I lean in closer. "We know you were looking for some information regarding the Huntington-Russells."
His breath stinks of alcohol and chemicals. He swallows hard. "No, Douglass Huntington-Russell…he was looking for information. Digging around."
I stiffen. Archibald’s expression sharpens.
"Digging for what?" I ask.
“I swear, man, I don’t work there anymore,” He repeats, sniffling.
“Work WHERE?” I shout, losing my patience and lunging forward to grip his sweaty throat.
“Fuck man, Seraphim, god just let go of me, I can’t breathe.” The man licks his lips, blinking rapidly.
The room feels smaller. Tighter.
I glance at Archibald. His smirk is gone.
"What exactly did he want to know?" I demand.
The man sways, barely able to hold his head up. "I don’t know…man, I swear, I’d tell you if I knew…"
The fucking uncle has ties to Martine's mother and Seraphim.
Looks like I have my next destination, and I have to put a pin in that drowning fantasy.
God, this is fucking shit.
Chapter twelve
Martine Lilian Huntington-Russell
Iwake to the pale morning light filtering through the heavy drapes, a soft golden glow that does nothing to ease the tension in my chest. Two days. It has been two days since Hayden left. Two days since I’ve heard anything.
I went from furious to hating him, to something worse, I miss him. And worse than that, I’m worried.
The staff won’t tell me anything. They don’t meet my eyes when I ask, just give me polite, empty reassurances that he’ll return soon.
I tried to press the footman for answers, but he was too polite, offering me tea instead to calm my nerves as if I should be content to sit and wait. As if I don’t already feel trapped here.
I watch the hours slip away while the rest of the world moves forward. I wish he would tell me where he goes, or at least why I can’t return to Eulogia. I miss classes so much.
It’s Monday.
And while I’d rather be in my Transgressive Women in Literature course, I have a meeting with the lawyer today. And I still have no idea how I’m going to get there.
Hayden fired the footman I had convinced to take me to the party. He was gone the next morning, never to be seen again.
The clock on the nightstand shows eight in the morning when the bedroom door swings open so suddenly that I jolt upright in bed.
Hayden stands in the doorway, backlit by the hall, looking as sharp and unreadable as ever. The sight of him sends a confusing jolt through my body—relief, irritation, something else I don’t want to name.
Before I can say anything, he tosses a bundle of clothes onto the bed. “Get up.”
I blink, still trying to catch up with the abruptness of his return. “You're back.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Where have you been?”
