I wanted it to look random. It couldn’t be quick, because I wanted her to suffer. And I wanted to make sure she didn’t see it coming-just like what she did to me.
I didn’t feel anger when I made the call. I felt relief. Because once Rowan Hale was gone, the balance would be restored. The world would make sense again. Cause and effect. Action without consequence—my natural order.
She’d taken something from me when she poisoned me. Control. Certainty. The illusion of invulnerability. And I intended to take everything back.
48
ROWAN
Bethany has taken over the kitchen like it’s a battlefield she intends to win. Sleeves shoved up, hair falling loose, she pours wine she absolutely does not need while insisting—loudly—that the rest of us do.
Lily perches on one side of the couch, legs folded beneath her, phone face-down on the cushion like she doesn’t trust it not to betray her. Like if she keeps it turned away, it can’t deliver bad news.
I’m on the floor with my back against the couch, knees pulled in, watching dust drift through the late afternoon light. It floats lazily, undecided, as though even the air hasn’t quite made up its mind about how this night is going to end.
“I don’t know why you’re so worried,” Bethany says, pressing a glass into my hand. “Justin said they’d be back by morning.”
“I’m feeling kind of queasy,” I admit, setting the glass down without taking a sip. The smell alone makes my stomach do backflips.
Lily snorts, then pauses. Her gaze lingers on my face, sharper now, like she’s looking past what I’m saying and into what I’m not.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
She delivers the question without any embarrassment. Just quiet acknowledgment of what’s already obvious—that Justin and I are a thing. I don’t advertise my life, but I won’t lie about it either. I won’t be shamed into shrinking something real.
“Pffft,” I scoff. “Not likely.”
Still, the thought settles somewhere deep and unwelcome. Whenwasmy last period? I try to recall and come up blank, which only makes my gut roll harder.
“Because it would be so cool if?—”
The buzzer cuts her off mid-sentence.
The sound is sharp. Intrusive.
Bethany frowns. “Are you expecting anyone?”
The buzzer sounds again—longer this time. More insistent. Less patient.
Lily is already standing. “No one should be?—”
I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved.
Every instinct I have tightens, the familiar coil in my chest snapping into place like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“I’ll check,” I offer.
Bethany’s hand closes around my wrist. “Wait.”
We move together toward the door—Lily flanking the side, Bethany close enough that I can smell her perfume, something floral and too sweet for a moment like this. I press the intercom. The screen flickers to life.
And my breath leaves me all at once.
Dean Stockton stares back at me from the monitor.
Dishevelled.
That’s the first word that comes to mind. His tie is gone. His shirt is wrinkled and darkened with sweat, clinging in places it shouldn’t. His eyes are too bright, too sharp—like a man who hasn’t slept in days. Or worse. He’s a man who hasn’t dared to.
