“You.”
With just one word, I realized my presence here was not just undesired but an offense he was prepared to make me pay dearly for.
CHAPTER FOUR
The only soundin my study was the soft ticking of the mantel clock above the fireplace. Therehadn’tbeen a fire burningbrightin there for years. It was cold and covered in soot, much like the fragments of my soul most days.?
Funny how chimneys were only ever clean on the day they were created. After their first burn,they’dnever see that same level of pristine condition again.?
It reminded me of love. Grotesquely beautiful destruction that violently sullied pieces of you. No matter how brightly it burned, the flamesalways gotsnuffed out. Left in its wake were ashes cloaked in the scent of burnt offerings. Suspiciously, heartbreak smelled just the same.
Sitting in an armchair that was moredecorationthan comfort, the expensive leather creaked as I shiftedinmy seat. My arm draped lazily over the side of thearmrest,my hand hung low with the glass suspended from my fingertips.
I traced the rim of the rocks glass with the blunt edge of my nail. The whiskey was long gone, just like yet another year of being stuck in this fucking house. Everythinginthese walls was another damn reminder. Another memory masquerading as a weapon designed to torture and inflict pain. Another haunting vision lingering in the shadows of a lifetime spent sowing discontentment.
No matter how hard I tried to make the house mine, it never had been in the truest sense of the word. Years of renovations, upgrades, remodeling, and still, I knew exactly which room echoed the four historic words that altered the course of my life forever.
“I’m filing for divorce.”
Ithadn’tbeen a request or a desire. It was unavoidable certain death for my marriage.
Theplacehad belongedto my ex-wife, Pia. Her family owned it throughout generations, and after we wed, it belonged tous. Up until I fucked her over in the split.I’dthrownevery accusation, every misstep, and every damn roadblock at her during the proceedings.Nearlybankruptedmyselfdoing it.?
And for what? Spite. Greed. Revenge. All motivators that were ugly at their core.
The recollection of those dark and turbulent days stained my mind with somethingI’dnever be able to wash away. With disgust, I growled deep from my gut, either at myself for being sentimental oratthe situationfor eventranspiringin the first place. Itdidn’tmatter. The case was closed, and I had gotten everything I wanted from the contentious dissolution of my marriage.
I lifted the glass to my lips absently. My body moved onautopilotwhile surfacing from my thoughts. Pausing before the rim touched my lips, the scent of oak and grain lingered inside the glass, but the well remained dry.
Fucking hell.
Lowering the glass from my mouth, I twisted it in my hand,observingevery designed cut in the expensive crystal that caught the dim overhead lighting. Then, with determination to wallow just a little longer, I pushed myself up from the chair.
The bar cartlocatedagainst the wall of the study was fully stocked; my butler made sure of it. After crossing the room in three large strides, Ididn’thesitate to pick up the decanter filled with amber liquid crafted to soothe a man’s soul. Or drown it.
Before a single drop of whiskey could find its way inside my glass, that ridiculous doorbell rang throughout the entire house. It was one of the few things Ikeptthe same post-divorce.?
Secretly, I hated the damn thing. However, Pia absolutelydespisedit with a passion reserved for men whodidn’tbow down before her. Men like me.?
Keeping that lively tune installed, no matter how obnoxious, was my way of giving her the middle finger even if shewasn’taround to hear it.
The bell rang again. And again. And motherfucking again.
My grip on the neck of the decanter tightened to a point where it threatened to crack the glassware.
Every press of the chimes further locked my jaw in obscene annoyance, a sensation that left me feeling the pressure pulsing from my teeth straight to my temple.
Just when I thought that I was going to have to march downstairs and inflict my presence on whoever had such pathetic self-control, the sound of the front door swinging open provided immediate relief.?
Peterson, my butler and house manager, had been in service with me since the day the estate became my permanent residence. He had a keen eye and ran a tight ship here. He knew when to ask questions and when to remain silent. All the other hired staff deferred to hisexpertisein all matters.
After the auditory assault stopped, the tension in my body bled away. The promise of another sip of the magic elixir these immortals crafted had me slipping into a temporary state of relaxation.
Halfway back to the armchair, I noticed the faint outline of my body in the black leather still lingered. Even my furniture bowed to my presence.?
I drew a long sip of whiskey. The burn that slid down my throat was welcome, creating a warmth in my chest that mimicked anything mere humans compared to feelings of happiness and contentment.
Settling back into the chair, I lay my head back andclosed my eyes. It was a half-hearted attempt to shake off the unease that always clung to mysoulthis time of year. Valentine’s Day, a farce of a holiday, was full of false promises and saccharine gestures in the name of such fickle emotions of love and passion.
