’t. Moreover, that’s not the reason I bought those shares.
“Why are you here, Josh?” I grind out, opening my eyes to glare at him.
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he tosses my bottle of sleeping pills at me, like he’s been waiting to do it all night.
“I came back to give you these,” he says with a tired sigh. “But you weren’t here, so I decided to wait. Then again, it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re not going to take them. Staying awake seems to be your favorite way of self-destructing.”
I clench my jaw, gripping the pills tighter than I should. I should say anything, but there’s a knot in my throat that won’t let me.
He softens, just a little, but his voice still carries the weight of everything he’s been holding back. “You’ve been given a second chance, Eddie. Don’t waste it. Not everyone gets that chance.”
The room goes quiet, except for the faint hum of the muted TV. His words settle into the air like smoke, choking me. For a second, I hate him for saying it. For making me feel this way. For forcing me to think about all the things I’d rather bury.
I clench my jaw, the heat rising in my chest again. “Get out,” I mutter, not meeting his gaze. But the knot in my throat doesn’t loosen, and I know he sees it. I know he sees everything. I barely notice him leaving but his words linger in the air long after he’s gone, circling me like vultures. I hate that he’s right. And I hate it even more that I don’t know if I’ll stop. Or even if I want to.
I toss the bottle of pills onto the coffee table and rub my eyes, the ache in my head spreading down my neck and into my chest. Josh thinks I don’t take the pills because I’m stubborn, but the truth is worse. The pills don’t stop the memories. They just make them louder.
I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, hoping the exhaustion will finally win tonight. It doesn’t. It never does.
Josh acts like this is simple. All he knows about me is what I’ve been willing to share. He doesn’t know the depth of my uncle's deceit and revenge. With what he knows about me, I’m surprised he acts like I can just stop buying properties, stop working late, and stop making moves that make no sense to anyone but me.
Of course, he doesn’t know what it feels like to lose everything, including yourself, in a span of one week. One moment, you’re on cloud 9, everything is intact, and the next, you don’t know where you are.
The properties, the start-ups, the bar, the shares in the Dua Group. They all make sense in my head. They’re steps in a plan, even if the plan’s not fully executed yet.
The truth is, Josh doesn’t see the real game. This isn’t just about winning Lawliss back. This is about proving something to her, to myself, and to the world that turned its back on me. The moves I’m making aren’t just for her. They’re for us. Except there’s no us, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know she’s already mine. How do you fight for someone who doesn’t even know they’re yours to begin with?
Josh says love isn’t a business transaction. But what does he know? Planning is what keeps me sane. It’s what keeps the memories from eating me alive. How do I show her I love her without trying to control the outcome? Without trying to make her part of the plan when she’s already the center of it?
And maybe that’s where it all falls apart. Maybe that’s why I’ll lose her again.
But this time, I’ll die trying to keep her.
Because I’ll have both.
Her and my revenge.