Page 82 of Too Good to Be True

I’d never taken a sleeping pill. I didn’t know how long it would take to work.

I pulled the covers up high.

And within minutes, I was out like a light.

We were on the moors, walking and holding hands.

“It was a perfect moment, wasn’t it?” I asked.

“Perfect,” Ian agreed.

The wind swept my hair into my face.

I shook my head to shake it away.

“Why don’t you give me heather?” I asked.

“Because you’re carnations.”

“Not roses?”

“Roses are for countesses. You’re nothing but easy pussy.”

I turned to him, pulling my hand away.

He lunged at me like he wanted to harm me.

I started running.

I made it to the stairs at the front of Duncroft in a blink.

It was now dark.

I had to get there.

I had to stop it.

Or she’d be broken.

I leaped up the steps two at a time.

I made it to the foyer, but the chandelier and sconces were all lit and all that light bouncing off the white, it was so bright, it was blinding.

I skidded to a halt.

That was when I heard the scream.

I looked up.

The dress was orange.

So orange.

She was falling so fast, the silk was beating against the air, slapping against her body.

She hit with a thud, the same thud I’d heard my first night there, and a nauseating crunch.

I screamed.

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