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"What do you need?" I demand.
She flinches at my tone, shrinking into herself and then squares her shoulders, seeming to rebound quickly with her primary motivation in mind.
"I was hoping I might speak to you a moment to request a visit with your wife. If you don't mind."
"My wife?" I growl.
I narrow my gaze at this girl who can’t be much younger than Ivy, but she looks much younger somehow. I don't know what she could possibly want to speak to her about.
"How do you know my wife?"
She hesitates to answer, and it only encourages my suspicions. Surely, she couldn't be the one who gave Ivy the poison. She is far too innocent for that. But I have been fooled by innocence before. Eli's innocent request for my family and me to attend that meeting in place of his changed my life irrevocably. If I have learned anything since then, it is that anyone can be a traitor.
"We spoke at the gala," the girl finally confesses. "I'm Colette. Jackson's wife."
"I know who you are," I answer coldly. "Why do you want to speak to my wife?"
"She said she'd like for us to visit sometime, and I just thought... I was hoping I could come visit her, considering the circumstances."
"No."
I slide into the back seat of the car, and Marco leans forward to shut the door when Colette offers me one last parting thought.
"She didn't do it. I know she couldn't have—"
The rest of her declaration is cut short when the car door shuts, sealing me in with my own turbulent thoughts. Colette is still standing on the sidewalk, hoping I'll reconsider as Marco drives us away.
15
Santiago
Ivy screams when I slam open the door to her room and startle her. The sound of the heavy wood crashing into the wall reverberates down the corridor as I stalk toward the chair where she's sitting, a horrified expression on her face.
"Santiago?"
When I don't respond, she rises up, trembling from the force of her fear. She knows what's coming. She can sense the predator in me. There is no more room for softness. There can't be. Never again.
"It's time."
My words echo between us, dark and menacing. When I reach for her arm, she bolts. Pure instinct drives her from the room and down the hall, completely naked. I prowl after her, and panic makes her eyes wide when she glances over her shoulder to see me closing in.
She pauses for a split second when she reaches the landing, trying to decide the best route for her escape, but she should know there are none. When she turns toward the stairs, I growl behind her, reaching out and narrowly missing her as she picks up speed.
I can see it happening as if it's in slow motion. She tilts to the right, stumbling as she grapples for balance. And then her hip bumps against the banister, and it jars her entire body as she rebounds and begins to topple forward.
"Fuck," I snarl, reaching out and grabbing her by the hair just in time, yanking her back against my body. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"
She screams the most horrific scream I've ever heard, wild like an animal as I haul her back and begin to drag her away.
"Help me!" she pleads. "Somebody please, help me!"
Mercedes appears at the top of the landing, a strained expression on her face as she takes in the scene before her. Ivy is kicking and clawing, attempting to fight her way out of my arms. When she throws her head back into my face, it collides with my lips and teeth, piercing my flesh as blood starts to drip down my chin.
"Fucking stop!" I roar, grabbing her chin so forcefully my knuckles turn white.
"Santiago," Mercedes calls out. "What is going on?"
"Go back to your room. This doesn't concern you."
"Please!" Ivy begs her. "Please don't let him do this."
"Santi—" Mercedes's voice breaks as I drag Ivy back up the stairs and turn us in the direction of my bedroom. She doesn't follow.
Ivy begins crying in earnest as I haul her down the corridor. She renews her fight, trying like hell to get away. Her heels collide with my shins. Her head with my shoulder. Nails down my forearms. When I hiss another warning at her, she only fights harder.
Finally, I come to a stop, forcing her facedown onto the cold marble as I dig my knee into her back and wrangle her arms behind her. When I've got them in place, I hold her down with my weight as I unbutton my dress shirt and use it as a makeshift bind, knotting her wrists together with one sleeve and her ankles with the other. She's hogtied and thoroughly exhausted when I hoist her up again, carrying her down the hall like an animal headed for the slaughterhouse.
