Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

I’ve never been to Anna’s home before, but today I’m not going for a tour and a chat. I’m not even coming to bargain. I bang on the front door of her quaint house near town. Her heels click against the floor before she opens it and stares at me in shock on her doorstep.

I’m sure she’s surprised to see me because I’m coming uninvited, but also because Killian and I are still supposed to be on our trip by the sea.

“Sylvie,” she stammers. “Is Killian all right?”

I push past her, barging into her home and marching right into the sitting room at the back of the house. Much like her first visit to my apartment, I come with some astounding news for her.

“Call it off,” I bark as I slam my bag down on the table.

“Call what off?” she asks, scurrying in behind me.

“The contract, Anna. That stupid fucking contract.” My blood is already boiling, and I know the further we get into the conversation, the hotter I’ll get.

“I don’t understand…”

I slam my hand down again. “You are killing him!”

She puts up her hands in surrender, and I can tell by the look of fear on her face that if I fly off the handle again, I’ll never get my point across. Now is not the time to be angry. Now is the time to be clear.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and refocus. “Anna, you cannot take that house away from Killian. You think you’re helping him, but you’re not. His issues run deep, and forcing him out of that house could kill him.”

“Did something happen?” There’s a tremble in her voice and fear in her eyes.

“Yes, something happened. He had a fucking panic attack on the floor of that B and B in the middle of the night. It looked like he tried to drink the anxiety away but didn’t make it in time. Anna, he’s not well . And that fucking aunt of yours…”

I clench my hands into fists and try to ease my temper again. “I know what happened to your parents, Anna, and I think that awful woman is trying to punish Killian for it. And I refuse to let her get that house from him. I refuse .”

Anna blinks, and a tear slips down her pale cheek. She quickly grabs a tissue off the table and wipes it away. Then she sits on the chair and places her face in her hands. She’s struggling to maintain her composure, but at this point, I want to see her lose it. She should be screaming and crying the same way I am.

But I think this poor motherless girl fell into the wrong hands and did everything she did with the best of intentions. “But the contract is already in place, and the trust says…”

“Fuck the trust!”

“We can’t, Sylvie,” she argues. “The trust states that after one year of marriage, you will inherit the house and hold enough power to transfer the deed to my aunt, which you swore to do in that contract. And that contract is airtight,” she says.

I drop into the seat across from her. “So, what if I break the contract? I just won’t sign the house to her.”

“Then, you’ll owe her the ten million.”

“I don’t have ten million dollars!” I shriek.

“Then you should be careful what you sign,” she replies coldly.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe.

After a moment, she adds in a sniffly whimper. “I don’t want to hurt my brother.”

Opening my eyes, I stare at her imploringly. “Then, don’t let your aunt take it from him. Beg her. Do whatever you have to. Blackmail her. Threaten her.”

“It won’t matter,” she argues. “What’s done is done.”

“Ugh!” I stand up in a huff and cross the room, feeling like a rat in a cage. That same rage that burned through me that night when I ripped the painting flows through me now. I want to lash out at her, at her aunt, at everyone .

And this isn’t even my family. This isn’t my home.

When I reach the window, I take a long, deep breath. And I realize what I have to do.

“So, the only way for Killian to keep his house at this point is if the marriage fails.”

She sniffs, and I see her in my periphery as she looks up toward me. “Yes, technically.”

“And I wouldn’t be indebted to her for anything?”

Anna shakes her head. “No, but…”

Her voice trails, and I feel the needles of emotion starting to form in my throat.

“He would need to sign the divorce papers, and you know he wouldn’t do that, Sylvie.”

“I know he wouldn’t,” I reply as my eyes fill with moisture.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“What are my choices?” I ask, turning toward her and shutting down the faintest sign of weakness.

Her pale brows wrinkle as she contemplates it for a moment. “Technically, if you leave the country for more than thirty days.”

“We don’t have time for that,” I argue. “I’d have to leave now . I can’t just disappear on him.”

“Then…you’d have to cheat on him.”

I drop into the chair and let the realization wash over me. There really is no way out of this that won’t end in catastrophe. I can’t cheat on Killian. I won’t . I won’t even lie about it. It would devastate him.

“I’ll explain it to him,” I say, my voice tight with the threat of tears. “I’ll tell him everything and explain that we have to divorce before the year is up. Then we’ll be fine. He can keep his house, and we can stay together.”

She nods through her tears, but I can see the uncertainty on her face. It matches mine. I’m sure deep down, she’s scared of what this means for her family. To disobey her aunt. To have lied to her brother. To know that nothing can be achieved peacefully. Not really.

“He really had a panic attack?” she whispers.

I nod. “Yes, and he tried to hide it from me. Said he used to have them a lot, which explains why he never leaves.”

I watch as she winces in pain, maybe from remembering what those panic attacks look like. I’m sure she’s been telling herself whatever lie she needs to get through the guilt of what their parents’ death did to her brother. He has put on the facade of someone being fine for nearly two decades. But rather than taking care of anything, they let those wounds fester instead of heal, only making it worse by throwing shame, guilt, and isolation on top of it all.

I may never understand this family, but I don’t have to. I just need to make this right for him.

“Maybe I should tell him,” she says, but I cut her off.

“We can tell him together.”

“When?”

I take a deep breath and work through the dates in my head. The sooner, the better. It’s nearly August, which means we have only a month left.

“Let’s give him a week to recover from the trip. Then we’ll talk to him.”

She nods. “Okay.”

With nothing left to say, I stand up from the chair and cross the room toward to where I dropped my purse. Just as I make my way toward the door, Anna calls, “Sylvie.”

I turn toward her.

“You’ve been really good for him. And I had hoped you’d be enough to get him to leave the house on his own.”

“He needs more than me,” I reply. “He needs you too.”

Her lips tremble as she nods. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

Choked with emotion, I nod.

Then, to my surprise, her mouth lifts in a crooked smirk. “Then, you’ll figure this out. I know you will. I have a feeling you always get what you want.”

Not always , I think to myself. If I had gotten what I wanted, I never would have come here. I never would have needed ten million dollars, and I would have never married a stranger for it.

But I’m here now, and I fully intend to get what I want this time.

***

“Stop the car,” I say as Peter delivers me back home. We’re halfway down the drive toward the house when I see Killian walking through the trees in the same direction.

As the car comes to a stop, I call back, “Thank you,” before shutting the door and jogging over to where my husband is quietly strolling.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

He greets me with a smile as he puts out his arm and welcomes me into his embrace, holding me tight to his enormous chest.

“I found a Q,” he says, and I pull back to stare at him quizzically.

Then, he holds up a tiny round button with the letter Q in the middle. “Is that from the typewriter?” I ask.

He chuckles and then nods. As I gaze up at his face, I can still make out the sunken, tired features of his eyes and the lifelessness of his smile. The panic attack was almost twenty-four hours ago. Is it normal to still look so tired?

People don’t just bounce back that quickly, Sylvie.

“What is that doing all the way out here?” I ask, taking the letter and inspecting it.

“The rain washes everything out,” he says, glancing toward the river. His gaze grows unfocused as he stares into the distance. I clutch his arm and try to squeeze him tighter.

How on earth could they possibly do this to him? It’s not fair. It’s cruel .

But I’m going to make it right. I just have to keep telling myself that.

“I’m sorry our trip was ruined,” he mumbles softly without looking into my eyes.

I grab his face and force his eyes down to me. “I don’t care about the trip. I care about you .”

“It’s not right to keep you locked up in this house with me.”

My stomach sinks as my eyebrows pinch inward. “Don’t say that,” I argue. “I’m not locked up. And I love it here. You know that.”

“For how long, Sylvie? How long can you really stay like this? You’re a lot younger than me. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Killian, stop!” I snap, wrapping my hands around his neck and pulling him closer. “Please stop talking like that. We’re going to get through this together. We’ll get you the help you need, and I will be there every step of the way. So stop talking like that.”

As his eyes bore into mine, I search for the same fire I saw in the man I first met. So much life, vigor, and personality. Have I ruined that? Have I put out that light?

I don’t know what else to do, so I press my lips to his, hoping it will reignite the spark we had before. Before that stupid fucking trip. Before I royally fucked it all up.

On top of that attack, he’s now dealing with the guilt of bringing me down with him. I can’t stand it, so I try my best to make him believe that’s not true.

He kisses me back, but it’s weak and missing something.

“Come on,” I whisper, pulling him toward the house. “Let’s go inside.”

I hold tight to his hand for the rest of the walk, but neither of us speaks. When we reach the house, I pull him all the way to the bedroom. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I’m desperate for him, for all the parts of him that make up the whole of this person I love. He’s shattering into a million tiny pieces, and I don’t know how to hold him together anymore. So I figure if we keep doing the same things we once did, he’ll be himself again. And we’ll be us.

I let him undress me, and then I undress him, and when I lie in our bed, using his body like my security blanket, I imagine this is what he wants too. His grip on my body is so tight, and his grunts are so loud, and I hold him the same way I did last night. I give him every part of myself he might need to make himself better, and I pray it’s enough. My pleasure, my voice, my body.

When he finishes, he trembles inside me with his lips latched onto my shoulder, biting me just enough to make it hurt. Then, he kisses it better, trailing his lips to my ear, where he softly whispers, “Mo ghràidh.”

And I fool myself into believing this is a step in the right direction. But then he pulls out of me and rolls to his side of the bed. I’m left there lying alone, feeling the drip of his seed between my legs, and he does nothing to stop it.