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For some fucking reason, I can’t bring myself to throw them away.

Most likely, because Mother used to leave notes all over the house for me.

Notes mean something to me. Cheryl doesn’t know that, of course.

No one does.

I let no one in. Ever.

No one can handle the amount of malice dwelling within me.

The only woman that ever loved me for me is lying in a cemetery, six feet under, and in her casket is where my heart resides.

So it would be tough to give away something I don’t have.

Realizing that has me placing my phone on the island after scooting the trash can closer and throwing away every single note Cheryl’s ever left me.

I’m done denying the truth.

I’ll never be anything other than miserable.

7

QUICKIE

SERAPHINE

The office is a mess, and I’m glad that I bribed Aria to come over today, which wasn’t too difficult, since she said she missed having a friend to shoot the shit with.

Even though we only worked together for two weeks, we became fast friends, and I’m more than happy to hang out with her and have her help with the mess of this office I was given.

Aria sips her mimosa. “This is…” Her eyes scan over the hundreds of boxes.

“Yeah.” I step over one, nearly tripping.

Maybe alcohol and work don’t mix, but it’s Saturday afternoon, and if we’re going to get this place in order, we need something to keep us sane.

“So,” she says, downing her drink and handing her empty glass to Stanley, who keeps popping in to refill our cups every so often, “how are you holding up here in the estate of the demon?”

“Excuse me?” I hand Stanley my cup and catch an eye roll from the butler before he makes his way back out of the room, glasses carefully perched on a serving tray.

“Oh, you don’t know what they call this place?”

“No. I couldn’t find anything online about the estate or the men, nothing other than what was public record about the company, which isn’t what I was really curious about.”

She takes a deep breath. “The town calls Lucien the Demon of Ironwood Estate; I’ve even heard some folks refer to him as a monster.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “Something about him escaping a fire unscathed and never being seen again. It’s all small-town gossip, but I’ve never seen him, and I’ve worked for the company for eight years.”

“Stop. Never? Not even a glimpse?”

“Nope. Have you seen him? You’ve been in the estate for how many days now?”

“Nearly a week.”

“You’ve got to admit, it’s strange.”