Then again, Victor once bought me flowers on a regular basis.
Until he removed the mask and I saw the monster hiding underneath.
This could simply be another tactic to butter me up.
I refused to fall for it.Not when I knew what was at stake.
“You want to explain?”I began, forcing steel into my voice.“Then explain.”
He sank into the chair with a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.“I’m not even sure where to start.”
“The beginning usually works.”
He sat forward, his elbows on his knees, as he stared at the floor for several long moments.
For the first time since I’d met him, he looked uncertain.Not like the relentless man who had tracked me, but someone bowed beneath a weight too heavy to carry.
“The night we first spoke,” he said finally, lifting his eyes to mine.“At the gala.You were right.I’d been watching you.Truth is, I’d been watching you and Victor for months.”
A chill prickled down my spine, causing me to shiver.“Why?”
“Because I wanted revenge.I wanted Victor to feel my pain.To lose the person he treasured most.”
“Who’s that supposed to be?”
“You,” he said quietly.“Or Ithoughtit was you.”His mouth tightened.“I thought you loved being Victor’s wife.Thought your soul was as black as his.But I was wrong.Sodamnwrong.”His throat worked in a hard swallow, his gaze burning into mine.“I’m so fucking sorry, Ariana.”
The words hit harder than I wanted them to.His voice was raw, stripped bare.And I cursed myself for hearing sincerity in it.For wanting to believe him.
But I couldn’t afford to cave.Not until I figured out what the hell was going on.
“You said you wanted him to feel your pain.Who did you lose?”
He was silent for a moment.Then he pushed out a long exhale.“Her name was Sarah Laurendeau.She was my daughter.”
“Was?”My chest squeezed, despite how much I wanted to hate him.
But hate was a strong word.
I wasn’t surehowI felt about Henry.Not yet.
“She died this past summer.It was ruled a suicide,” he sneered in disbelief.
“You don’t think it was.”
He slowly shook his head.“I may not have known her that well.Or at all, really.I was only sixteen when I learned my girlfriend was pregnant.She chose to have the baby and gave her up for adoption.It was supposed to be closed.”
“But you found her anyway.”
He shrugged.“I never spoke to her.I just wanted to make sure she had a good life.And she did.Two loving parents who gave her everything we couldn’t.An older brother they’d also adopted.She was happy.Bright.Alive.”His expression fell.“Then suddenly, she wasn’t.”
I recalled the day I’d gone down to the basement in Maine to grab his duffel bag.How I’d thought it was just a man cave but instead came face-to-face with a wall of monitors.
And on one of those screens was the image of a happy brunette who couldn’t have been more than a few years younger than me.
Now I knew why she looked familiar.
Because she looked like Henry.
