My stomach drops, heavy and cold. My nails dig into my palm to stop my hands from trembling. Dan. Always Dan. My heart splinters again. “Is that why you were in a mood when we picked you up yesterday?” I rub the throb in my temple. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“He told me to keep it a secret.” Angelos’ voice falters. “I’m sorry, Mum.”
“Did you tell him where I live?”
His gaze drops to his lap. His whisper is barely audible over the hum of the taxi's engine. “I think so.”
I stare out the window, watching the estate disappear behind us, swallowed by the rising dawn.
Deep down, I know I won’t be coming back.
33
DAN
Asharp throb pounds behind my eyes as I stir, my mouth dry as dust, my limbs heavy with a fatigue I can’t explain.
The bedside clock blinks an unforgiving time at me, much later than I expected. Too late.
I scrub a hand down my face and reach instinctively for Rose, but my fingers brush cool sheets. “Rose?” My voice comes out rough, hoarse. I shove off the covers and stagger to my feet, my head swimming. Her scent lingers in the air, but it’s fading.
I check the en suite, then the hallway and make my way downstairs. “Angelos?”
Silence.
Heading back upstairs, I snatch my phone up from the bedside table and call her, but it goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
Panic claws at my ribs. She wouldn’t go out without telling me or leaving a note. She knows I worry too much. I sweep through the house, room by room, my heart slamming against my chest like a battering ram. No signs of a struggle. No notes. No voice.
My thumb hovers over Magnus’s number, but something catches my eye—open messages still on the screen.
The ones between me and Magnus.
My chest seizes.
No. No, no, no.
She saw them.
She read them.
A chill spiders down my spine as my gaze flicks to the en suite. The bathroom cabinet door hangs open, the edge of a bottle visible inside.
I step closer. Sleeping pills.
No. She wouldn’t.
Would she?
My mind reels. Rose, slipping two pills from the bottle. Crushing them into my drink. Quiet, calculated. Protecting herself, my clever girl is a warrior. I don’t know whether to be proud or fucking fuming.
But my heart. My stupid, hopeful heart refuses to believe it.
She wouldn’t drug me. Yet deep inside, another memory gnaws at me, the same memory that’s haunted me for the last thirteen and a half years.
The hospital bed. The sterile walls, the reek of antiseptic. I woke up from a coma, weak and disoriented, only to find her married. She never waited for me like she promised. Has she betrayed me again?
