His eyes narrow. “You’ve proven untrustworthy too many times to be anything else.”
“How far?”
“Four weeks. Five.”
“It’s not possible.”
He leans down to take my chin in his hand and force my head up. “It is reality. My child grows inside your belly. You will not hurt him again.”
Does he think I really wanted to hurt a baby? I tug free of his grip. “Get out.” My voice breaks.
“You will never be alone again. Isn’t that what you’ve been whining about?”
“Get out.” I can’t look at him as my hand moves over my belly, my throat tight, vision blurry with tears. I’m pregnant. I am pregnant.
“Marco will bring you home once you’re released later today.”
I look at him now. “Your house is not my home. It will never be my home.”
His jaw tightens, and he stares at me for a long minute before he relaxes it. “Do you think that matters to me, Ivy?” he asks, head tilted. “Do you think I care even a little bit whether or not you feel at home in my house?”
“The other night, you…What happened to us?”
“Us? What us are you referring to?”
“You’re not human. Do you know that?”
His eyes narrow, and I watch his Adam’s apple work as he swallows. “I know what I am, dear wife.” He leans toward me, and I find myself leaning the back of my head into the bed. “I know perfectly well. And more importantly, I know what you are.”
34
Santiago
"How is your wife?" Judge greets me in the entryway.
"She's...alive." I swallow and glance over his shoulder, beyond the vast space of his foyer.
The familiar notes of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” are a distant murmur in another part of the house, and it brings me back to another time and place.
"She will come home soon, I hope?" He gestures for me to follow him into the sitting room.
Home.
That word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Ivy said my house would never be her home, and I know she's right. Too much has happened. We are living like strangers beneath one roof. A practice that is not uncommon in arranged marriages within The Society. But ours feels wrong. Tainted. And there is no fixing it.
"I believe I made a mistake." The confession spills from my lips freely as I collapse onto the sofa and close my eyes. I'm too exhausted to keep the truth inside.
"How so?" Judge asks.
I blink up at the ceiling. The music changes to a faster, angrier tune.
"I never should have married her."
The words settle over us, dark and heavy, much like the current atmosphere of my life.
"But you did," Judge responds, unmoved by my admission. "Why regret it now?"
I drag a hand over my eyes, attempting to revive myself. But how can I? All I see is Ivy, lying lifeless on the floor. I can't erase that image from my mind. I can't deny I'm responsible for her actions. And logical or not, I can't forgive her for the constant throbbing ache in my chest.
What is this pain? This feeling of suffocation I get when I think of how desperate she was to escape me. I don't recognize it. I don't know how to navigate it or how to make it stop. I've tried, but it won't go away.
She's having my child. Everything is as it should be. But she hates me so much that she would rather kill herself than continue in this life with me. I can't say I should have ever expected anything else. There was never any possibility of changing the rules of the game halfway through.
"This plan was never going to work," I tell Judge. "It was foolish."
The housekeeper appears, asking if I'd like a drink, which I decline. Judge tells her to set dinner for an hour later, and she leaves again. Then he leans back, cocks his head to the side, and studies me.
"You're falling for her."
"Don't be ridiculous." I wave his suggestion away. "This isn't a joke."
"I'm not joking."
When I look at him, I can see that he's not. His face is as serious as ever, and it concerns me.
"You really think me that weak?"
"It's only a weakness if you believe it is." He arches a brow at me. "I think the only real conflict you're having is that you never intended to. But you are. And now you have to face the facts."
"You know I'm not capable of those emotions." I laugh grimly. "I can't believe you'd even suggest it."
"Alright." Leaning back, he crosses one leg over the other and takes a sip from the glass of whiskey in his hand. "Then let’s discuss your options.”
I don't think I'm going to like wherever he's going with this, but for reasons I can't quite understand, I allow him to go on.
"How do you plan to kill her?" he asks. "When all is said and done."