She races past me and shoves me out of the way. I reach for her arm, but she slips out of my grip. Yanking open the door before I reach her, she bolts, her phone falling to the ground.
“Get her!” I bellow at the men standing by the door, who stare at her in bewilderment a second before they spring into action. But she’s too fast, too smart for them. She yanks an end table over behind her, sending a vase with flowers and water toppling over and blocking their exit.
“Caroline!” She can’t run, not now, not when there are predators who want to take her from me. Not when I fucking need her. I whip out my phone and call the guards at the gate while I chase after her, stepping through the cracked glass and leaping over the upturned table. But she’s thinner and quicker than I am, and I can’t get to her.
“Caroline, stop!”
Why is she running from me? And where will she go?
She opens the door and bounds down the steps away from me, and when I reach the door, I yank it open and look for her.
Fuck.
She’s gone. That quickly, she’s gone. Panic sweeps across my chest as I look wildly from left to right. Was someone waiting to ambush her? Where the hell is she? How could she have left so quickly?
My pulse races as I scream her name. “Caroline!”
When I get my hands on her, she’s in so much goddamn trouble for running from me. But it’s a useless, crazed thought. Christ, I need her safe, now.
Where is she? Where the fuck is she?
My men stand at attention, having followed me out. They’re waiting for orders.
But for the first time since I’ve held this position, I have no idea what orders to give.Chapter 20CarolineI just need to get away. I need space to think, to breathe, to be away from my husband.
My traitorous, cheating asshole of a husband.
I knew our marriage was just a fabrication. I know it didn’t hold the weight of love or devotion or anything like that, but as I’ve gotten to know him, I’ve fooled myself. Tricked myself into thinking that I actually mattered to him, that I wasn’t just the little fuck toy I feared I was.
But now…
I don’t know who sent me the pictures. It could be anyone.
But I’ll never erase them from my mind. Tomas, with his lips wrapped around some whore’s. Her knee tucked up to his side, her hands wrapped round his neck, and she’s kissing him with passion I could only dream of. And she’s gorgeous. So beautiful.
And he’s wearing the shirt I saw in the laundry basket from the night he supposedly went to help Ilya.
I hardly see where I’m going, but I don’t need to. I know this path to the gazebo like the back of my hand. I don’t want him to touch me or to speak to me. I need some time alone.
How could he?
I sit at the little table and draw my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. I let the tears fall freely.
It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all is a lie.
Such a lie.
I never would have hurt this badly if I’d never loved him. How could I have let my guard down? I close my eyes and weep for what I’ve lost.
I actually believed for a while that he’d grown to care for me, and eventually he’d maybe even love me.
How stupid of me.
No one could ever love a girl like me.
I’m deep in the throes of self-misery when I hear a high-pitched scream. I jump to my feet, my sorrows forgotten.
Where did that come from?
I stand still and listen when I hear another scream.
I stare at the cellar door. It’s coming from the cellar.
“Help!”
Oh, God. It’s Yvonne. Someone has her in the cellar, and she saw me come from below. Her screams become muffled and I hear the sound of scuffles.
Without thinking, I yank open the door, and race down the stairs. I should get Tomas. I should get Yakov, or Nicolai, or someone to come with me. I have no weapons. I don’t even have my cell phone. But when I hear her screams, I can’t help but run to her.
She’s cuffed to a post, rope lashed about her body. Her dress is torn from her, and blood streaks her arms and legs. Nausea clenches my belly.
“Oh my God! Yvonne!” A sob catches in my throat when I see her.
“I’m so sorry,” she cries. “So sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Why? Who did this to you?”
“I did.”
I know the voice before I turn to him.
Andros.
“He made me,” she weeps. “He said if I didn’t call you, he’d kill Yakov. I’m so sorry.”
I was afraid that Ilya would be used as bait. Instead, he used Yvonne.