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“I see. You want to show off your prize.” She leans back in her chair, her eyes trained on something in the yard.
“I thought you’d be happy I’m taking you.”
“And I would be if you’d do it for the right reasons,” she says without looking back at me.
“Like I said, I don’t wine and dine with women. You shouldn’t expect that from me.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she turns her body even further away from me. Twisting in her chair like she is physically sick by my closeness.
“I’ve lost my appetite. Can I go back to the room now?”
“You sure you don’t want to eat more? You only took a few bites.”
“I’m sure.”
“As you wish.” I drop my own fork and knife before getting up from my chair. Elena rises at the same time. I take her hand and pull her through the house like I always do, but this time it feels different. This is the first time she wants to go to her room. She would rather spend time alone than with me on the terrace, which enrages me for more than one reason.
“You’re hurting my hand.” Elena winces. I loosen my grip, not realizing how much I was squeezing her fingers.
An apology sits on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. I don’t need to apologize to anyone, not even her.
After locking Elena back in our bedroom, I head downstairs to the gym in the basement. I need to let off some steam, and since I can’t do that with my future wife, I have to let the punching bag take my wrath.
I lose track of time at the gym. All I know is that when I’m done, I’m soaked in sweat, and my knuckles hurt. I unwrap my hands and realize they are swollen too. Shit.
I take a quick shower, in the bathroom attached to the gym, and get dressed into an extra change of clothes I keep down here.
Unlocking my phone, I check the video surveillance from the bedroom. The feed pulls up, showing me my bedroom. Elena is on the bed, wearing the same clothes from this morning. She is on her stomach, her face hiding in the pillow.
Either she went back to sleep, or she is still pouting about this morning. Maybe both.
I shove my phone in my pocket and head upstairs to my office. I’m not even halfway up the stairs when I hear it. A high-pitched scream coming from the kitchen. Taking two steps at a time, I run up the stairs and down the long hallway leading to the kitchen.
When I enter, I find Lorelei, my cook, on the ground. Her lifeless body still, and her eyes open but completely blank. Marie–the new maid is standing over her sobbing, her hand clutched to her chest.
“I-is sh-she…” She stutters.
“Yes, she is dead.” I don’t have to check her pulse to know she is gone. The bluish color of her skin and the vacancy in her eyes says it all. “What the hell happened?” I ask as I take out the phone to text Markus.
Me: Get the fuck to the kitchen. Now.
“I-I don’t know. She was fine when I left to go to the store. I just got back and found her.”
Only now do I notice the groceries spilled out on the floor. The maid must have dropped the bags when she came in.
Markus comes up behind me a moment later. “What the fuck?”
“Maid said she left for a bit, came back, and found her,” I explain.
“What was she doing when you left?” Markus implores.
“Nothing.” The maid shrugs. “Just eating the leftovers from breakfast.” Hiccupping, she points to the nook in the corner of the kitchen.
My gaze falls onto the plate that holds leftover fruit. A half-cut red apple and green papaya peel. Nothing that explains what the fuck happened here.
I turn my attention back to the dead body on the kitchen floor—an awful feeling gnawing in the back of my mind. Something is off, terribly fucking off.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I let the puzzle pieces fall into place. I connect the dots in my mind. Elena, papaya… death.
“Fuck!” I yell before running out of the room.
“What…” I hear Markus yelling after me, but I’m already down the hallway.
My heart is hammering against my ribcage, and my lungs refuse to fill with air as I try to get the door open. I’m probably wrong about this, and completely overreacting. Elena’s just sleeping, there can’t be a connection between Lorelei’s death, and the fucking fruit Elena ate too.
Those are all the thoughts running through my mind as I rush up the stairs and into the room and to her side.
“Elena, get up.” I tap her shoulder, but she doesn’t react. A feeling similar to the one I had the night my mother died threatens to take me under, and I sink a little deeper inside my mind. If I go back to that place, there will be no coming back.
