Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59199 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
But she’s my mother. She’s supposed to protect me.
She’s supposed to love me.
My battered heart takes another beating, and I press a hand to the center of my chest in an attempt to dull the pain.
She doesn’t say anything else. No words of comfort. No promise to make her brother suffer for what he did to me.
What he did to both of us.
I get to my feet and walk toward the boardwalk on leaden legs. I feel like I’ve aged a decade over the last twenty-four hours, and my entire body aches.
Dane.
I need Dane.
He can’t fix what happened to me, but as long as I’m in his arms, I’m safe.
17
DANE
I’ve almost finished packing when Abigail enters our bedroom. Pure panic threatens to rise up and choke off my ability to breathe, but I ruthlessly shove it down.
I’m cold, unfeeling. A monster in human skin.
This is my natural state, the way I’m meant to be.
But nothing feels natural about being coldly calculating with Abigail.
Not anymore.
She notes the large leather duffel bag in my hand, and her brows knit above her red-rimmed eyes. Her cheeks are chalk white, and her sable hair is disheveled, as though she’s been running her hands through it repeatedly. The perfect purple curl is broken and snarled. My fingers itch with the desire to smooth it.
I tighten my fist around the strap of the bag.
“Are we going somewhere?” Her melodic voice is heavy with exhaustion, but her guileless eyes are clear and trusting.
“No.” The refusal is cold and terse.
She edges back slightly, as though my tone is cutting into her delicate skin.
“Then why are you packing?”
“I’m leaving,” I explain, icy and unperturbed. “My lawyer is drawing up the paperwork now. You’ll have the house and enough money to live comfortably. The rent for your gallery will be paid.”
She looks as though I’ve punched her in the gut. She hugs her arms around her middle, clutching at the invisible damage I’m inflicting.
I force myself to blink away the anguish that threatens to tighten my stony expression.
For Abigail, I’ll curb my most selfish impulses. I covet and crave the feelings she brings out in me, but I can’t allow myself to indulge in them any longer.
I can’t indulge myself in her.
“What are you talking about?” she asks in a horrified whisper.
“I’m divorcing you. The paperwork will be straightforward enough. All you have to do is sign when it arrives, and then a courier will deliver it to me to countersign.”
Her eyes shine. “Why are you saying these awful things? Stop it right now, Dane.”
I won’t stop. I can’t.
My gut twists in agony, but I manage to shrug and stride for the bedroom door.
Her dainty hand closes around my forearm, so weak and fragile. But I can’t quite manage to wrench my arm free from her grip. Her touch burns me like a brand, but I don’t allow so much as a flicker of pain to cross my face.
“Where are you going?” she demands.
“To England. I’m going home.”
The word is ashes on my tongue. The manor where I was raised isn’t my home. But I’ll walk into the cage my parents have built for me. It’s my penance, even though no amount of suffering will be enough after my crimes against her.
“What? No!” Her fingernails dig into my arm. “I won’t let you go back there. You only just got free of your family. I won’t let them hurt you.”
I draw on long years of practice to force my lip to curl in a sneer. “As though you could do anything to protect me. You’re weak, Abigail. Stop posturing. It’s pathetic.”
Her soft gasp knifes through my heart.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispers. “Why are you being like this? Talk to me.”
I scoff. “All you ever want to do is talk. I’m sick of hearing your whining. I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
I wrench my arm free from her grip, and her grasping nails seem to score my flesh to the bone.
“No!” she insists, stumbling after me as I walk out of the bedroom.
I can’t turn to look at her. I can’t bear to face her, or I’ll break. Her tears will shatter me.
I’ve always vowed to protect her. At first, it was a sadistic game designed to lure her in and gain her trust. But over time, it became my entire reason for being. She is my only reason for existence. My heart beats for her, and I don’t know if I’ll be capable of breathing once I leave her sweet scent behind.
The prospect of spending the rest of my life without her makes whatever I have of a soul scream in agony.
The pain is far less than I deserve.
“Don’t you dare leave me,” she seethes, following me down the stairs. “I won’t let you do this.”