Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
I don’t know how long I stood there, shaking the gate, demanding to be seen, getting pneumonia, probably. But at some point, maybe an hour after I’d showed up, two burly men dressed head-to-toe in black suits and matching dress shirts filed out of the main doors.
A bitter laugh shook my spine as they approached me.
“Oh, terrific.” I kept my fists around the bars. “He brought security to usher me out.”
One of them adjusted his earpiece. “You’re trespassing.”
“No, I’m not. I’m on the other side of the gate.”
“You’re touching this gate that belongs to Mr. von Bismarck.” He unlocked the gate and stepped forward, a human shield against me.
I backed up on instinct. Both men folded their arms over their chests and glared at me with expressions that screamed, or else.
“Now you’re sending big men to intimidate me?” I yelled past their shoulders, toward that window, knowing I had an audience. That he was listening. “How the mighty have fallen. I’m not sure what made you go from the best person I knew to a little bitch, but suffice to say, the transformation is complete.”
I imagined Oliver flinching, even though it was absurd to think he still cared after the past year and a half. But somehow, I knew he did.
“You ruined my life, you know.” I ignored the burly men and straightened my spine, standing taller, staring at that vacant window. A poisonous chuckle pushed out of my throat. “It’s amazing how I grew up thinking you would be in my epilogue when it turns out you’re nothing but a badly written prologue.”
“Miss.” The other security guard edged closer, not even an inch from me. “Time to go home.”
At least he was gentle about it. Even he, I suspected, knew his boss was a prick.
“I’m going, I’m going.” I waved a dismissive hand in his face, still laser-focused on that detail. “I just want to say one last thing, because I know he’s listening. You got what you wanted, Oliver. You are officially dead to me. I am never going to forgive you. I am never going to accept your apology, should you issue one. You ruined everything. Congratulations. You became as bad as Seb.”
Chapter Eighty-Six
Briar
That won’t happen again. And even if it does, you belong across the country, you fool.
I pulled my shoulders back, digging my fingernails into my jeans until my hands stopped shaking. I’d grown up in the past fifteen years. I could handle whatever life threw at me. Life should fear me, not the other way around.
With that, I thrust open the door, finding Oliver splayed on his still-made bed. The moon trickled in through the balcony door, casting a thin ribbon of light on my fiancé. He looked something straight out of a Courbet painting – red-rimmed eyes fixed on the ceiling, his shirt half unbuttoned and the unmistakable stench of alcohol wafting to me.
My sweet, tortured boy.
I felt like an interloper, as if I’d interrupted an event I wasn’t invited to – a showdown between Oliver von Bismarck and his demons.
“Ollie?”
Silence engulfed us for a few moments. I didn’t think he’d even heard me until his response rattled my bones.
“I think I broke him forever.”
We both knew who.
With false confidence, I strode to the bed and sat on its edge, caressing his cheek. Its temperature shocked me. Cold, and frigid, and wet from tears. Oliver von Bismarck was not a crier. He never drank this much, either. Not even as kids, when we snuck sips of wine. He always made sure to manage his consumption, somehow both the instigator and the responsible party in all our adventures.
I rubbed away a tear with my thumb. “Who did this to you?”
Whoever it was – I’d kill them. Even if that person was Sebastian.
“I took him to a doctor. Well, bribed him under false pretenses, if we’re being technical …”
He tried to scoot up against the headboard but swayed from the booze. Instead, he twisted over the edge of the bed and puked his guts out. His entire lunch and a sea of vodka swirled together in a soupy lake.
“Ah, shit,” he muttered.
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” I squeezed his shoulder, helped him upright against the headboard, and passed him two Advil from the nightstand. “I’ll clean it up.”
I rushed to the supply closet, returning with paper towel rolls, a trash bag, and antibacterial wipes. Ollie tossed his head against the leather rest, mumbling his apologizes while I paused to order chicken cháo on DoorDash.
When I finished and washed my hands, I settled beside him on the edge of the bed, brushing away hair from his sticky forehead. “Let’s try again. Take two. Tell me what happened, baby.”
“We haven’t been to the doctor in years – five, at least – and never to a plastic surgeon. He fucking hates anything medical. But he seemed so much happier lately. I thought … I thought things would be different this time.”