Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
I looked away, cracking my knuckles. I was experiencing an array of negative emotions toward Arrowsmith, from resentment to pity.
I was feeling again, whether I wanted to or not.
“You and I, we were in the business of pain. But with Tinder…” Andrew scrubbed his face. “I never realized I was hurting him. I thought I was helping him. Your wife said she will make this go away if I attend therapy three times a week and live in a different house. I gave Joelle full custody yesterday morning. I can only see my own children while supervised now.”
My wife was fucking fantastic. It was hard to believe I’d mistaken her for a nervous, innocent girl who couldn’t stand up for herself.
Persephone was both the goddess of spring and the queen of the underworld.
“You have until the end of the day,” I repeated, taking a step back. The need to leave made the soles of my feet itch. I had better places to be. Better things to do. All of them connected to what mattered. To the person who mattered. “Drop the lawsuit and resign, then write an extensive press release kissing my ass and admitting your wrongdoings.”
I turned around to leave, knowing he was going to play into my hands.
“Cillian,” Andrew called out. I stopped, not turning around.
“How’d you do it?” he asked. “Teach yourself to feel again.”
I had a hunch I knew why he was asking me this question.
That, in fact, I wasn’t the only person who learned how to stop feeling in the process we’d gone through together that year in England.
Andrew was scarred and battered, too.
I shook my head as I slid back into my car.
“I didn’t,” I muttered. “She taught me.”
Driving back to my house, I realized that I’d taken two full days off work—more than I had since I’d finished college. I went up to my study and retrieved the contract. The one in which I’d handed over my soul to Persephone.
I was going to leave it for her in the mail. Emmabelle’s mail. Persephone had moved back to her sister’s house yesterday, after visiting my office.
I’d tried to implement rules, terms, and conditions for my wife to have my soul. Never taking into consideration the fact that the goddamn L-word did not ask for permission to be felt.
It didn’t matter what I wanted to give Persephone.
Because my love for her was a given.
And it was time she knew it.
“This came in the mail for you.” Belle tossed a thick envelope onto the kitchenette table as she made her way to the shower, stretching her arms.
It was seven in the morning. I was freshly showered, dressed, and ready for work. I hadn’t been able to sleep last night, or the night before it.
Ever since I’d left Cillian, I could barely function, but I knew I had to let him go.
For him.
For me.
“Don’t forget, we promised to visit Sailor at five. Let me know if you want me to pick you up from work.” Belle proceeded into the bathroom after a long night of work. Goes without saying, I left the Telsa back at the apartment Kill had given me.
Grabbing the envelope, I frowned.
I flipped it back and forth before tearing the thing open.
My soul-purchasing contract was there, duly signed, notarized, and apostilled.
My heart hammered against my rib cage. I unfolded the contract with shaky fingers. When a note slipped out of it, I recognized my husband’s long, bold strokes.
My soul is yours.
No terms attached.
Let me know if you have any conditions for keeping it.
I will meet them all.
Cillian
Tears welled up in my eyes.
Kill didn’t believe in souls. He was giving me something that was of no value to him. As much as I wanted to believe it, I knew I shouldn’t. Every time I chose optimism over realism in our relationship, I got burned.
Supply and demand.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe he had a soul. I didn’t question the existence of what he’d offered me. But as I ripped the contract to shreds, disposing it in the garbage can, I began to follow the footprints of Cillian’s mind.
He knew Sailor had given birth to Rooney.
Figured the sword was close to his neck, that it was only a matter of time until Hunter produced male heirs.
Wanted me back in his house.
Back, period.
To use.
To get his rocks off.
To impregnate and discard.
I wasn’t falling into his cobweb. He saved me. I saved him. As far as I was concerned, we’d settled the score.
It was time we both moved on.
I turned around, grabbed my bag, and hurried out the door to the bike I’d parked outside the building.
Nothing of his was mine anymore.
The next day, I received a text message from my husband first thing in the morning.
I had to rub my eyes twice to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. He never texted me. At least, he never initiated the texts. I proceeded with caution, wondering what he’d sent me.