I didn’t bother to go through the whole pretending-to-get-ready-for-bed-in-my-room routine. I went straight to Flower Girl’s room and knocked on her door.

After three knocks and radio silence, I pushed the door open a few inches.

The room was empty.

“Petar!”

My roar nearly tore my vocal cords and likely caused the windows some damage. My estate manager was there within seconds, having never heard me raise my voice before.

I was sorting through her closet, trying to see if she’d left some of her essentials here. The things she loved and cherished the most.

She hadn’t.

Dammit.

“Sir, do you need anything?” Petar said from the doorway.

I turned to him.

“Yes. I need to know where the fuck is my wife?”

By the look on his face, I wasn’t done shocking people with my recent use of profanity. He snapped quickly, shaking his head.

“I…ah…she…she didn’t say. I figured she was going on a weekend somewhere?”

“And why would you figure that?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Well, because she took several suitcases with her and didn’t want any help with them.”

“Did she say where she was going?” I demanded.

“No, sir.”

“How many suitcases did she take with her?”

“Quite a few.”

“Do you know how to count, Petar?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now’s the time to use those math skills and give me a fucking number.”

He gulped, doing the math with his fingers.

“Seven. She took seven suitcases, sir.”

“And you thought she was going for a weekend,” I lamented. I was surrounded by idiots. He swallowed hard, about to say something, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. I stormed into my room. A part of me wanted to chase her ass and bring her back home, where she should be, but another acknowledged that I’d done quite enough of twisting her arm to my will, and that she could very well decide to testify against me in the Arrowsmith case if I continued pushing her.

The thought shocked me.

The idea of Persephone sitting on the stand telling people how I’d mistreated her sickened me.

I grabbed my oak desk, looking out the window, digging my fingers into it so hard, the wood broke into splinters. I clutched the surface until my fingers were bloodied and shaking with exhaustion. Until the tremors in my body ceased.

Don’t lose it.

Don’t lose it because of a woman.

Don’t lose it at all.

I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, about to text Sam.

He had to tell his men to stop following her.

Then I had to tell her I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else.

I slid my thumb over the screen just as I got an incoming message.

Persephone: You refuse to let me go, but you won’t have me. If you won’t get a divorce, I will. You can’t keep me against my will. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t come anywhere near me. Don’t worry. I won’t file until after the trial against Green Living is over. Your secret’s safe with me. You wanted to marry a stranger. Congratulations. You just made me one.

“I’m going to kill my brother,” Sailor announced.

She was standing in the middle of Belle’s studio, cradling her baby bump.

My sister, Ash, and I were tucked on the couch inside a giant throw, sipping wine in glasses the size of fishbowls. I called the girls for an emergency meeting the minute I’d left my house.

My husband’s house.

Our marriage wasn’t real, and neither was our partnership.

Right now, both seemed in real jeopardy of surviving the latest blow.

“You’ll off Sam, I’ll murder Kill,” Belle talked to Sailor, rubbing my arm reassuringly. “I’m leaning toward castrating him and letting him bleed out. Not necessarily using a blunt object. Something that would make the process slow and painful.”

“Medically speaking, I don’t think there’s a non-painful way to castrate a man to death,” Ash murmured into her wine glass, her eyes flying in my direction. “Was it really that bad?”

“Yes, it was,” Sailor retorted before I had the chance to answer. “You know Pers, she’d never breathe a bad word about someone if her life depended on it. Hunter was there, and he told me himself. Said he was shocked by Kill’s behavior. Recently, he was under the impression Cillian and you had a good thing going.”

“Honestly? I was dumb enough to think the same.” I burrowed into my sister’s neck. Now that I didn’t have to be strong and resilient anymore, all I wanted was to break down and cry in the arms of the people I knew would never judge me.

Aisling wrinkled her nose, placing a hand on my knee.

“You know I think Kill having private investigators follow you is deplorable, but you never actually told us what the nature of your relationship was. Again, I’m not trying to make excuses for my brother. I grew up seeing him at his best and his worst, so I know both versions of him are frightening to the average person. But your relationship was never explained,” Ash said gently. “I just want to make sure we’re getting the entire picture so we can advise you accordingly.”

“Ash’s got a point.” Belle peered down at me. “You just told us you’re getting hitched one day, then poof!” She snapped her fingers. “You were a married woman. Every time we see you with your husband, he looks at you like you’re the brightest star in the sky. At the same time, we all know you did not go the usual couple route. Tell us how you became Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”

The question wasn’t unwarranted. What we had looked bizarre to outsiders.

Heck, it was weird from the inside, too.

My friends rolled with the punches because that was what we did—we had each other’s back unconditionally—but nothing about my marriage made sense.

I grabbed a handful of tissues, dabbing my nose and eyes. My head hurt from all the crying. Taking a breath, I started.

“When Paxton left me, he didn’t leave me with nothing. He left me with a hundred thousand dollars of debt. It was the worst eight months of my life. The loan sharks he’d been indebted to chased me around, lurked outside my workplace, patrolled Belle’s apartment…it got real bad. They even physically attacked me one time.”