Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
The disgust I felt consumed me. Disgust that she was spawned by those people. Letting her go wasn’t an option. Not when I knew what that man was capable of.
They’d neglected her before, and they’d neglect her again. She could leave, of course, was certainly old enough to. If Glassman was willing to let her.
Replaying our time in the kitchen just now, I tried to piece together our last conversation. Tried to understand what had made her change her mind about us.
Rage blinded me to the truth.
What if I’m wrong?
What if she really hated me all this time, and I’d manipulated her into staying. All that burning passion between us was nothing but an illusion I’d wanted to believe was true.
Ridley was right about one thing. I had intended on killing her, and she knew it. I was no better than her father.
Let her go.
Only after I know she’s safe.
Blinking, taking in my surroundings, I was back in the center of the maze, looking around with only a vague idea of how I’d come to be standing here again. As though drawn to this small, sacred space surrounded by tall hedges, a little unruly.
Unruly like her.
In here I could think. In here, my mind stilled just long enough for me to break the pieces of the last hour into decipherable constructs.
Every moment with her had been more precious than any day before it. She’d brought light to my darkness. Hope to futility. Every scene in this maze replaying as I refused to let them go.
Us in here. In the center of the maze.
I wasn’t giving up on her. I was going to come for her. I knew she’d gone back for Archie. Sacrificed her own happiness for his safety. Because that was who she was.
And that, in and of itself, proved she wasn’t a Glassman.
Not stained with his blood running through her veins because she was nothing like them. She was kind, and patient, and forgiving, not bitter and cruel. Even after everything I’d done to her, she found a place in her heart for me.
Leaving me—she had done that to protect me.
It was all I had to hold on to so that I didn’t spiral into madness.
Ridley gave away her motive to return. Glassman had threatened he’d kill me if she didn’t go back.
So she went back.
She hated her father, always had, and her returning to that house was a testament to her bravery. To the beauty of her soul.
Retracing my steps that I knew so well, I headed back into the house and strolled into my office.
As soon as I entered the room, my phone rang. Fishing it out of my pocket, I glanced at the screen, hoping it was Anya.
It was Ridley again. What the fuck did this bastard want?
“Why are you calling me,” I growled into the phone.
“Don’t hang up,” he responded. “I’m sorry about before, but this isn’t about—”
“Like I give a fuck about apologies. We’ve been over this—”
“Listen to me. This isn’t about us. Archie is here.”
“Anya’s brother? Is he hurt?” Why weren’t they together?
Over the line I could hear him walking to another part of his office, probably for privacy. “He’s shaking. He’s desperate to talk with you.”
“Fuck. Let me speak with him.” I listened as the phone was handed over to Archie. “Hey, buddy, you okay?” I asked him.
“H-hello.” Archie sounded painfully young.
My fingers scrubbed at my brow, trying to forget the fact I had once threatened his life.
“Archie. What’s going on?”
“Mr. Montebello tells me I can trust you. He says you’re the only one who can help my sister. I saw Anya arrive home. But I was already out of the house. I ran away. I can’t go back. He’ll kill me.” His voice sounded strained.
Even Glassman’s own children hated that man. The terror in his tone was palpable.
“You can trust me, Archie. Is she still at home?”
“Yes. You have to get her out—”
“I’m working on it. Everything is going to be okay, Archie. He wouldn’t hurt her, right? He’s your dad.”
“That’s just it. He doesn’t love her. She’s in so much danger. Get her out of that house. You don’t understand. She found out the truth at the cemetery . . .”
His words resonated, taking me back to something Anya had unwillingly shared with me in her drunken rant.
Something about secrets. . .
Something about finding their family mausoleum and what she had discovered within.
How had I not seen it?
Like lightning striking, it hit me. It all came together. Every piece of the puzzle I had missed. Every comment Anya had ever made. In her drunken state, she’d unwittingly shared her memory of a Russian winter while with me at Café Du Monde.
She’d been born abroad.
The Glassman family had only ever lived in NOLA.
“Archie,” I said, keeping my tone even. “You’re both adopted?”