Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

When I wake up the next morning, his side of the bed is empty again. Just like last time, I sit up in a panic.

“Killian!” I shout as I burst out of our bed and bolt toward the door. It’s morning, and the sky is bright, but as I run from the room, I barely even notice that something is amiss in our room. In nothing but a pair of panties and one of his shirts, I scramble down the stairs, desperate to hear his voice.

Instead, I hear Anna’s. And my heart drops.

My footsteps hurry down the rest of the stairs, but when I hit the landing, I nearly trip over the two large suitcases sitting at the bottom. My suitcases.

“What the…?”

Dread swarms like bees in my belly as I walk slowly into the parlor. When my eyes find Anna sitting on the chair, tears streaking her face, I know exactly what’s happened.

“Anna, no…” I whisper at the sight of her.

“I’m sorry, Sylvie. The guilt was eating me alive. I had to tell him.”

“Everything?” I whisper. And when she nods, it’s like a punch to the gut.

Then I hear his familiar stomping. Turning, I spot my husband coming toward me, but his eyes don’t meet mine. “Killian,” I say, pleading as he brushes past me.

“By now, you’ve realized I know everything,” he mutters darkly. There’s a slur to his voice, and my heart shatters at the sound.

“Don’t do this,” I beg.

“I have to,” he replies.

“No, you don’t,” I argue. “We can work this out together.”

“I won’t lose my house. You have to leave,” he murmurs, reaching for his drink on the bar. I sprint toward him, grabbing the glass from his hand.

“Stop it!” I scream before flinging it across the room.

Anna screams and covers her head from the shards of broken glass. Then, I look into his eyes and point my finger as I shoot my accusations.

“Stop it, Killian. Yes, it’s true that my part of the plan was to have your house taken away from you, but I’m not going to let that happen now. And you can’t be mad at me for that. We barely knew each other then.”

“But what about now?” he bellows.

“I was just at her house yesterday, Killian,” I shout, pointing to his sister. “You know I was doing everything in my power to fix this!”

“I know you were doing everything in your power to get your money.”

“You nasty brute,” I snarl in his face. “You know that’s not true. You know how much I love you. You think I wanted this?” I cry. He turns away from me, marching from the room in anger. “You think I wanted to fall in love with you?” I continue.

“You think I wanted to fall in love with you ?” he replies in frustration. “It’s better this way, Sylvie. Sign the papers, go back to America, let me keep my house, and I don’t have to worry about keeping you locked up in this old place for the rest of your life.”

“That’s what this is about, then. You think you’re sparing me from your sadness. In sickness and in health, remember?”

He ignores me, refusing to look me in the eyes as I watch the pain hit him again.

I wish I could hit him with this rage that’s rolling through my veins. I hate what he’s saying. I hate it all. He’s taking away my choice. Where is the part where I get to decide to stay? To be with him forever? Where can I choose us?

He grabs my bags, and I quickly tear them from his grip. “Killian, stop it! I’m not leaving. We can figure out another way.”

Shaking his head, he still refuses to look into my eyes. “This solves everything, Sylvie. If you truly want me to keep my house, then walk away.”

“Don’t ask me to do that,” I cry.

“You were going to go anyway, weren’t you? So, just go.”

A tear rolls over my cheek. “What happened to being your real wife? Is this really so easy for you? To just write it all off like it never happened so that you can have your fucking house?”

Finally, for the first time, he looks into my eyes. And the sadness I see in them makes it hard to breathe. “What do you want me to do, Sylvie? Everyone I love is trying to hurt me. Nothing I do is ever right, and even if I did keep you, I’d only drag you down with me. And I refuse to do that. So, I think it’s best you just go.”

“You don’t mean that,” I reply tearfully.

He leans forward, and my palms itch to reach for him. “It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever been truly sure.”

With that, he turns away and storms out the front door, leaving me to fall apart alone.

***

None of this feels real. I pack the rest of my clothes. I gather my things. I wait for him to walk back through that door, but he never does.

How can I seriously consider this? Just leaving like nothing happened?

But I have to. Because if I don’t, then he will suffer.

So, with shaking hands, I do it all. Even in the library, I gather everything I’ve left up here. But when I spot the novel I typed on the old typewriter still sitting on the table, I leave it. I hope he finds it. I meant what I told my parents—I will never publish that story, and I don’t want to.

It was for him anyway. The main character was never me; it was him.

I set the story where the typewriter used to be, and I walk out of the room.

Peter said we have to leave for the airport in an hour, but I’m all packed, and I can’t stand to keep walking around this quiet house, emptying it of pieces of me. When I reach Killian’s room, I crawl into the bed and hug the pillows, sobbing into them and praying he changes his mind.

When I hear his footsteps on the stairs, I perk my head up and watch for him. He enters the doorway, and I see the red spots on his face and the puffy bags under his eyes. Where does he go to cry when he’s alone? The thought nearly slices me open.

“Please don’t do this,” I beg him one more time.

“I’ve set you up with an account to help take care of you until you can get back on your feet. It’s not ten million, but it should help.”

I squeeze my eyes closed as more tears leak through my lashes. “I don’t want anything from you, Killian. Truly, I don’t.”

“I know,” he mumbles quietly. “But this is the right thing to do, Sylvie.”

“I know,” I whimper.

“You should publish that novel,” he says, stepping closer. “It’s good. And don’t go near your parents. They’re not good for you. Maybe start fresh.”

“I can’t,” I sob. “Killian, I can’t.”

He crosses the room, not daring to get too close to where I’m curled up in his bed. “Yes, you can. You can do anything, Sylvie. You once broke into this house. You moved across the world to marry a complete stranger. You turned my entire world upside down, mo ghràidh. You can do just about anything.”

I’m soaking his pillow with my tears as my body shudders through the sobs until my bones are sore and my muscles ache. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” I whimper.

He swallows, clenches his jaw, and nods. “I promise.”

Part of me wants to ask if I can contact him. If I can come back after the thirty days is up, and the contract is voided. I need to take some sort of promise with me so that I’ll have a line back to Barclay Manor, but deep down, I know he won’t give that to me. That’s the point. We’re supposed to do this on our own.

No matter how much it hurts to think about it.

There’s a honk in the distance, and I squeeze my eyes shut again. Maybe if I just lie in this bed, they won’t make me leave. They’ll have to carry me out if they want me to go.

“Come on, Sylvie. We can do this.”

When I finally peel myself off the bed and stand in front of him, I drink in my last look. The last moment when I will see him as my husband. The last time I will see him as his wife.

After I’ve had my fill, I move toward the door. But first, he scoops me into his arms and holds me tight against him. Even as I wrap my hands around him, I feel half gone.

“I’m gonna miss you, my wee little wife,” he whispers in my hair.

“Please take care of yourself, you brute,” I reply.

But when I finally tear myself away, I don’t look back. I can’t. If I look into his eyes again, I’ll never leave. And right now, he desperately needs me to.