He doesn’t respond; he simply leans in and kisses my forehead. “It’s for your own good.”
Without another word, I rush inside and cry.
Lilac
I’m perched on the tufted sofa with wooden frames in our room, with a bowl of buttery popcorn, stuffing my face and watching an old rerun ofGirlfriends.
The last few days, I’ve felt like I’m going out of my mind. Irvin left to go on his assignment. The mansion has been peacefully quiet. I’m reduced to doing my classes online, which I hate. I miss the campus and the classes. I miss the café and the library. Irvin also hired security, so men patrol and guard the front and back doors. God, he gets on my fucking nerves. The mansion feels empty without him, though. The dull ache in my chest never goes away.
My plan isn’t working. I’ve failed at manipulating Irvin into letting me go. In fact, he’s tightened the invisible leash on me. I’m mentally exhausted from fighting him. My hope of escaping is dying slowly. I sigh out loud. Heat floods my ears. What am I going to do? He’s not someone I can reason with.
My phone buzzes with a notification. I pick it up and read the message from the group chat. Lyrical is hosting a kickback at her farmhouse. I shoot her a message.
Me: I’m sorry, I can’t make it.
I can’t let her know what’s going on. She can’t do anything to help me. Snow hates Irvin with a passion, and I doubt he’d help me get out of this sticky situation.
I stuff a handful of popcorn into my mouth, realizing that I need salt and pepper, so I stroll to the dark pantry in the kitchen. I sprinkle some on the warm popcorn, then make my way back to the bedroom.
A cool draft from the floor-to-ceiling window tickles my skin. I crinkle my nose. Who opened the window?
My eyes widen. My hands are clammy. I warily peek out of the window. The dark clouds hover over the charcoal sea, and the naked limbs on the oak trees sway in the wind. An owl screeches. An animal howls in the distance.
The air is icy—thicker, as if someone has been standing here. Exhaling, I shut the window, turn around, and scan the bedroom—nothing is out of place.
The king-size bed sits in the middle of the room like a throne. The walls are painted dark purple and black. I search the walnut dresser and the walk-in closet. Nothing is amiss. I scan the bathroom and yank the curtains from the shower.
My heart rate slows, and my shoulders relax. I yank my scrunchie off, wrap it around my wrist, and slowly run my fingers through my silky hair. I’m freaking myself out. Then I laugh out loud, looking at myself in the mirror.
“Get it together, Lilac,” I murmur.
I stroll back to the bedroom. An object glints in the moonlight, sitting on my white pillow. My heart beats like a drum. Slowly, I amble up to it, furrowing my brow.
Is it what I think it is?
I pick it up and examine it. I gave this locket to Emerson, and I read the engraved words around the heart:I will love you always and forever. Your little sapphire, Paige.
The locket feels like it weighs a ton in my hand. I drop it on the floor.
Nausea settles in my stomach. My hands shake like leaves. My knees buckle.
How did it get in here? Am I going crazy? I chew the inside of my cheek.
What the fuck is it doing here? He was wearing it on the day of his execution.
I freeze in place. My feet feel like cinder blocks. My hands tremble. Everything else—the walls, the moonlight, the dresser—blurs together. I can’t breathe. My mind can’t make sense of it. Emerson is dead. He is dead. Yet here it is, in my hand. My world is destroyed.
This was buried with him at the funeral. I didn’t go, but my friend Ambrose sent me a picture of it.
I snag my phone from the nightstand, Google the news clippings of Emerson’s death, and stare at the picture of him in the casket.
It’s the exact same locket.
I scan the place, hit every light in the mansion. I rush to Irvin’s nightstand and snatch his gun frantically.
Someone is playing tricks on me. This mansion is eerily quiet. Too quiet. It reminds me too much of the night my parents were killed—the silence after the gunshots went off, the dread of seeing their bloody corpses.
“He’s back,” I shriek.
