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"No, but I did threaten to kill her if she ever touches me again," I confess, joining in her laughter.
"Well, that's a start, I suppose. Next time, though, don't forget the punch," she advises with amusement.
Our laughter fills the silence, and in that moment, I'm flooded with a sense of fulfillment. The chapter of my life involving Jackson and the Blackharts is closed, and I have people like Seraphina in my life. I can finally live in peace.
"Sera, I need to think about my next steps," I say, shifting my position on the bed to prop myself up. "I need... a job, maybe even school. Who knows? Maybe I'll even start dating," I suggest, and we both burst into laughter again at that.
"You, dating? Now that's a sight I'd like to see," she teases in a light tone.
Despite our laughter, I know she understands the weight of my words. I'm talking about building a life, my life, without Jackson. Without the weight of elite social expectations. We chat about possible jobs, debating the merits of different careers. Sera even brings up her cousin's school, knowing my love for learning before my life turned to shit.
"Make sure to go out," she adds. "Meet new people. Take a chance."
"I will, Sera. In due time," I assure her, the anticipation of a fresh beginning stirring within me.
After we say our goodbyes and hang up, I rise from the bed, and stretch. I make my way to the bathroom to run a hot bath to soothe my stiff muscles. As I wait for it to fill, I look at my reflection in the mirror. I'm going to wash away the remnants of today's sadness.
As the water laps against my skin, I soak in the tub, the comforting heat slowly seeping into my bones. The scent of lavender from the bath salts fills the air, giving a calming presence in the quiet bathroom. Time seems to lose its meaning as I simply exist in this moment of tranquility, letting the warmth soothe the lingering tension from today's events. It's only when I notice my fingers turning pruny that I realize how long I've been in the tub.
With a sigh, I slowly rise out of the bath, the cool air making my skin tingle as droplets of water trickle down my body. I wrap a fluffy towel around myself and pad back towards the bedroom, relishing the soft carpet under my bare feet. Slipping under the cool sheets, I can't help but smile. For the first time in a long time, I can anticipate a peaceful night's sleep. The promise of a fresh start when the sun rises is a comforting thought, and as I close my eyes, I let it lull me into a deep, restful slumber.
9
CHAPTER 9
Damien
My grip tightens on the railing of the balcony as I stare out into the night. Crickets chirp loudly while the light breeze softly touches my cheeks as my mind wanders to my brother again. Yeah, the guy was an asshole, but he was my brother. I sigh heavily as tiredness seeps in, but soon, fury boils my blood, demanding that I get my pound of flesh for the crime committed against my family.
Once news from the family doctor reached my ears, I knew my brother’s death wasn’t an accident. Someone had poisoned him, and they did it right under my fucking nose. The audacity of this person to come into my brother's home and disrespect my family has me shaking with a vengeance. I’ve been working for the past week to figure out who my brother’s killer is. There were a lot of people who had access to Jackson, and I’m slowly making my way through each and every one of them. I walk back into my home office and sit at my desk. Victor walks in and takes his usual seat on the couch.
"What have you got?" I ask, leaning back in my chair and interlacing my fingers behind my neck. My intense gaze rests on him.
Victor shifts back further into the couch with a sigh of frustration. "Nothing. I’ve got nothing. I haven't found anything that links anyone to your brother’s murder," he says with a growl.
The room suddenly feels tenser. I rub my temples as more anger seeps into my bones. I had hoped Victor would have found something, anything, by now.
"Are we sure it’s not the fucking Hawthorns?” I question, my mind trying to piece together the puzzle.
They were my first and most obvious guess, given our history, because they never shied away from taking credit for their actions. However, they’re silent on this. I’m sure my brother had his share of enemies, but I can’t think of a single one.
Victor shakes his head. "No, they haven't claimed ownership of this crime," he responds.
I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair. This complicates things. If it's not the Hawthorns, then the list of suspects just got a whole lot fucking longer. I glance at Victor, my determination simmering beneath the surface.
"Then we have to widen our search, look at every possible angle," I declare.
He nods in agreement. “What about the supposed informant? That must be how they got close enough to Jackson. They knew him.”
The moment I first heard about a potential informant, I dispatched my most trusted men to probe the shadows, to listen for whispers that could lead us closer to the truth. I had them tail several of the Hawthorns, keeping a keen eye on their every move. I even went as far as to assign a few of them, specifically to Isabella, feeling a strange mix of suspicion over her sudden marriage to my brother. There was a moment today, a mere second, when our eyes met, and I felt... something.
Isabella Blackhart is nothing but trouble. My men keep eyes on her. However, it’s all in vain. They all report back with the same answer. Nothing. Not a single lead. Not a hint of betrayal. It’s as if this informant is nothing but a fucking myth, but I know better. Someone is out there messing with our operations and my family. The frustration gnaws at me. We're back at square one, and Jackson's killer is still out there.
“I’m working on that. That’s why I’ve been interviewing every person from the party,” I tell him. “Go finish your search and send in the next person waiting.”
I’ve got more interviews to conduct. It might be the day of Jackson’s funeral, but I won’t rest until I exact my revenge. Victor opens the door, and James walks into the room, his face pale and his hands shaking slightly. I motion for him to sit in the chair opposite me. My tone is cold as I start the questioning.
“James, you were Jackson's driver on the night of the party, correct?" I ask, my gaze penetrating his, forcing him to meet my eyes.
