A taxi screeches to a halt in front of me.“Finally,” I mutter under my breath, yanking open the door and throwing myself inside.“Corner of Odana and Gregory Street,” I instruct the driver.
EIGHT
THE CAB TURNS onto a street that is already painfully familiar.In the daylight, Matthew’s house is even larger than I remember.A modern structure of sharp angles and expansive windows looming over the manicured lawn.The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the expanse of green, highlighting a faint dryness at the edges.Despite Matthew’s ties to Bancroft, a surprising sense of refuge blooms inside me.A traitorous feeling.
Find the ring.
Leave before he gets home.
The car comes to a stop.
My heart sinks.
Matthew sits on the two wide stone steps, tracking the cab.His posture is tense, blocking my path up to the lawn.
“Thank you,” I force out to the driver.My fingers fumble with the bills.
I step out and grab my handbag.The car door slams, a sharp thud cutting through the quiet afternoon air.
Matthew stands.His expression is neutral, except for the tightness around his mouth and the shadow in his eyes.
“I would have gladly driven you here.”His tone is clipped.“But you stormed off.”
I kick off my stilettos, the release a welcome relief.“Thank you, but I have a car,” I reply, voice sharp.“It just happens to be stuck at the apartment with the rest of my belongings.”
His brows draw together.Emerald green eyes search mine.
No… not now.
I’m here to find the ring.
I need my life back.
The past few hours have unravelled me, a jarring descent from hope to despair that leaves my chest aching with every breath.
A tremor runs through me.“Matt…” His name dies on my lips.
“James is bad news, Amy.”
My cheeks burn.The memory of James’s tirade, of Matthew witnessing my humiliation, makes me want to disappear.
“Yes, I’m well aware.”I look away, scanning the expanse of lawn.“But right now,” I take a ragged breath, “he’s holding my entire life hostage.So I have no choice but to find that ring.”
And get back to that prison.
I sidestep him and ascend the steps, the cool stone soothing my bare feet.
“I know Harold refusing to renew your lease feels like another personal attack, especially after everything you’ve been through since last night,” he says, his tone gentler, following me onto the grass.
“Please,” I scoff, raking my fingers through the grass.“My whole life is under attack.”
Matthew winces.His reaction makes my chest ache.
Is this what it looks like when someone actually cares?
The rich smell of soil and crushed grass rises to meet me.Coolness seeps into the fabric covering my legs.My fingers sift through the grass, each blade a tiny whisper against my skin.
Where is it?
