“I know what it means. I’m not an idiot,” she says hotly, but her gaze is unfocused now, and there’s a faint line between her eyebrows. “And you expect me to do what, exactly? Confront him about it? Invade his privacy like you do?”
I frown. “I don’t know. Maybe not that, but—anything that might give us a lead.”
“And what if there is none? You’ve been convinced he’s guilty for so long that you’re not even willing to consider the likelihood that he isn’t. You tracked down the ABRandits leader, yet you still didn’t find anything to tie Ben to the attacks. Isn’t it time to explore the possibility that you’re simply biased, and that he isn’t the person you think he is?”
I stare at her, stunned. “Did you lose a brain hemisphere somewhere in the Highlands? Ofcoursehe’s part of this. There’s a good chance it was all his idea in the first place. Rosie—”
“Donottalk to me about that traitorous snake,” she snarls. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, being surrounded by people you love who constantly lie to your face? All I want is one person I can trust, Evan. One single bloody person who won’t try to use me or betray me for their own gain.”
“And you thinkBenis that person?”
Her silence is all the answer I need.
I shake my head, speechless. Maisie was with me and Kit when we confronted Rosie. She heard the whole story—she knows Ben runs theRegal Recordand has been behind every bit of slander from the start. She knows that Ben was blackmailing Rosie. That the entire reason he’s been doing this is because Maisie,who likes boys about as much as most people like root canals, will probably never have an eligible heir of her own.
She knows. Sheknows.So why is she doing this?
“If you really need help,” says Maisie at last, “you could ask your new friends at MI5. I’m sure they’d be thrilled for another chance to kiss your arse.”
“They’ve already tried,” I mutter. “Please, Maisie. You know him better than anyone—”
“Kit knows him, too,” she says. “Oh, wait. You also bungled that up, didn’t you?”
“Don’t,” I manage, though it comes out as more of a wheeze.
“Oh? Is it not true? Because from what I’ve heard, you somehow took the one good thing you both had and threw it away with such finesse that even I’m impressed. The way you broke his heart—”
“You have no right—”
“I haveeveryright. Kit is like a brother to me, and I’ve loved him long before you were in the picture. From the sounds of it, I’ll love him long after you’re gone, too. He told me what happened in Oxford, you know—how you recklessly risked your life and nearly destroyed him in the process.”
“I didn’t—” I begin, but the protest dies on my lips. Because I did. “That’s not—”
“That’s not what happened?” she says, eyebrow raised. “You’ve no idea what he’s been through, losing Liam, and yet you insist on making him relive that trauma again and again. Not only that, but you actively put his life in danger. You asked him to possiblydiefor you, Evan. How am I supposed to forgive that? How isanyonesupposed to forgive that?”
“I didn’t ask him to—I didn’t want any of that!” I burst. “I tried to keep him safe—”
“But how could he have possibly been safe when he was withyou?”
I hear it now—the real hatred in her voice—and it slices through me like a white-hot knife. Maisie squares her shoulders, and with one final sneer, she storms across the room and through the other exit, leaving me wrecked in her wake.
Chapter Fourteen
The mysterious June 2022 death of William Abbott-Montgomery has finally been revealed as a suicide.
—Excerpt fromThe Regal Record, 12 February 2024
When Tibby knocks on mydoor early the next morning, I’m wide awake, still reeling from my fight with Maisie.
Though I managed to sleep a little the night before, it was restless at best, with dreams that haunted me even after I woke up in a cold sweat. Now I stare at a crack in the curtains, watching the pitch-black sky slowly lighten to gray as Maisie’s words repeat in my mind again and again.
You asked him to possibly die for you, Evan. How isanyonesupposed to forgive that?
Tibby steps inside, and instantly I know something’s wrong. She typically wakes me like a tornado, taking pleasure in ruining my morning before it’s even begun, and her making an effort to be discreet is never a good sign.
“What is it?” I say, sitting up. She must hear the urgency in my voice, or maybe the exhausted defeat, because she doesn’t try to take the sting out of what comes next.
“TheRegal Recordposted an article overnight, announcingLiam’s death as a suicide,” she says, and all the warmth leeches from my body in a single exhale. “They’re trying to discredit Kit and cast uncertainty around everything he says during the interview tonight—”
