Chapter 47
SKYLAR
My gaze fixed on the crystal glass in his hand. The amber liquid caught the firelight. It looked like any other brandy.
Was I seriously going to go through with this? I'd hoped that Pierce would give me another option. That he would finally give me what I needed.
If he had, I would've confessed everything to him.
I would have given him everything. Including his brother.
But he chose her over me.
My grip tightened around my own glass. The crystal bit into my palm.
I didn't know what was in the vial Jameson gave to me. I hadn't asked.
Part of me hoped it would be over quickly. Pierce may have been a bastard, but he didn't deserve a gruesome death.
Would the coroner even test for poison? I had no idea.
Pierce, with his usual air of confidence, raised the glass to his lips.
I cleared my throat.
He paused and cut his eyes to mine.
I cleared my throat again. “Pierce, I—”
He raised one inquisitive eyebrow and lowered the glass an inch.
Just an inch.
“Do you remember the very first time we sat here, together?”
A smirk played at the corner of his lips. “Of course, Skylar. It’s hard to forget such moments.” He swirled the brandy once, studying me over the rim. “Why bring it up now?”
He knew something was wrong. He had to.
The old warmth in his voice turned my stomach. I’d forgotten he could still sound like that. Like the man I’d planned to marry.
I kept my eyes on his face and not the glass.
He raised it again.
“Do you ever think about how different things could have been?” The words tumbled out, desperate. Anything to keep him talking.
Pierce studied me. The silence stretched. “You’re being nostalgic tonight.” He tilted his head. “That’s not like you, Skylar.”
“Humor me.”
He held my gaze a beat too long before he drank.
The first sip.
I stopped breathing.
Pierce set the glass down on the side table. Slowly. His fingers lingered on the stem.
The word “murder” hadn’t felt real until this moment. It crashed through me now. Pierce was going to die in this room, by my hand.
Jameson’s warning scraped through my memory. “Make sure you see it through. You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”
Pierce picked up the glass again.
I forced myself to look at the fire.
“You seem distracted.”
I turned back. His eyes hadn’t left me. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” He took another sip, watching me over the rim the entire time, as though he already knew the answer. As though he was testing me.
I pressed my fingers against my pulse, a gesture I immediately regretted.
Pierce noticed. He always noticed.
“You’re pale.” He set the glass down and stood.
My heart lurched. “I’m tired. That’s all.”
He took a step toward me.
“Pierce—”
“Tell me why now, of all times, you want to reminisce?” He stopped two feet away. His brow furrowed as he raised a hand to his head, then looked at me. “What did you do, Skylar?”
I blinked as I stepped back out of arms’ reach. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Mm.” He retrieved the glass from the table without looking away from me and held it up to the light, swirled it once more.
And then his posture slackened. One hand reached for the arm of the nearest chair, missed and caught it on the second try. He lowered himself into it. He rested his head in his hand.
I didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
The fire hissed and snapped. The clock on the mantle kept its count.
Then he slumped. His shoulder hit the armrest. The glass rolled from his fingers and landed soundless on the carpet, the brandy spreading dark and slow, seeping into the wool fibers.
Gone.
Just like that.
I stood in the middle of the room and didn’t know what to do with my hands. I stumbled to the window and pressed my forehead against the glass. Grateful for the cold. Tears came. I couldn’t stop them.
What or who was I crying for? Pierce? Myself? I didn’t know the answer.
Somehow, someway, in this tangled web of revenge I’d allowed Jameson to pull me into, I’d lost the reason why. I’d lost the purpose of it all. It had been so clear to me when I began…but now…I wasn’t so sure.
I stared at Pierce’s lifeless form.
It was a little late to be questioning my motives.
The deed was done.
All I needed to do was remember…he chose her over me.
Would it be his precious new fiancée, Madison, who found him?
I hoped so.
I wanted her to see the future she stole from me slip from her fingers.
I tilted my head and watched the color drain from his face and his mouth slacken.
All the careful planning hadn’t prepared me for this.
For how ordinary it felt. How quiet.
I’d done it. I’d killed him. I was a murderer.
Jameson claimed he had a plan to cover my guilt, but I knew with certainty it was a lie. Jameson had no reason to protect me.
I’d just become the next loose end.