“I want to see it,” Isla’s hollow voice cuts in. She’s looking at Officer Miller, not me, and holds out her hand to him. “Let me look at it.”
He hesitates before handing it to her. She holds the phone in her line of sight, scrolls, and presses her thumb to the screen, all the while remaining as stoic as she’s been this whole time. After several minutes of scrolling, she flippantly tosses the phone onto the coffee table, where it lands with a jarring thump, and she stands up.
Her posture is flawless as she clasps her hands at the level of her waist, chin lifted in a dignified manner. “Thank you for meeting with me, Officer Miller.”
He nods at her. “Of course. I’m sorry for the unpleasant nature of everything.”
Her throat pulses. “Please direct any further communication regarding this case to the Duke. I know everything I need to know.”
He eyes her, and then me, and then her again, because Isla now appears to have the countenance of a ticking time bomb. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you again.” She turns to me, her vacant, russet eyes finally meeting mine. “If it’s acceptable to you, I’m going to retire to my room, Your Grace.”
Your Grace is how subordinates are supposed to address me, and I know her sudden use of it is a passive aggressive jab because she knows as well as I do that the turn-of-events of this afternoon has vindicated her. She’s going to kick the shit out of me later, and I’m going to let her, and I’m going to deserve every last bit of it.
I offer a nod that’s low enough to be a standing bow because I know she’s got the upper hand in this relationship now, I am at her total mercy, and she knows it.
At least… I hope she does.
I am prepared to let her bury me for this if she chooses.
“Do whatever you need to, darling,” I return, and her eyes flash at the term of endearment. “I’ll check on you momentarily.”
She steps past me and says under her breath, “There is no need.”
Isla approaches the kitchen, crossing around the counter, and retrieves a glass from the cabinet. After filling it with water, she exits the kitchen and marches through the living room to the opposite bedroom suite from mine, because we don’t share a bedroom despite being married, because I was stupid enough to fall for a sick, twisted prank. She pulls the door closed behind her so loudly that the framed art on the walls rattle.
The expression on Officer Miller’s face indicates that he’s reading between the lines, and he stands up. “I can have the phone returned to you after it’s analyzed,” he says, picking up the phone off the coffee table.
I shake my head. “I have no need for it anymore.” I silently inhale and exhale. “I would like to receive any updates you can give me regarding what you find out. I obviously have every intention of ensuring that those… people are punished to the full extent of the law.”
He pockets the phone and picks up the file. “Absolutely. I can have copies of the file sent to you if you’d like.”
I nod. “That would be most helpful.”
He offers me his hand, and we shake, then he makes his way out.
After lingering in the silence of the empty living room for a moment, I march to Isla’s bedroom and let myself in. She’s standing at the window with that same impeccable posture, her back to me.
I approach her, but stop at about a meter away. “Isla.”
“So, I didn’t actually cheat on you.” Her voice is less vacant now, and it pierces the room like an icy blue norther.
My stomach turns again. “It’s clear I was wrong.”
A long, heady silence permeates the room before she speaks again.
“And your belief that I did is the only reason you disappeared all those years ago?”
My throat constricts, but I manage to reply, “Yes.”
“Is it also the only reason you turned into an abusive monster?” she hisses with a sudden razor’s edge in her tone.
I can practically feel myself sinking into the floor with guilt and shame. “I didn’t know, Isla. I obviously quite foolishly believed—”
“You knew me,” she growls, her voice throaty and several octaves lower than I’ve ever heard it, and she whips around. In her hand, at the level of her waist, is a large, flashing, stainless steel kitchen knife.
There’s only one reason she grabbed a knife from the kitchen. And I’ll let her do that if she deems it appropriate.
Isla takes one step closer to me, poising the knife in midair as if preparing to shank me. “When have I ever called you babe? When have I ever used such broken English, even in a text message?” She takes another step forward, but I stay where I am, and she thrusts the blade through the air. “You immediately believed an absolutely absurd worst-case scenario, and then only made a few calls, and didn’t even try to come to me and talk to me about it.”
The rims of my eyes burn. “I’m sorry, Isla.”
“You physically injured me. You verbally abused me. You belittled and humiliated me. You purposely impregnated me with the sole intention of taking my child away from me, and then you dragged me down a flight of stairs, and caused me to lose that child, and then you said I deserved it. That it was my fault. Because of Karma.”
My vision is now blurry with tears, and I can barely get the words past the lump in my throat. “I’m so sor—”
“¡Arrodíllate!” she snaps, lunging toward me.
I immediately, but slowly lower myself to my knees in compliance with her command and lift my palms neutrally.
Her rich brown eyes have gone black with seething, righteous rage, and she takes a long stride to close the distance between us. She slowly raises the knife to the level of my throat and doesn’t so much as blink.
“I do not need to remind you that only one of us has killed a man, evil Duke,” she grits out through clenched teeth. “And though I cannot remember doing it, I was told it was done in self-defense.” She presses the point of the knife against the flesh that dips at the center of my clavicle. “Do you agree with me that I would be justified in killing a man who inflicted such torment and abuse on me?”
I lower my hands, but keep my palms turned upward in surrender. “Yes.”
The small muscles in her jaw pulse, and she presses the blade hard against my skin. I feel the sting of my flesh severing, but I don’t move.
“I should kill you,” she whispers.
I swallow, and the movement of my throat causes the blade to drag and pierce. “You may.”
Isla whips the knife away, fists my collar, and jerks me close to her face. “I do not need your permission for anything anymore.”
Her shallow, yet intense breaths tickle my face, such is her proximity to me. “No, you do not.”
She remains like that, her jaw still pulsing, eyes flashing, but a subtle sheen starts to form on them. The faintest tremor appears on her bottom lip, and the mere sight of it causes my chin to quiver as well.
“I’m so sorry, Isla,” I murmur on a quiet, careful breath.
She sucks in a sharp breath and grips my collar tighter. “I hate you.”
I have no right to utter the words that follow, but they spill from my lips without permission. “You have every right to hate me. But know that I love you still, and I know I was wrong, and my regret and remorse over all of this will send me to an early grave.”