Page 124 of The Contract Marriage

–Me: I think the baby wants to have oranges.

Nothing. He probably doesn’t bother reading any of them. That evening, the hospital meal includes a few orange slices, like it’s mocking me. Here, eat them since you said you wanted them.

Except I don’t want citrus. I want Liam.

It kills me that he doesn’t even care about the baby. Before, if I jokingly said the baby seems to want cupcakes from Bobbi’s Sweet Things, he’d bring a couple, no questions asked. I was certain even if I was no longer anybody in his world, our baby would still mean something. I place a hand over my belly and rub the spot gently. Mommy will keep you safe, my love. I’ll do everything to make this up to you.

But I can’t linger in the hospital indefinitely, so I discharge myself. I have a company to run, the family trust to deal with.

And justice to carry out.

John Highsmith works fast. Prescott probably put some pressure on him. John sends me daily updates on what’s going on with the trust. The disbursement has been frozen. Hugh and his fellow parasites need to vacate the mansion by today. Tyler’s action isn’t something John can overlook, even if he wanted to.

So although I’m still technically without offspring, the mansion and the annual income from the trust now belong to me as the sole beneficiary-in-waiting.

I make a call to a private security firm I’ve used before and arrange for backup—it’s a pretty good bet that Mom’s murderers won’t go quietly. The firm agrees to send a team to the Whitmore mansion. Afterward, I text our longtime housekeeper Mrs. Moore.

–Me: Please ensure that Hugh, Deena and Brielle aren’t taking anything that they shouldn’t.

–Mrs. Moore: That probably isn’t necessary. I don’t think they’re leaving.

–Me: In that case, let the people I send past the gates in. I’ll deal with Hugh myself.

I slip inside my car. I don’t know who brought it over, but I’m grateful as I grip the steering wheel to hide the tremors running through me.

Finally!

Exhilaration pumps me up, and I grit my teeth. I inhale to settle myself, then stop by my condo to change into proper battle attire. I can’t show up in a wrinkled party dress, looking pale and weak.

Hugh, Deena and Brielle are going to know exactly who punished them and why. They’ll learn there’s nothing they can do to weasel out of their consequences.

With care, I put on a black dress—I never got to wear one when I lost my mother or dog—and slip into matching slingbacks. I pull my hair back into a chignon and put on a black pillbox hat with a veil. To hide the pallor of my face, I dab some liquid blush on my cheeks and drag blood-red lipstick across my mouth.

I stand in front of the mirror, then straighten my back and lift my chin. There are two messages to be delivered today: grief and justice. I have to be strong for both.

Satisfied, I stop before the portrait of Mom, Pochi and me, then run my hand along the frame. “Thank you for being so patient. We’re almost done. They’re going to pay now.”

It might be my imagination, but Mom’s smile looks brighter. Pochi’s eyes seem to sparkle.

I walk out, head held high, then drive to the childhood home that Hugh and his mistress desecrated. The traffic is surprisingly light—it’s like the universe can’t wait for me to right all the wrongs done to my mother and dog.

Neither can I. This is it. My nerves go taut with anxiety. I’ve wanted this for twenty years, but now that it’s about to happen, my legs shake uncontrollably.

Get rid of all the nervous energy now, so you can be firm and strong in front of your enemies.

The W on the wrought-iron gates comes into view. A bunch of shiny black SUVs are driving through, up the winding path to the house. I frown a little. I didn’t expect the company to send so many people. Well, a little extra manpower can’t hurt. I follow them in.

The old oaks look shockingly taller today. Their branches seem to arch over, the leaves greener than the last time I visited, as though they’re dying to witness me carry out my mission. I park my car among the black SUVs and step out. Despite the nervous twitching of my thighs during the drive, my feet plant themselves on the ground with a surprising surety.

The men come over. “Ms. Kingswood?” one of them says. He’s tall, blond and built like a mountain, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. He doesn’t smile, but then I didn’t ask for friendly security.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice. I need to get rid of some trespassers and avoid any…physical unpleasantness. This way.”

I try the door. It’s locked. Seriously? Does Hugh honestly believe this will stop me? I enter the code, but it still won’t budge. I input the master code and override the system. Hugh, Deena and Brielle don’t realize that they’re interlopers, people who never belonged in my mother’s home in the first place. The only reason I haven’t already locked them out is that I couldn’t do it legally. But now?

Hold my champagne.

I enter with the security men and look around. The house is quiet, like it’s holding its breath.