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)
If he blamed me for losing his children, he didn’t say it.
The sound of my mother’s sobs was heart-wrenching. She went on ahead, but her wails became muffled in my ears like I was stuck underwater, drowning, and worse still, like I was okay with not breaking free.
Letting the darkness devour me felt reasonable.
Dazed, I made my way into the house and then ran up to my room for refuge.
The one I grew up in. The room Cassius had discovered me in. Then swept me out of here too quickly for me to catch my breath. Yet all I could think about was him.
On the desk, I found the name “Anya” written in my handwriting on a notepad to now be a screaming mess of a lie. I’d never been allowed to be me. I’d been kept here all that time. They would probably keep Archie and me apart for the rest of our lives. Grabbing the paper and balling it up, I threw it across the room.
That wasn’t me. But then who was I?
It didn’t matter now.
Lying on my bed, I withered into a ball, not deserving the warmth of a blanket. Because I should have come back for Archie sooner. Sobbing even as my heart couldn’t take the aching anymore. Even after my soul bled out.
Even after there were no tears left.
My vision cleared as I looked at the wall. At the cutout from Teen Vogue I’d hung there all those years ago. The image of a small girl locked in a cage and not allowed to leave a mansion of horrors. Those stars in the frame had been my only escape. As I continued to reminisce about the art I’d felt drawn to, I was reminded of that night when I’d made love beneath the stars.
Of finding a home.
And I knew . . .
We were all wrong about Cassius.
Maybe he had taken the Glassman children from that house, but he would never kill them.
No.
Even when he believed me to be the biological child, he had never hurt me.
Those children were still alive.
Scrambling out of my room, I ran through the door and down the hall. My breathing was heavy and faltering as I took the stairs at breakneck speed, almost tripping. Desperate to get to a phone. When I barged into my father’s office, I was grateful to find it empty.
The landline was the only phone that didn’t require a code, so I lifted the receiver and dialed Cassius’s number with a shaky hand, needing to speak with him.
“Hello,” a familiar lilt answered.
“Cassius?”
“It’s Ridley. Anya?” He sounded confused.
“You have his phone?”
“He wanted to make sure you could speak with one of us. But . . . I thought Cassius would be with you by now?”
“Is he coming here? I’m in the Garden District.” The place you dropped me off.
“No, that wasn’t the plan.”
“I need to speak with him.” Needed to tell Cassius I knew with all my heart he would never hurt the Glassman’s children. I needed to tell him I loved him. That I believed in him.
“He’s not with me.”
“Does he have the children?” I swallowed my dread.
“What children?”
“Can you tell him to call me if I give you this number?” I pleaded.
My emotions were scrambled and then burst like a dam breaking with nothing to hold it back.
The line went silent.
“Are you there? Ridley?”
“I don’t understand.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “Aren’t you meeting him? That’s what he told me.”
“Meeting him where?” I whispered, my trepidation heavy.
“The swamp . . . at the other end of the estate.”
“His place? Why does he think that?”
“That’s where you told him you’d meet. He said you texted him from your father’s phone. He gave me his cell just in case, because he wouldn’t have service there. That way if you needed to speak with him . . .” He inhaled sharply. “Anya. You’re the one who texted him, right?”
The phone dropped from my hand.
Cassius
After grabbing the duffel bag from the back of my car, I pulled the door shut.
The gold was heavy to carry.
The thick night air was sticky, sweat causing the back of my shirt to cling.
Leaving the car sheltered by a towering oak tree, I headed for the edge of the swamp.
The only illumination came from my flashlight as I held it out before me to lead the way. The ground scattered with creatures. Now and again, the fake fluorescence reflected their glassy stares.
It wouldn’t be long now.
I’d finally have Anya back.
This was where I’d brought her.
This dense swamp where I’d confessed all I’d done. Lain myself open and cut myself wide to let in the light, making myself vulnerable.
I allowed her to know everything because I’d needed her to grasp the extent of all I had done. More importantly, why.
Even now, I doubted she’d be able to love all those parts of me I couldn’t love myself.