Chapter
Twenty-Nine
CHRISSY
Ben didn’t callout after me or try to chase me. That’s what kept repeating in my head, like a sick joke I didn’t want to laugh at.
Knowing what I knew about him now, I fully expected him not to take ‘no’ and ‘stay the fuck away from me’ as an answer, but he just lay there in that huge bed, bleeding and noble and tragic, and told me I was free to go.
So… I left, but my legs barely carried me as I stormed down the corridor, wiping my face like I could scrub off the last twenty-four hours of nightmares. Of lies. Of stupid, stupid feelings.
“Miss Jones.”
Henry stepped into the hallway like he’d been waiting for me, like he’d known all along that this was coming.
Of course he had. Everyone here knew… everyone except me.
I hated that. I hated them.
And I hated myself most of all, for being stupid enough to fall for it.
“I assume you’ll want to collect your belongings,” Henry said, calm as ever, not judging, not smiling, not pitying. Just existing in that infuriating Henry way only he could.
“Yes,” I snapped. “And I want to leave. Now. Before anything else insane happens in this hellscape of a lodge.”
“I understand.”
He nodded once, crisp and efficient. He’d probably been waiting for this exact job all morning. He escorted me to my room in an insufferable silence.
My hands were shaking so badly I had trouble with the zipper on my suitcase. Henry stepped forward to help, but I shoved his hand away.
“I can do it myself, thanks.”
“Yes, Miss Jones.”
I could feel him trying not to sigh, see him trying not to look sorry for me. I hated that, too. I shoved clothes into my bag. I didn’t fold anything. I didn’t care. I just needed the fuck out of here before my brain caught up with everything that had just happened.
Including the part where Jacob — no, Ben, actually — literally killed two people with a fucking shovel because they were trying to rape me. Because they’d heard me screaming for him, and they wanted a taste for themselves. Fucking Ben. God, I couldn’t even think his damn name without my stomach twisting into knots.
Henry cleared his throat.
“The funds have been wired to your account.”
I froze, then slowly turned my gaze to meet his.
“Already?”
“Mr. Stonewood’s instructions were… rather demandingly immediate.”
Something broke in my chest at that — too fresh, too raw — and I turned away and zipped my bag with a violent yank.
“Great,” I muttered. “Perfect. Let him know I’ll put them to good use.”
“Miss Jones…”
I turned to look at him again, even though I didn’t really want to.
Henry’s face softened, just barely, but enough to make my throat burn.
