Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Tristan
In the book of how to be a decent human being, which I truly wish existed, there is no chapter on how to tell the love of your life that her dad has been poisoned by her stepmother for the last two years.
Ella suspected it, and her dad’s nurse did too, but suspicion was not enough to build a case.
So I paid for every specialist available in the city to find tangible proof of Mara Brooks’s involvement.
Now a thin sheet of paper with numbers and percentages and substance names I can hardly pronounce is resting in my hand, the last line indisputable, confirmed by a renowned drug specialist: Subject suffers severe injection-related complications from repeated exposure to a paralysing drug.
From the amount present in the patient’s blood, it is most likely the poison has been injected daily for at least the last two years.
Two years and hundreds of milliliters of poison later, causing bone atrophy and irreversible full-body paralysis, this is all we have now.
The lab report came back an hour ago, and since Ella had asked me to read it before she did–a request I deeply regret now that it has confirmed the worst, I have to stand here and watch my woman discover the horror that had been happening in plain sight in her home for years.
We are only a few hours away from the ball tonight, and she is wearing nothing but silky shorts and one of my large T-shirts that basically turns into a makeshift dress on her.
Barefoot, she runs her fingers over the roses in the garden, fighting off the cold despite my reluctance toward her sweet escape this morning as I watch her from the heated living room.
She glances over her shoulder, catching my attention with a sweet smile that would make any man fall to his knees.
Today shines differently, as if the sky decided we had endured enough rain and that sunshine would do her good before tonight. She comes back inside, and I wait a minute until I hear her footsteps behind me.
Paper in hand, I stand near the window, already in my suit and ready to spend the rest of the day fixing, hiring, buying back shares, and doing press conferences I hate in pursuit of this everlasting rebuild of the Ashford empire.
Tonight, I intend to use my last card with investors and peers, making sure it is hammered into everyone’s skull that we are standing tall, ready to do business.
But first, I have to break her heart again.
“Ella,” I call. A strand of hair crosses her face.
I tuck it behind her ear, her breathing quickening as I get closer.
Since no words can express the fury and injustice of what happened to her father, all I do is hand her the report and stand next to her.
If I could be the one getting hurt instead of her, I would.
I really would. A silent gasp escapes her lips as she crushes the sheet in her palm. Then she unfolds it in panic.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got copies,” I murmur. She grips the paper again until it disappears inside her fist. Shutting her eyes hard, she looks at me with a determination I have never seen from her before, then signs abruptly.
“Will it be enough to make her…fall?” she asks, her jaw shaky.
“Let’s say she won’t ever be able to do business or show her face in this city again. I can send it to the press, and you’d have a front seat to her public downfall.”
“I… It’s so harsh.” Guilt grips her, and for a moment, I find one single inconvenience to her good nature: her ability to give mercy to evil. “I’ll give her one last chance, but if she comes for me, then I won’t have another choice but to use this.”
“One last–what about what she did to you? You’ll really let her go like that?”
“I think…” She looks at the rose bushes outside.
“Hurting people…hurt people, and one day, I’ll be a mother, I hope.
And that day, I want to know all this violence ended with me.
” My eyes soften as I picture her pregnant, but I also register her words, the fact that she is picturing more to life than her recovery.
“So you’re…thinking of the future.” She nods.
“With you, if…if it’s not too bold to say.
And if it’s not too bold to assume we’ll both be alive after tonight.
” My lips press into a hard line, and I give her a nod.
I am standing with both feet in the same boat as her, aiming straight at a storm, and there are no words that could prevent what will unfold tonight.
Nothing is in our control but us. All I can do is stay by her side and hope I can do so for the rest of the time we have.
And if I do not make it tonight, at least I will know I did everything in my power, until my last breath, to give her the life she wants.
To study, laugh, work wherever she pleases, get her father the best care until the end, and to inherit everything I spent my lifetime building.
All while refraining from saying that I will make sure her stepmother pays for what she did, along with everyone else involved, because her heart is too good for this world, and givers need protectors.
So I’ll be hers. Sliding my hand to the small of her back, I feel her breath catch.
“We’ll go to the ball and come back home right after,” I declare, trying to add reassurance to something we both have so little control over.
After kissing her soft lips and deepening the kiss for a minute, as she rises onto her tiptoes and my palm finds her hair, catching her off guard, I excuse myself to call my lawyer in my office, leaving her panting, her mouth dangerously sanguine.
Once in my office, I make sure everything in my will is in order in case something happens tonight.
If I do not make it tonight, at least I will know I left the love of my life everything I could to start over.
Ella
“It will be discreet,” Deputy Prosecutor Maren Garron explains, her untouched coffee cooling between both hands as we sit around Tristan’s kitchen counter, like this is an ordinary afternoon and not a conversation about inviting a monster back into our lives.
I am trying really hard to stay still, counting my breaths, looking for sensations, sounds, anything to keep my feet where they are.
There are five of us in the kitchen: Tristan, Nate, Detective Brenton, Deputy Prosecutor Garron, and me.
Floor plans cover the kitchen island, guest lists, security notes, and small colored stickers marking entrances, exits, staircases, service corridors, and places where he could hide too easily.
The smell of coffee and toasted bread still hangs in the air, a pale February light spreading across the marble.
Tristan stands beside me instead of sitting, his body close enough that I feel his heat without being touched by it.
He has not taken off his suit jacket, though he usually does when he comes home.
His fingers flex against the counter, and to an untrained eye, he would seem composed.
Only I can guess that there is a fire raging inside him, destroying everything in its path as his knuckles turn white beside me.
Nate sits on my other side with his sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened, and his coffee mug balanced between both hands.
There is an ease to him I have never found in Tristan, a nonchalance that seems almost out of place for such a serious man.
His eyes keep moving from Tristan to me to the prosecutor, reading everyone quickly enough that I wonder if this is a dance he has done his entire life.
Reading the room. Cooling things down when Tristan is about to snap.
“The ball gives us the essential parameters to make Cole believe Ms. Brooks is within reach,” Garron explains.
“A crowd. Masks. Limited visibility. And you, sir.” She points at me.
“He’ll try because you’re here. Otherwise, he won’t see the point if he cannot rub it in your face.
It’s all about ego, which gives us the upper hand.
At some point, he may lose sight of the real danger around him, and that’s when we’ll get to him.
” Detective Brenton stands near the pantry door with a folder tucked under one arm, broad shoulders tense beneath his suit, while Deputy Garron sits beside him in a charcoal uniform, her voice clear and light, reminding me of voiceovers in soap-operas.
“We need to make him believe he has identified an opportunity no one else has seen,” Garron continues.
“To believe he has outsmarted Mr. Ashford, his security team, and law enforcement.” She pauses, fingers resting near her coffee.
“Cole Vodianov will expect conflict and surveillance. He knows we are most likely waiting for him. So all we have now is the element of surprise, making him believe he can take everything from you without you knowing. We have allowed certain information to reach him through controlled channels, including the claim that Ms. Brooks will not be present tonight. If he sees you there, he may believe he is the only one aware of her presence.” Tristan groans, like a real bear unable to stop his roar.
His hand closes around the edge of the counter, and he is about to say something when Nate clears his throat.
“I would like to say, for morale, that letting a delusional criminal feel clever for a minute before arresting him does have a certain comic appeal.” He turns to Garron.
“You should work on your punch line before the arrest. It would really add to the whole thing.” No one laughs, but Brenton’s mouth twitches, and Tristan gives him a roll of his eyes.
Nate raises his mug to him, as if accepting a compliment.