Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
His study. That’s where he’ll be.
I step back and make my way downstairs. The grand staircase spirals downward. The house is quiet, save for the faint sound of my footsteps. A thought comes in my head unbidden and unwelcome. This house needs children, lots of them.
I shake my head to clear the silly thought. I used to think this house was beautiful, back when it was Charles’s father’s. But as I descend the staircase now, what once felt magnificent now feels like a prison, every detail a relentless reminder of everything I’ve come to despise.
I can’t understand where he gets these ideas about me—about what I wanted, about who I am. Wealth? Status? He keeps throwing these accusations like they’re the core of my being, like they define me. It’s infuriating.
Yes, I wanted a better life than what I had when I was growing up dirt poor. So what? It’s good to have aspirations. Yes, I was prepared to marry Charles in exchange for saving my father’s life. Charles is an adult. He knew exactly what he was getting into. I never lied to him. He was the one who lied to me about his financial circumstances and tried to trick me into marrying him. We never even had sex.
The only person I’d ever had sex with was Earl. I always knew it would never be like what it was with Earl so I didn’t even bother to look for anyone else. What’s wrong with wanting my children to go to Harvard like Charles and his sister did? It’s a decision I don’t regret and I would do it again and again. I’m not going to let Earl convince me that I’m a bad person for wanting to help my dad and wanting a better foundation than I had for my children. And I’m sick and tired of trying to defend myself to him. Enough is enough.
My mind drifts to our days together in that rundown trailer park, sneaking around under the cover of night. Those were the best moments of my life, stolen and sweet, free of judgment and the crushing weight of expectation. I’d told him, over and over, how I never wanted to be without him. Even then, when the world seemed against us, I had chosen him.
Where the hell did he get this idea that I only ever wanted money?
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. Doesn’t matter now. I’ve had enough. I’m not wasting my time chasing after ghosts anymore. If he won’t tell me, I won’t ask again. I reach downstairs and make my way to his study, which is tucked into the far corner of the house.
I pause outside the door, my heart thudding against my ribs. The anger that fueled me moments ago feels distant now, replaced by a simmering dread. Taking a deep breath, I knock.
“What is it?” an irritated voice calls from inside.
Of course, he is grumpy as usual, but I don’t care. I square my shoulders and push the door open. To my surprise, the curtains are drawn shut and the glow from a single desk lamp casts long shadows across the walls. The scent of aged leather and faint cologne lingers in the air. Earl is seated at the desk, leaning back in his chair watching me with an air of quiet contemplation.
“What do you need?” he asks, his voice edged with wariness, as if he’s bracing for another fight.
I step inside and shut the door behind me. My gaze flickers to the dark wood shelves lining the walls, the rows of books and neatly stacked papers, the multiple computer screens on his desk, their faint glow illuminating the sharp lines of his face. It’s a far cry from the man I used to know—the one who never cared for material things, who used to dream of a simple life with me.
“I need to borrow a suitcase,” I say flatly.
His brow furrows, his expression hardening. “What for?”
“That’s none of your concern,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intended.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze unrelenting. “Everything about you is my concern, Raven.”
His words hang in the air, and I feel anger bubbling up inside me again, threatening to spill over. I straighten my shoulders, forcing myself to meet his gaze head-on. “Can you lend me one or not?”
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his eyes scanning me. Finally, he shifts his gaze away, his tone flat as he says, “Talk to Nora. She’ll get you what you need.”
That’s it. No questions, no comments, not even a flicker of anything resembling emotion. I nod stiffly, unsure of what I expected. Curiosity? Understanding? Refusal? Something other than this distant, detached man who barely resembles the lover I once knew. He’s going to let me go! Just like that. No questions. No objections. A crushing disappointment pools in my chest and I hate that I feel it at all.