Chapter 47
ASHER
After the fourth call to Wallace that goes unanswered, I'm about to throw my phone to the ground and smash it into a million tiny pieces.
It’s taking a lot for me to hold in the anger that’s coursing through my bloodstream. It’s been a week since I’ve taken over this company, and regret is looming over me, not that I can let it show to anyone else.
I haven’t even had the desire to touch my wife, not with the knowledge of all my father’s misdeeds living in my head.
I can’t shake that I also paid a woman to be with me.
Even if I tally up all the ways it’s not the same, that I didn’t force or blackmail her, that she could walk away if she wanted to, I still can’t stop the swirling vortex of thoughts from dragging me under.
Am I just like my father?
Father’s scandal aside, being CEO isn’t what I dreamt it would be. Everyone at the company still looks to him for approval. We have a board meeting in three days, and it will be my first as interim CEO, but I suspect my father is up to something and it won’t last long.
Part of me is okay with that. Maybe I should let him strip this away from me like he does everything else.
I’ve been dreaming up a life with Grace where I’m not spending my days trying to fill my father’s footsteps.
Where we just exist together. Maybe we’ll travel, check off every destination on her bucket list, or maybe we’ll buy a house outside of the city and have a quiet life.
But it’s just a dream. It doesn’t exist, and I don’t think it ever will.
I try Wallace again, and it goes to voicemail.
“Dammit.”
"Need a ride?"
I whip around to face my older brother. Gabe stands there stoically.
We haven’t talked much since the gala. Father still thinks he had something to do with it, and I’m not sure he’s wrong, so Gabe has been left out of a lot.
But not the family dinner our parents hosted tonight.
No, it was very important to our father that we all be here.
He wants us all on the same page before the board meeting next week, making it clear that he’ll be taking over the firm again as soon as we get through this scandal, something he seems confident will blow over before the meeting.
"I can't get a hold of Wallace." I look down at my phone again, confusion twisting with all the pain in my head.
I rub at my temple. It's strange, in all the years Wallace has worked for me, he's never not picked up when I call.
He wears one of those old-school Bluetooth earpieces so he can take my calls promptly.
Even after I offered to buy him air pods or something from this decade. But he likes what he likes.
So why isn't he answering?
"That normal?" Gabe leans against the facade of my parents’ building. I run a hand through my hair, disheveling the perfectly gelled locks.
My heart races. "No."
"Hey." Gabe steps closer to me, his hand coming to my shoulder, an anchor that pulls me back down to earth. "Talk to me."
"Wallace always answers." The words spill out.
It's vulnerable talking to my siblings; I'm used to them using my words to betray me.
But Gabe hasn't even been around for years, and my mind flashes back to the early years when we were a team, constantly together.
Back when he was the only person I trusted.
My chest aches, desperately wanting that again.
So I push down the discomfort that would normally have me telling him to fuck off, and tell him more.
"He has Grace, and they left about thirty minutes ago.
She's not answering either. Something…. something doesn't feel right. "
"Let's go." Gabe presses on my shoulder, ushering me toward the door.
"No, you don't—"
"I want to, Ash," Gabe cuts me off. His words and face both read as sincere. It feels uncomfortable, leaning on him. "Let me help you."
I nod, unable to form words. And for the first time since we were kids, I let Gabe in. He leads me out to his car, where the valet has Lucid Air, the overpriced electric car he drives, ready. Gabe hands the kid some money before getting in and driving off in the direction of my penthouse.
"Did you call security, see if she got home?"
That's a good idea, and I'm annoyed with myself for not thinking of it as I pull out my phone and call.
"Mr. Caine," the security guard answers in a crisp voice.
"Did my wife arrive home?" I don't bother with pleasantries, getting right to the important part.
A pause as I hear some hushed whispers on his end. "No, sir. We haven't seen Mrs. Caine this evening."
Ice floods my veins. My fears are confirmed. Where the hell would she and Wallace be that they aren't home and they aren't answering their phones? "Pull the security footage. Now," I order harshly.
"Of course. One moment."
I feel trapped in Gabe's small sedan as I wait, hoping they'll come back and tell me they were wrong.
That she walked through the door and is currently upstairs in the penthouse.
I imagine her already changed into her pajamas, not the luxurious ones Vivian purchased, but the old, ratty ones that I know she prefers.
Shorts too small and a t-shirt that's seen better days.
She's probably on the couch, a book open, eyes glued to the page. The vision brings me comfort.
And then the next words out of the security guard’s mouth have it all crashing down.
"Sir. I'm sorry, we must have missed it—"
"Tell me," I interrupt his nervous rambling.
"The car pulled up five minutes ago. Neither your wife nor the driver exited the vehicle, but someone else entered it. He's dressed in all black. We don't have a good view of his face. Shortly after he gets in, the car speeds off."
"Send me the footage." I feel like I’m going to be sick. "And see if you can find a better angle. I want to see his face."
"Yes, sir."
I hang up, throwing my phone at Gabe's dashboard. It hits with a thud and then falls to the floor.
"What's happening?" my brother asks, his eyes shifting from the road to me and back.
"Someone took her." The words feel like they're being spoken by someone else. My chest is tight, my throat clogged. I'm not myself. I'm someone else watching as the world I've carefully crafted is destroyed piece by piece.
My vibrating phone is the thing that pulls me out of it.
I reach down, fishing it off the floor as I can feel Gabe's burning gaze on me.
There's a video in the text, and I open it, my eyes glued to the screen as I watch my car pull in front of the building.
He was right; neither Wallace nor Grace exit the vehicle, but someone else gets in.
I can't see his face, but I can see the gun in his hand.
"She's in trouble," I tell Gabe. "Someone got in the car when it arrived at the penthouse. He has a gun."
"Shit," Gabe mutters, and I feel the car speed up, the force of it throwing me back into the passenger seat. "Tell me you have a tracker on that car."
My brother once again provides the bright ideas that my panic-stricken brain can’t come up with. Something swirls in my gut, a feeling I haven't had in years. Gratitude. I find myself grateful to be with one of my siblings again.
I pull up the tracking info, relief flooding through me as I watch the little red dot moving on the screen. My knee bounces as I shout directions to Gabe as he drives way past the speed limit.
My jaw aches from clenching it so hard, and I fight off thoughts of this ending badly. I have to keep picturing her alive.
I think about her laugh. The way she bites her lip when she's concentrating. How she curls into me at night, trusting and warm.
How I fucked her in a coat closet because I couldn't stand the thought of another man touching her.
How she told me she's mine, and that one word sent a pulse of pleasure through me.
How I never told her what she actually means to me. Because I was too scared to admit that something was growing between us, that I care for her more than I should as a fake husband.
The pin stops moving. We're not far from it, less than a mile.
"Hurry," I tell Gabe, but we don't get far before New York City traffic stops us and even his fancy car can't get through it.
"I think there's some kind of accident up there." He's craning his neck to see out the window. I look down at the tracker that's completely stalled not far from us, and the realization washes over me like a tsunami of dread.
They fucking crashed.
Shit, shit, shit.
I swing the door open and run.
My legs move before my brain catches up, sprinting out of the car and across the street. Gabe doesn't question me, and I can hear his door open and his stomping behind me.
It's not far, but I have to weave through the grid-locked cars until I reach it.
Immediately, I know it's my car crumbled against the side wall. Windshield shattered and smoke rising from the hood.
"Grace!" Her name tears from my throat.
The driver's side door hangs open. Wallace slumps over the steering wheel, blood soaking his shirt.
No.
I wrench open the back door.
There are pearls everywhere. One comes rolling out of the car, coated in red, and my heart feels like it's stopped beating, or maybe it's exploded.
Because my wife lays there in a puddle of blood.