I started to have feelings for Irvin, but he broke my heart into tiny pieces, and I’ll never trust him again.
I get out of the car, and Irvin follows suit. I flee to the gate of my condo. He trails behind me.
“Don’t. Follow. Me!” I bellow. “Stay. The. Fuck. Away. From. Me!”
Lilac
Today is Tuesday. It’s been twenty-four hours since I learned that Irvin tricked me into marriage. The ache in my chest won’t go away. My eyes burn from all the crying. I try not to think about the pain he has caused me. I stare out the floor-to-ceiling window in my bedroom. The rain soothes my soul, the way it smears on the glass, blurring the outside view of the campus. I haven’t heard from Irvin, but I know he’s here in the apartment. He brought me food last night and this morning, but I don’t want to eat. I want to be by myself.
Today is Wednesday. I keep the blanket over my head, shielding myself from the sunlight spilling through the curtains. There is a knock at the door, and Winter’s voice booms through.
“Hey, it’s me, Winter. I’m here for you.”
Several seconds later, I hear her footsteps against the carpet and the front door shut.
Thursday and Friday are the same. I don’t attend class. I don’t start my exam paper. Saturday, I remove the blanket, finally shower, put on clean clothes, and eat the food Irvin left on the desk. He left a letter, but I tuck it in my desk drawer. I don’t want anything from him but to be left alone. My soul is tired. Everything I worked hard for has been pulled away from me like a rug. My identity is in jeopardy. My life is at risk if I try to divorce Irvin. He has sucked me into a world I don’t want to be a part of. He has taken everything from me—stolen my life. I was happy, and now everything is at risk. I grab my phone from the desk and scroll through my notifications. I toss the phone onto the bed. I need to figure out how I’m going to get myself out of this. I get up from the chair, pace back and forth, replaying what happened—how Irvin didn’t care about what he did. He didn’t care that he trapped me. My heart pounds. He really believes what he did is normal. I wipe my sweating hands on my sweatpants. In his world, the only way to trap me was to slip a marriage license in there. He’s been studying me. While I was too busy fighting my mental health, I was fighting another Emerson.
I stop, look out the window, and tell myself I can’t wallow in my own shit. I’m a fighter—I always have been—so what do I need to do? Irvin is always watching my every move. He’s intelligent and cunning. He might not say that he’s watchingme, but he observes everyone’s behavior. He knew how I would respond to what he did, and the way he was so calm about tricking me into marriage pissed me off. It’s like he anticipated it.
I outsmarted a psychopath before, but Irvin is smarter than Emerson. He’s analytical.
What should I do?
What can hurt Irvin? Because I need to get back at him. I tap my foot on the cream carpet.
He’s manipulative… I know what I can do. I can manipulate him back. I’ll manipulate him into letting me go by us living separate lives. It’s not right for me to manipulate him, and guilt eats at me. I don’t usually try to hurt people.
But I have to get away from him. Divorce isn’t an option, but he’s convinced himself that he loves me.
So what better way to use his methods against him? I’ll manipulate him and get what I want, then I’ll be free from Irvin Ashford.
Lilac
Istomp up the grand lobby stairs as soon as I stride through the revolving doors of North Bridge Bank. I figured out who the CEO is—Mr. Harrison—and, of course, he’s part of the American Billionaire Club. He’s the man who froze my account, and even though I can’t divorce Irvin, I can at least reason with him to fix my account so I have access to my money once more.
The lobby is white, suffocating, and clean. My sneakers squeak across the tiles as I continue to the front desk. My all-black dress suit hugs my small frame, and I push back my shoulders.
Two security guards in dark suits stand behind the front desk, and they both flash me a smile.
I rest my hand on the marble counter and clear my throat. “I’m here to see Mr. Harrison.”
They look at each other. “Ma’am, you can call—”
I straighten my spine.
“My husband, Irvin Ashford, sent me here to meet with Mr. Harrison. I have an appointment,” I lie straight through my teeth.
The guard on the left eyes me suspiciously.
“May I see your ID?”
I show it to him. The other guard, the one with dark hair and chocolate eyes, dials a number, letting Mr. Harrison know about the appointment.
My heart gallops in my chest. My black-painted nails tap against the counter. I bite my bottom lip. My eyes study the guard’s movements as he places the phone back on the hook.
He points in the right direction. “Go to the private elevators and hit the button markedP.”
Exhaling loudly, I put my ID back in my purse and rush in that direction.
