Chapter 183: ~ 183
Chapter 183
~ Annie ~
I had to be strong. That was the mantra I repeated until the words lost their meaning and became nothing more than a hum in my blood. I refused to let my mind drift back to the image of the beautiful, guarded woman in Clinton’s apartment—the woman who occupied the space in his heart that I had spent a lifetime trying to earn. Clinton had hurt me. That was an objective fact, a cold reality I had to pack away like winter clothes I no longer needed.
When I had returned to the estate the night of his birthday, my mother was waiting, her face alight with maternal curiosity. I had forced a smile so bright it made my face ache, weaving a lie about a wonderful celebration. I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t bear to see that look of pity in her eyes, the one that said she’d always known I was chasing a ghost.
By mid-morning, the air was already thick and humid, the kind of New York summer day that made the very pavement feel like it was breathing. I had an appointment later with my friend Candice, who owned a small, trendy cafe in the Bronx, to discuss a design project. With hours to kill, the turquoise shimmer of the estate’s swimming pool called to me.
Clinton had seen to the renovation himself. Even when we were kids, he hated seeing things fall into ruin. He told me once that he kept the estate beautiful because it was the only thing left of his mother’s memory—a physical sanctuary that his father, Dorian, seemed intent on ignoring. It was one of the few things I still loved about him: his quiet, stubborn loyalty to the dead.
I changed into a bikini, grabbed a plush towel, and began to head downstairs. As I passed my mother’s bedroom, the sound of her voice stopped me. She was on a call, her tone warm and familiar.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
I froze, pressing my ear to the heavy oak door. A faint, crackling voice responded. I’d know that cadence anywhere. It was Clinton.
"I’m fine, Trudy. How have you been?"
"I’ve been good," my mother said, oblivious to my eavesdropping.
"Annie told me the birthday celebration went well. She was so excited to surprise you."
I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t lied for him; I’d lied so my mother wouldn’t feel the sharp edge of my disappointment.
"Oh? She said that?" Clinton’s voice sounded surprised, perhaps even a little guilty. "The surprise was...unexpected. It was good, Trudy. Really."
"Well, that’s my Annie for you," Mom chuckled. "She lives for those moments."
I felt a pang of annoyance. Does she have to confirm my life with him? I thought, rubbing my temples.
"How is she, by the way?" Clinton asked. The question sounded heavy, as if he were testing the air.
"She’s good. Are you two planning on seeing each other again soon?"
"It depends," Clinton said, his voice dropping an octave. "On if she actually wants to see me."
I shook my head, my arms folding defensively over my chest. Of course you’d make it my choice, I thought bitterly.
"Send my regards to her," Clinton added before hanging up. "Tell her I asked about her."
As soon as the line went dead, I bolted. I raced down the stairs and out into the bright, searing sunlight before my mother could open her door and catch me. I needed the water. I needed to drown out the sound of his voice and the complicated web of lies we were all weaving.
I dove into the pool, the cold water hitting my skin like a shock to the system. I swam laps until my lungs burned, trying to wash away the memory of Octavia and the way Clinton had looked at her.
As I broke the surface, gasping for air, I saw him.
Uncle Dorian was standing at the top of the stone steps, his phone pressed to his ear. He looked different today—sharper, somehow. The air of a man who had finally seized something he’d been stalking for years. He saw me, said a few final words into the phone, and clicked it shut. To my surprise, his usual shadow, the bodyguard Kieran, wasn’t behind him.
He began to walk toward the pool, a strange, polished smile on his face. "Annie," he called out. "How are you doing today?"
He perched on the edge of a deck chair, watching me. It was unsettling. The last time we’d spoken, he’d been cold, dismissing me as a nuisance. Now, he looked at me with a terrifying kind of interest.
"I’m fine, Uncle Dorian," I replied, treading water in the shallow end.
"Can I speak to you for a moment?"
I hesitated, then hoisted myself out of the pool. I wrapped the towel around me, feeling suddenly exposed under his calculating gaze. "Is everything okay?" I asked cautiously, taking the seat opposite him.
"Everything is more than fine," he said, leaning back. "I wanted to apologize for the other day. I was in a foul mood. Corporate stress, you understand."
I stared at him. "Sure. You’re forgiven."
"I noticed the way you defended Clinton,"
Dorian said, his eyes tracking the movement of a bird overhead before snapping back to mine. "You care deeply for him. You always have, ever since you were children and he had that...little crush on you."
I looked down, picking at a loose thread on my towel. "He doesn’t have that crush anymore, Uncle Dorian. We both know that."
"I see." Dorian nodded slowly. "But you love him. And I don’t mean as a brother."
I bristled. "Where is this going? I’m confused why you’re suddenly interested in my love life."
"Don’t be defensive, my dear. I’m a father who has lost touch with his son. I’m curious. I miss the gist, the laughter...I miss knowing who he is. And since you spend more time with him than anyone..."
I bit my tongue. I wanted to tell him that Clinton and I were effectively over—that his heart was currently bleeding for a married woman. But something stopped me. A survival instinct.
"Our friendship is...complicated," I said vaguely. "He has someone else in his life now."
Dorian sat up, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "What is her name?"
I hesitated, but the name felt like poison I needed to spit out.
"Octavia Herman. She’s married to some rich guy."
Dorian’s lips curled into a smirk that sent a chill down my spine. "He’s not just a ’rich guy,’ Annie. He’s Franklin Flemington."
My heart jumped. "How do you know his name?"
"The Flemingtons and I go a long way back," Dorian said dismissively. "So...Clinton is pining for Octavia. That must hurt you quite a bit."
"It does," I whispered, the honesty slipping out before I could check it. "But what can I do?"
Dorian leaned in, his voice dropping to a smooth, eerie silk. "You can do quite a lot, actually."
The way he said it made the humid air feel freezing. I sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"
"You love Clinton. You want to be the one he looks at with that desperate, romantic devotion. You don’t want to be the ’best friend’ who gets the scraps of his attention while he dreams of another man’s wife."
I swallowed hard. "No. I don’t."
"I can help you, Annie. I can give you exactly what you want." Dorian’s smirk widened, showing a flash of teeth. "But I need something in return."
"How could you possibly help me make him love me?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and a dark, shameful curiosity.
"We get rid of the distraction," Dorian said simply. "Help me remove Octavia from the picture—permanently—and I will ensure Clinton realizes that you are the only woman who truly matters. I will guide him right back to your arms. That is a father’s promise."
The world seemed to go silent. My mind was a storm of conflicting images: Clinton’s face, Octavia’s sad eyes, and the sheer, terrifying power of the man sitting across from me. It was a deal with the devil, wrapped in the promise of my greatest desire.
"So, what’s it going to be, Annie?" Dorian asked, his gaze pinning me to the chair. "Are you with me, or are you going to spend the rest of your life watching him love a another woman?"
I stared at him, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t know if I was one of the good guys anymore.
