The only conclusion I came to, over and over again, was that he had no intention of dying because he did not kill himself. It was her all along. It was she who somehow killed him. It was she who organized the blackmail scheme using her nephews, the Yorks, and it was most likely she who had a razor blade hidden in a cupcake meant for me, which, unfortunately, Mila ate.
From the moment she started dating my father, she wasn’t to eliminate him and take his assets for herself. She got rid of meby sending me to Castlehill, put me in positions that endangered me, wore down my reputation, hoping my father would be ashamed by the pics taken by the Yorks, and then relied on the Warwicks to do their dirty work to destroy me. Which left only one obstacle to eliminate - my father.
The problem was that she didn’t destroy me at all because I am still here, angrier than ever. I pulled myself out of my fug, found a cake of soap, and began to scrub away the filth of this devious plan I found myself in the middle of.
Once done, I switched the water faucet off, unsteadily stepped out as my head spun in a thousand directions, and while I wasn’t concentrating, I lost my footing, slipped over, and smacked against the door on the way down, and then landed in a crying heap on a wet, hard floor.
Immediately, I sat up in an attempt to compose myself, then tried to crawl to my pile of dirty clothing while clutching the towel.
“Adina?” I heard Nicolae’s voice through the door. “What was that bang?”
I groaned, “I’m fine,” then winced, “I just fell over.”
“Oh fuck, are you alright?” his tone sounded genuinely concerned, but I didn’t believe him.
“Like you give a shit,” I snarled at him.
“Do you need help?” he asked, ignoring my vitriol.
“No, I’m fine,” I lied, because I definitely needed help as I shuffled on my backside over to the side of the bath in an attempt to lift myself. My hands slipped, and I growled loudly in frustration, throwing the towel against the wall.
“Adina?” Nicolae again. Fuck.
“Are you still there?” I snipped at him. “If I knew you were still there, I would’ve screamed more quietly.”
“Adina, do you need help?” he asked for the hundredth time, sounding a little exhausted because I bet the last person hewanted to deal with early on a Wednesday morning was a snarling Boleyn with a swollen ankle.
“No, I’m naked. Or is that why you want to come in?” I questioned his motivations.
He scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he hit back. “Fine. I’ll leave then.”
“No. Wait,” I called after him, resigning to the fact that if I don’t let someone in to help, I might die in this bathroom. I was exaggerating, but at that moment, I wasn’t exactly shimmering in positivity. “I can’t stand. I need help standing.”
He turned the handle, and it wouldn’t budge. “You need to unlock the door.”
“Give me a second to crawl there,” I said, exhausted, grabbing the towel, wrapping it around my body, and then began walking on my hands and knees as my foot throbbed with every movement.
Turning the lock, he then slowly pushed the door open as I wriggled out of the way to give him space. “Ah,” he grunted, eyeing my naked legs, then spotted my hugely swollen black and blue ankle. “Alright,” he bent down, tucked his arms under mine, and swiftly raised me off the floor.
Unfortunately, in the process, my towel unfastened and tumbled down my naked body. Those dark eyes drank in my naked breasts before I scrambled to cover them back up again. He plonked me down on the edge of the bath, then stood back and picked up my pair of panties, then my bra, which I snatched promptly off him.
“Thank you,” I managed to say, although he didn’t deserve my gratitude, since he put me in this position in the first place.
“You have a big bruise on the left side,” he wouldn’t have seen it if my towel hadn’t dropped.
I didn’t know it was there, but I had noticed it hurt a little on that side. “Well…I was lying on that side when I was hidingfrom you under the overhanging rock,” I spat. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring my gun and shoot at me.”
“It had crossed my mind,” he confessed casually, and I couldn’t tell if he was joking. “I could use a pretty head like yours erected onto my wall.”
“You think I’m pretty? Fuck you,” I spat at him, and he shot me that amused look.
I expected him to leave to give me privacy as I dressed, but instead, he turned on the cold faucet, removed his t-shirt, and wet it with the water. I lowered my eyes, trying not to look at his beautiful, smooth skin and shapely arms.
“What are you doing?” I asked as my nerves zipped about in my stomach. I hated being trapped in this situation, useless and broken, at the mercy of my enemies.
He shot me a look before kneeling and wrapping the cold, wet fabric around my ankle. “We need to get the selling down.” He took the fabric off after a few moments, gently pressed his palm against my skin to feel how cold it was, then bound my ankle in the foot brace. “Does that feel better?”
I nodded, struggling for words.
