Chapter Fifteen #2
Amelia nodded frantically, wiping her face with a silk handkerchief.
She turned her tear-filled gaze back to the panicked girl hovering behind Marcy.
With trembling hands, Amelia reached into her oversized designer handbag.
She fumbled for a moment before pulling out a small, carefully wrapped velvet pouch.
"I... I carry this with me," Amelia whispered, her voice cracking as she held the pouch out toward Kinsley. "Every time I travel. I have carried it for a year, praying I might somehow, someday, run into you."
Kinsley stared at the pouch as if it were a live grenade. Cautiously, she reached out and took it. She loosened the velvet drawstrings and tipped the contents into her palm.
Kinsley’s breath hitched.
Sitting in her hand was a small, lopsided, garishly painted ceramic starfish.
The edges were chipped, and the blue paint was horribly uneven.
It was the very first thing a seven-year-old Kinsley Bennet had ever made in a coastal art class, a gift she had proudly presented to Amelia Tate on one Mother’s Day, over two decades ago.
The fact that it was not only kept but meticulously preserved and carried as a token of devotion, struck Kinsley with the force of a tidal wave.
"I loved you, Kinsley," Amelia wept, placing her hand gently over Kinsley’s. "You were the daughter I never had. I am so ashamed that I let the coldness of my world overwrite the love in my heart. Please, just know that you were always, always loved."
Kinsley couldn't speak. She stared at the terrible, beautiful ceramic starfish, her throat closed over. It was a heartwarming, earth-shattering revelation.
***
Later that night, the Sanctuary was bathed in the warm, flickering light of the stone fireplace in the main living room. The coastal storm outside battered the glass windows, but inside, the air was usually filled with laughter and the clinking of wine glasses.
Tonight, however, the silence was deafening.
Marcy sat on the edge of the plush, oversized sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was incredibly quiet, her eyes fixed on the fire.
But it was Kinsley’s quietness that was absolutely terrifying everyone.
Kinsley sat beside Marcy, staring blankly at the small ceramic starfish resting on the coffee table. She hadn't made a sarcastic remark in four hours. She hadn't complained about the weather, she hadn't teased Connor, and she hadn't moved a muscle.
The men were in a state of escalating panic.
Cruz Tate paced the length of the living room, his hands running through his dark hair, his striking face drawn tight with anxiety. He was used to his woman being a loud, vibrant hurricane. This silence was unnatural; it meant something inside her was fractured.
"Did she say something else?" Cruz demanded, stopping to look at Marcy, his voice bordering on a growl. "Did my mother threaten her? If she said a single word to make Kinsley feel—"
"Cruz, stop pacing, you're making me dizzy," Connor hissed from his position leaning against the mantelpiece. He looked just as worried, exchanging a helpless glance with Leon.
Even Kade, who usually possessed an unshakeable, grounding calm, looked deeply unsettled. He sat on the arm of the sofa next to Marcy, his large hand resting protectively on her shoulder, his eyes darting to Kinsley in concern.
Only Marcy remained serene. She understood exactly what was happening within the turbulent mind of her best friend.
Suddenly, Kinsley drew a sharp, shuddering breath. She blinked, and a single tear slipped over her eyelashes, tracking a slow path down her cheek.
The room instantly froze.
Kinsley crying? It was unheard of. Kinsley Bennet got angry. Kinsley Bennet yelled. She fought, she threw things, she masked her pain with chaotic sarcasm. She did not cry.
Cruz dropped to his knees directly in front of her, his heart plummeting into his stomach. He reached out, his large hands frantically cupping her face, his thumbs wiping away the tear with desperate tenderness.
"Kinsley, darling, talk to me," Cruz pleaded, his voice thick with terror. "Who do I need to kill? Tell me what to do. Please, don't cry."
Kinsley looked at him, her lips trembling. She let out a wet, breathless laugh that quickly turned into a genuine, chest-heaving sob. She reached out, her hands gripping the front of Cruz’s shirt as she buried her face in his shoulder.
"I wasn't a parasite," Kinsley cried, the words tearing out of her in a rush of agonizing relief.
Cruz wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her against his chest as if he could absorb her pain. He looked over her head at Marcy, completely bewildered. "What?"
"For my entire life," Kinsley wept, her voice muffled against his chest, finally articulating the deep, festering wound that Gabriela had inflicted upon her, "I thought I was just the charity case.
The leech that was tolerated because Marcy was there.
I thought your parents looked at me and saw nothing but a burden.
But she kept it, Cruz. She kept the ugly starfish for twenty years.
She loved me. I wasn't just a parasite."
The sheer, heartbreaking vulnerability of her confession struck every man in the room like a physical blow.
Marcy smiled, her own eyes shining with tears, leaning her head against Kade’s arm.
Through her tears, Kinsley began to laugh, a watery, chaotic sound that broke the tension in the room.
She pulled back from Cruz, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
Between bursts of laughter and lingering tears, the women finally explained the entirety of the bizarre, emotional encounter at the coffee shop, detailing Kinsley’s panic at dealing with a crying older woman.
Connor and Leon let out long, simultaneous sighs of relief, sinking onto the adjacent couches. Kade pressed a kiss to the top of Marcy's head, the knot of worry finally unraveling in his chest.
Cruz remained on his knees, his hands resting on Kinsley’s thighs.
He looked at the ceramic starfish, a storm of emotions warring in his dark eyes.
He was furious that his mother’s past actions had caused Kinsley to carry such a devastating insecurity for so long.
But beneath the anger, he was profoundly touched.
He realized that Amelia Tate was suffering her own agonizing penance, and that she had, in her own flawed way, genuinely loved the girl who now held his entire soul.
Cruz reached up, gently brushing a stray curl from Kinsley’s tear-stained face. "You were never a parasite," he vowed softly, his eyes burning with uncompromising devotion. "You were always the brightest light in our world."
***
Thousands of miles away, in a sprawling, darkly lit chateau in the Swiss Alps, the world was anything but peaceful.
For the past six months, Gabriela Monroe had existed in a state of venomous, isolated exile.
Her parents, thoroughly humiliated and financially crippled by the Lancaster-Tate retaliation, barely spoke to her.
The elite society of Ashford Heights had closed their doors to her.
She was a pariah, stripped of her golden pedestal and left to rot in the cold.
Gabriela stood by the stone fireplace of the chateau, a glass of untouched red wine in her hand. Her angelic features were twisted into a permanent, ugly snarl of resentment. She ranted to the empty room, fuming over the sheer injustice of her reality.
In her twisted, narcissistic mind, she had done nothing wrong. She was the victim of a catastrophic misunderstanding.
Two months ago, driven by a desperate, frantic need to fix her life, Gabriela had covertly flown back to the coast. She had tracked down the address in Pearlcove, intending to confront Marcy and demand that her best friend stop this madness.
But when she arrived at the quaint, whitewashed cottage, she found it completely empty.
The neighbors said they had moved away, vanished without a forwarding address.
Gabriela hurled her wine glass at the stone hearth, the crystal shattering into a hundred glittering pieces, the red liquid staining the stones like blood.
She refused to blame herself. She refused to acknowledge the dashcam audio or the cruelty of her own words. Instead, she placed the entirety of the blame squarely on the shoulders of the girl she had always despised.
Kinsley.
It was Kinsley’s fault. Kinsley had stolen Marcy away from her.
Kinsley was the chaotic, manipulative force that had poisoned Marcy’s mind, and Marcy, in turn, had poisoned Kade and Cruz against her.
It was the only logical explanation. Marcy had always been loyal, always submissive to Gabriela’s needs.
She would never have abandoned her if the parasite hadn't orchestrated the entire rebellion.
Gabriela stared into the dying embers of the fire, her mind locking onto a cold, sociopathic priority.
If Kinsley Bennet was the root of the infection, then the solution was incredibly simple.
If Kinsley were no longer around, the spell would be broken.
Marcy would realize she was alone, she would come back to her senses, and the men would naturally follow.
Everything would return to normal. She would be the golden girl again, and Kade would look at her with the devotion she deserved.
A chilling, predatory smile touched Gabriela’s lips. She pulled her phone from her pocket, scrolling through the encrypted contacts she had retained from her father’s more unsavory security contractors.
Getting rid of Kinsley Bennet was no longer just a fantasy. It was a necessity. And Gabriela Monroe was fully prepared to do whatever it took to cure the host.