No, no, no.
Beryl Crowne in his iconic three-piece suit stood at the top of the stairs. His shoes shined with something other than polish.
Blood.
I stared at the fruity color. Why was there blood on the soles of Beryl Crowne’s shoes? I pushed down that deep, knifing fear that it had anything to do with Grayson.
“Do you have a handkerchief? No matter.” He grabbed the green handkerchief Grayson had saved from our wedding, wiping the blood off his shoes.
I was frozen. The breath stuck in my lungs.
“You’ll want to follow me now.”
Hand on my lower back, gritting through every contraction, I’d followed Beryl down the stairs and into the ballroom. Two guards joined us, eerily dead-eyed.
Who’s the real monster?
“I won’t scream,” I said.
He rubbed his jaw, eyeing me, then waved a hand. Before I had a second to process, one of the guards gripped my shoulder and pushed me to my knees.
Then a blow fell between my shoulder blades.
A startled half-scream fell from my lips. I slammed my hand across my mouth, stopping it, but not before it echoed and bounced in the empty ballroom.
“Why are you here?” I gritted.
Why are you back?
He arched a brow. “This is my home.”
“This has never been your home.”
He shrugged, like he was granting me that truth.
I swallowed a groan as the pain in my back used vicious talons to crawl into my abdomen. Beryl tilted his head as if he could see what was happening to me.
I figured I’d throw it all out there, stop playing coy.
“I don’t know where that coin is. I have no idea what my uncle wanted.”
He laughed. “This has never been about one coin, Story.”
A rock fell in my stomach. My mouth went dry and the room spun. When I spoke, my words were barely above a whisper.
“What was it about?”
“About returning some stolen property to its rightful owner, of course.”
Stolen? Who would have the balls to steal from Beryl Crowne?”
My father. Or at least I think so.
Oh God.
Oh no.
This was never about me. It was about Grayson.