Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Why?”
“Because Roland has only ever been good to me, and Melanie was good too, but . . . some of the things in there would have made him look like a horrible man if the detectives had read it, and he was already grieving. He didn’t need their personal matters getting out too.”
“Yadira, there are things in here that I think would hurt him if he ever read them . . .”
“Which gives you all the more reason to stop reading them while you can.” She moved closer, so close I could feel the heat of her breath on my cold cheek. Her eyes studied mine and she touched my hand. “I worry that if you keep doing this—sneaking around and hiding these from him—lying to him—”
“How did you know—”
“I worry that your marriage with him will end up like theirs was, Samira. And that’s just me being honest. I heard their arguing. I saw both their tears. I saw Melanie at her lowest right before she died, okay? You don’t want to get to that point too.”
I swallowed hard, looking her in the eyes.
“I know I can’t tell you what to do here. I know you’re curious about her. Just . . . please, be careful.” She pulled her hand away and gripped the collar of her jacket. “And, for the love of God, don’t believe everything you read in those.”
I watched her walk away, the cold ground crunching beneath her, then I turned toward the mansion when she was gone. I went straight to the relaxation room, sat on the sofa with a blanket and, despite Yadira’s warning and clearly a glutton for punishment, I cracked the new journal open to the first page.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
When Dylan’s betrayal happened, it was during that odd gap between Christmas and New Year’s, when you don’t exactly know what to do with yourself after the high from opening gifts and spending time with loved ones, pigging out on homemade food and desserts and alcohol. You sort of coast through the days like a plane passenger while life is the pilot, and wait in anticipation for the landing of New Year’s Eve so that you can scream resolutions, get drunk, and pretend the next year will be your year.
On December 29th, I texted Miley and asked what her plans were for New Year’s Eve. She didn’t respond. So, I sent her another text the following day, to which she didn’t respond until later that night. It was strange for her to respond so slowly, so at first I thought maybe she was working late—the stores were busier during the holidays with longer hours and she was working retail—but then I remembered a specific moment after Christmas dinner, when she and Dylan were sitting in the den in front of the fire.
I brought tea to share with her instead of another glass of wine that she’d requested, and she had her hand on top of his. When I walked in, he quickly snatched his hand away and looked away from her, as if nothing had happened. I had been drinking, so of course I brushed it off and pretended it was nothing—that Dylan would never betray me, a woman he’d made a promise to—but that night, he drove Miley home because she’d drunk too much and he didn’t like to drink at all, and he didn’t come back until the next morning.
When I asked him where he’d been, he told me he’d gone to a bar to meet a friend. But there were no bars open in Sageburg on Christmas night.
Still, I brushed it off, pretended it was nothing. Maybe he’d gone somewhere else and didn’t want to tell me and it was none of my damn business to know. That’s what I told myself.
But then the next night, he got home late again.
And the next.
And I realized Miley had stopped asking about Dylan completely.
When she did get back to me about New Year’s Eve, she declined and said she had other plans, which I found really fucking odd because my sister had no friends in Sageburg that I was aware of.
So I watched the ball drop with Roland and expected Dylan to celebrate with us, but he’d slunk his way out around eleven that night. I saw him with his coat on, a black beanie on his head, and he didn’t stop to say goodbye, didn’t even look our way, he just walked past the living room and left the house.
All of it was fucking shady, so when the night was over and the New Year had arrived and my husband had passed out on the sofa from too many bourbons, I got in my car and drove to Miley’s apartment.
And sure enough, Dylan’s car was parked in the lot. I remember my grip tightening around the steering wheel, my face getting hot, my throat thickening with emotions that I couldn’t quite understand at the time.