“Oh, but it is,” Grace said. “What is it that men have always done? They use. They take. And when they are done, they discard. But me? I play the same game, Simon. And you do not like that, do you?”
Simon exhaled slowly through his nose. “My father never?—”
“Your father needed only a strong drink,” Grace interrupted, “and he embarrassed himself happily.”
Simon noticed Rachel growing uncomfortable beside him, but he did not move. His expression remained perfectly still.
“You lured him in,” he said.
“What difference does that make?” Grace pressed. “He did what all men do and tried to erase the evidence.”
Simon took a step forward. “And you saw an opportunity.”
“Wouldn’t you?” she smirked shamelessly.
“You tried to blackmail my father.” Simon’s voice was cold, stripped of all emotion.
“Of course, I did. And why not?” Grace let out a soft, mocking sigh. “He used me after all. Why should I not have asked for something in return?”
“And when he refused?” he prompted, his heart now hammering inside his chest.
“Oh, Simon. Refused is too soft a word,” Grace smirked. “Your father was not a fool. He did not beg or plead. No, he threw me out like I was filth on his boots. As if I had not shared his bed. As if I had not given him a night he would remember for the rest of his short, miserable life.”
“So, you sent someone to kill him.” Simon’s voice was like ice. All these years, he had spent trying to track down the murderer and their motive, and now, he had finally arrived at the truth.
“Oh, please. I only meant to frighten him. I wanted him to know what it was like to be powerless, to feel what I felt when he dismissed me like a common whore,” she continued. “And it would have stopped there, had your mother not been present.”
Simon’s vision blurred with red, and he felt that his knees would give out.
“You killed them,” Rachel said.
Grace’s expression did not flicker. There was no remorse there, only a cold admission, as though she had not changed the entire trajectory of Simon’s life with one decision.
“Killing implies that I intended it to happen. I did not want it to get to that point, for I had only sent a man to make a point. Which I felt was needed,” she said. “But the woman interrupted. She died because she made a choice. Women who stand up for their husbands are the same as the men they protect. She could have walked away and saved herself. But instead, she fought for a man who thought she was replaceable. And what do you think that got her?”
“She had better morals than you ever will,” Simon barked.
“Like I said, what did those morals get her?” Grace laughed softly, shaking her head. “It got her nothing. And that is the true tragedy, is it not?”
“You deserve to die for what you’ve done,” Simon warned. He had thought about this moment for so long—the moment that he finally got his hands on the murderer.
Grace’s smirk widened. “Then do it, Your Grace. Strike me. Raise your hand and show your wife what kind of man you really are.”
Simon raised his pistol before he realized it. It was instinctive. The constables stood waiting. Simon knew that if he chose to go through with it, he would not suffer the consequences. She had already admitted to the murder, and Simon could make a case for himself that it was only an act of delivering justice.
But then he noticed how scared Rachel seemed. She had shriveled up, folding her arms out in front of her.
He could not do it. Not in front of her.
But most of all, he would not let Grace turn him into the very thing she believed all men to be. Slowly, Simon lowered his hand.
Grace’s smirk faltered, just for a fraction of a second.
“Scared?” she taunted. “Just like your father.”
Simon’s voice was calm when he spoke again, “I will not dirty my hands with you.” He turned to the constables. “Take her. Make sure she is punished for her crimes.”
The men stepped forward, grabbing her arms before she could react.
