I Faked My Death, He Lost His Soul

“What are you laughing at?” Victor demanded, unnerved by the sound.

I lifted my head. My eyes, cold and sharp as broken glass, locked on Seraphina, who was still perfecting her wounded-dove act. “You enjoy performing? Let me give you a scene you’ll never forget.”

I moved.

My hand shot out, grabbing a heavy, solid-silver letter opener from the vanity. Before anyone could react, I drove it down with all my strength.

It pierced the back of Seraphina’s hand, the tip embedding in the wooden floorboards beneath the rug.

A scream, genuine and shrill this time, tore from her throat. Blood welled around the silver, vivid against her pale skin.

“You… you vicious creature! Out!” Victor was trembling, apoplectic. He pointed to the door. “Get out of this house! I will not harbor a viper like you!”

He shouted for the household guards. Two large men appeared and seized my arms, hauling me from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. A small suitcase followed, tossed unceremoniously onto the gravel driveway beside me.

I stumbled, then righted myself.

Expressionlessly, I rubbed my bruised arm. Then I bent down, unzipped the suitcase, and pulled out my mother’s sapphire necklace. I clenched it in my fist until the metal bit into my palm.

I took one last look at the mansion—ornate, cold, a gilded prison.

Then I turned and walked away.

I hadn’t gone three blocks when the sky opened up. A cold, spring deluge soaked me to the skin in seconds. The chill seeped through my clothes, into my bones. I shivered violently, ducking under the narrow awning of a closed boutique.

I hugged myself, watching the rain curtain the street, feeling a vast, empty desolation settle in my chest.

The low purr of an engine cut through the drumming rain. A familiar black Bentley glided to a stop at the curb.

The window lowered. William’s profile was sharp against the gray interior.

He saw me—drenched, shivering, standing in the runoff from the awning. His jaw tightened.

He got out, not bothering with an umbrella. In three steps he was before me. “Get in the car.”

“I don’t need your help.”

He didn’t argue. His hand clamped around my bicep, a grip of sheer force, and he all but carried me to the passenger side, shoving me inside.

Blessed, dry heat enveloped me. He tossed a folded towel into my lap and drove in silence to his fortified townhouse.

Inside, he thrust a bundle of his own clothes—a soft cotton shirt and trousers—at me and pointed to a bathroom. When I emerged, changed, my wet hair in a messy knot, he had a first-aid kit open on the low table in his study.

“Sit,” he ordered. He uncapped a tube of ointment. His touch was clinical as he applied it to the bruise on my cheek. “What happened?”

I kept my mouth shut.

The doorbell chimed.

William went to answer it. Standing on the step, hand wrapped in a thick white bandage, face pale and wan, was Seraphina.

“William…” Her voice trembled, her eyes welling with tears on command. “Isabella was thrown out. I was so worried… Even after what she did to me, we’re sisters. I wanted to find her, to bring her home.”

I walked into the foyer, leaning against the doorframe. “Seraphina, if you don’t stop this pathetic act, I will rip your lying tongue out myself.”

“Isabella!” William’s voice was a whip-crack. “When will this end? Assault, attempted murder, stabbing a woman’s hand to a floor! Is this how a Caruso behaves? Seraphina is showing you mercy, and you spit in her face?”

Seraphina fluttered forward, clinging to William’s sleeve. “It’s alright. I just want her to come home.”

“Apologize to her,” William commanded, his eyes boring into me.

“Never.”

The argument escalated. William reached for me. I shoved his hand away. He grabbed my shoulder. I twisted.

In the struggle, William’s elbow slammed against a side table.

A polished silver thermal carafe, the kind that kept coffee scalding for hours, wobbled, tipped, and crashed to the marble floor.

It exploded.

A torrent of near-boiling liquid erupted across the foyer.

Time seemed to slow.

William moved on pure instinct. He pivoted, throwing his body around Seraphina, who was closer to him, shielding her with his back. The spray hit his jacket, hissed.

I was on the other side.

I had no shield.

The blistering coffee splashed across my legs, my left arm, the side of my neck.

Agony, white-hot and searing, tore through me. A choked gasp escaped my lips. I folded over, vision swimming.

William quickly checked Seraphina. A few drops had caught her bandaged hand. The skin beneath was pink.

Satisfied, he released her and finally looked at me.

I was crumpled on the floor, clutching my arm. The skin was already an angry, blistering red.

His eyes widened fractionally. He took an involuntary step toward me.

“William!” Seraphina’s cry was perfectly timed. She caught his arm again, her voice a whisper of pain and compassion. “I’m fine, it’s just a sting… but Isabella… she looks really hurt. Shouldn’t you…?”

William stopped. His gaze flicked from my contorted face of pain to Seraphina’s beautifully concerned one. He remembered the letter opener. The blood. My defiance.

His expression hardened into something cold and final.

He looked away from me. He bent and scooped Seraphina into his arms. “Leave her. The pain might teach her the consequences her actions should have.”

He carried Seraphina out into the rain, never glancing back.

I sat on the cold marble, my body a map of fire, my heart a hollow, freezing void.

Teeth gritted against the nausea and dizziness, I used my uninjured right hand to fumble my phone from my pocket.

My fingers shook as I dialed.

I called the ambulance myself.