Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
In his voluminous bag, he has all kinds of chemicals, which he proceeds to use to wipe off every trace of her blood. He works fast, no words, then he rolls her corpse into the bag with a thud. The zipper rasps brashly as he seals it and slings it easily over his shoulder like it's nothing.
My mind goes blank. This is it. Blake and I are now part of a murder cover-up.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
BLAKE
The door clicks shut behind the clean-up guy, the sound sharp in the quiet. The spot is empty now where only a moment ago Carolyn laid. There is no trace of her left. It is as if she never existed. It’s like a bad dream erased, but the stain stays in my soul, dark and slow, like a reminder that won't fade. I turn to Juliet and hold her close— her real name sinking in. Her body trembles against mine.
Shock still hums in my veins as I pull back enough to look at her. Her eyes are red-rimmed, beautiful and broken. I ask quietly, though my voice is rough with confusion and concern.
"Why did you do that? Why did you stop me from not allowing him to take her?" I pause, my thumb brushing her cheek, wiping a tear. "We should have called the police. This way, you'll always be living a lie, always looking over your shoulder—we both will."
She meets my eyes, her hand on my chest, fingers pressing lightly. True worry shows in the way she bites her lip as she explains.
“In cases like this, the police always suspect the husband," she says, her voice soft but firm. "There'd be a stain forever on your record. There’d be endless investigations, doubts. Everybody will believe we plotted together to kill her. It will be our word against the conspiracy theorists on the internet, and it’s always easier to take the side of the person who is no longer present.”
I nod slowly, but my worry lingers. “And you don’t mind stepping into a dead woman’s name, never living as Juliet again?”
She shakes her head and continues. "I'm an orphan, Blake—and I have been since I was a baby.” Her fingers tighten on my shirt, the confession hanging heavy as her body leans into mine, warm and needy. “I never knew my father, and I was told my mother died of a drug overdose when I was about two years old."
She hesitates and swallows hard. “So you see, I won’t be giving up anything worth keeping. I've never really known what it is to have a family, and my greatest dream was always to have the kind of family that… Carolyn had." Another pause, and I see the vulnerability and sadness in her eyes. "I know it's not really mine, but I do care deeply about your family. If possible, I really want to continue to live as Carolyn with your family."
Her words hit deep, and I pull her even closer to me because this is what I want as well.
“I married Carolyn because she was attractive,” I explain, my lips brushing her forehead. "She made me believe she'd be the best mother for Freya, and she pretended to be warm and caring in the early days. But once we got married, she changed—she became cold and manipulative, and everything just went downhill from there.”
The words come easier now. “Then she started causing trouble between Mom and me, and pointing out never ending faults in Freya, like she resented her own stepdaughter. I was on the verge of divorcing her when you showed up."
She looks up at me with those beautiful, big eyes, and I realize I could never say no to her.
“And with you, it’s been everything I have ever hoped for. I am in love with you, Juliet, and if you really want to become a part of our family officially, then it would be my greatest honor.”
She smiles through tears, nodding with joy, and then she pulls me down for a kiss. It's slow and deep, and I revel in it. We will be a family again.
A real family.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
JULIET
Tears blur my vision as I look up at Blake. Those gray eyes are soft with love and worry.
“Thank you," I whisper against his mouth, my body trembling, not just from shock but from how much I need him, how he's become my everything in this lie that has suddenly and amazingly turned real.
He takes my hand, his fingers lacing with mine, warm and steady, and squeezes gently as he helps me to my feet, my legs still shaky from the ordeal.
“Let's get out of here,” he says, pausing to carefully pick up the gun and tuck it away in his pocket, his other hand never releasing mine. He leads me out to the Bentley, the gravel crunching under my heels. The car door opens with a soft click, and he helps me inside.