"Boss?"
Something pokes me in the arm, stirring me. When I lift my bleary eyes, I realize I must have fallen asleep in the hall outside the bedroom door.
"What is it, Marco?" I force my aching muscles to cooperate as I rise to my feet.
"Have you been sleeping out here all night?" he asks.
I give him a stiff nod. It's not like him to ask such personal questions.
"I have some updates," he tells me. "Do you want to talk here or in your office?"
"Let's go downstairs." I pause to look at the door one more time, hesitant to leave, but aware Ivy doesn't want me anywhere near her right now either.
Marco has been aware of my struggle. The entire manor has. The past few days have been interspersed with silence and Ivy's rage whenever I try to speak with her. And I'd be lying if I said I haven’t second-guessed my decision every step of the way.
I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to hurt any of Eli's daughters anymore, but right now, they are all suffering over the choice I made. And I can't even be sure it was necessary or worthwhile, since there have been no signs of Abel yet.
"You're doing the right thing." Marco reaches out, settling his hand on my shoulder. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but this was the only way. He won’t come out until he’s dead sure this is real."
I wish I could be as certain as he sounds.
"Come." He jerks his chin in the direction of the stairs. "I think you will feel better when you hear what I have to say."
This news captures my interest, and without any alternative, I follow him down to my study. We step inside and close the door, and he waits until I'm settled into my chair before he removes his phone and hands it to me.
"One of my guys found someone lurking around the property. He was near the western perimeter."
I study the image of the man on Marco's screen, but he isn't someone I recognize.
"Any idea who he is?" I ask.
"From what I've been able to gather, he's a low-level criminal. There's nothing much of importance about him other than a rap sheet a mile long. Petty crimes, mostly. I already beat the shit out of him, and he gave it up pretty quickly that he was working for Abel. Said he was supposed to keep an eye on the place."
"And what exactly was he supposed to report back?" I ask.
"His orders were to look for Eli or any sightings of his daughters. There were even photos on his phone. He said Abel wanted pictures of Ivy or Eva. He wanted to see if they were distraught."
Marco is giving me the confirmation that I was right. Abel is paranoid enough to need confirmation that Ivy and Eva’s grief is real. It should bring me relief, but there is none to be found. My wife is still upstairs, lost to her anguish, and I don't know how much longer I can bear it.
"He also said he was supposed to attend the funeral tomorrow,” Marco continues. “He mentioned Abel had a few guys who would be in attendance, but he didn't know any of their names. They'll be reporting back to Abel, whoever they are."
I dip my head, rubbing my temples as tension clings to every muscle in my body. "I don't know if I can go through with it, Marco. I don't know if I can watch her suffer any longer—"
He lowers himself into the chair across from mine, resting his palms on my desk. "It's one more day, Santiago. Just one more day. Abel will get the confirmation that his entire family is in mourning. And then you can tell her, just as soon as we're back at The Manor."
"And what if he doesn't do what we are anticipating?" I ask. "What if he doesn't come out of hiding? His paranoia is too strong."
"He will," Marco assures me. "He hasn't waited this long for nothing. With Eli out of the picture, the temptation will be too much for him to resist. He'd rather die trying to snatch that last bit of power than be exiled to the shadows for eternity."
Instinctually, I know he's right. Abel's ego won't allow him to hide forever. But I still feel as though there could have been another way. There must have been another way that wouldn't hurt Ivy, and I just couldn't see it.
I have failed her, and nobody can convince me otherwise.
"You have less than fourteen hours," Marco reassures me. "That's it, boss. Then you can reunite them, and she will forgive you."
I nod, but it feels like a lie. Ivy told me herself she will never forgive me, and I don't think bringing Eli back from the dead will win her approval again. It’s too much. This was her breaking point, I can feel it. And it all seems more hopeless than it ever has. Even acknowledging the fact that I would let him live out the rest of his natural life to keep her happy won't bring her peace. Not after a lie of this magnitude. Not after I've watched her suffer for days, her hatred of me growing with every passing moment.
"I think I know something that might make you feel better," Marco tells me.
When I meet his gaze, I know what he means before he even utters the words.
"Your prisoner is waiting for his execution, sir."
After showering in one of the guest bathrooms and washing the blood of Abel’s spy from my hands, I dress in the fresh clothes Antonia brought me. I am tired after so little sleep, but I am anxious to see my wife.
I've checked the alerts on the door all morning, receiving updates from her doctor and Antonia. She has eaten a little, which is something. Other than that, there is not much to discuss. She is still in bed, resting. Alternating between crying fits and staring at the ceiling, blank.
Eva is handling it better than I anticipated. Antonia has been keeping her busy, offering her comfort and providing distractions with movies and puzzles they have taken to assembling together. On occasion, she will wander up to visit Ivy herself, but she does not stay long, insisting her sister should rest.
Their grief rests heavy on my shoulders, and even after all that Marco and I discussed, I am questioning how much harm there could be in telling them the truth now. But I know already. It isn't something I have to ask myself.
Abel is still their brother, and on some level, I'm aware that they harbor a love for him that has not yet been fully extinguished. When it comes to family, their loyalties will always be torn in that regard. But there is no question that Abel will die. They will both have to accept that, and if this is a preview of what's to come, I’m not certain Ivy and I can weather that storm. Not if she truly can’t forgive me.
In the meantime, I can only cling to the belief that he can't manipulate their feelings for him if they don't know the truth. He can't guilt them into confessing the status of Eli's health if they aren't aware themselves. And judging by his past behavior, I don't doubt that he will try to get to them somehow. As much as I'd like to insist that I’m in control of everything, I can only control what I can see.
Abel has ways of gaining access to them. There are a thousand considerations to be made. He could have a rat in my own household staff for all I know. The maids, the groundskeeper, the cook... even the guards. If he has turned members of the Society against the establishment, there is no telling who he might convince to help him with his cause. It was his word, after all, his evidence, The Tribunal used to excommunicate well-established members. Abel is a manipulator of the highest order, and I can't trust anyone to be one-hundred-percent loyal. Marco and Antonia are the only ones. And the truth is, if Abel wanted to get a message to Ivy through someone, he’d find a way to do it.
It is with this tiresome awareness that I stop by my office and retrieve the small black box resting on top of my desk. As I walk up to the second landing and down the hall to my bedroom, pausing outside, I stare down to examine it, wondering if this is the right decision.
I'm aware nothing I can do will bring her comfort right now, but this foolish hope still lives within me. I unlock the door using the code and quietly step inside.
Ivy is curled up in bed, staring into nothingness. She doesn't look at me when I approach, or even when I sit on the edge beside her. Her tears have all dried up, but the pain has not. It's visceral, a living, breathing thing inside this room. I know because I feel it in my chest too. What she feels, I feel.
"Ivy?" I reach out hesitantly, stroking her arm.
She doesn't flinch or pull away, but I think I would rather that than the emptiness I see in her eyes.
I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it, and her fingers twitch in my grasp.
"I have something for you."
I slide the box onto the nightstand, and she glances at it briefly before her eyes flicker shut then open again. I don't know what to do. How to fix this for her.
“You can open it when you feel up to it,” I tell her. “It’s something very special to me, and I thought, perhaps it was time you saw it.”
When she doesn’t respond, I kick off my shoes and climb onto the middle of the bed, opening the blankets and sliding in behind her. She stiffens at first, but gradually, she melts into me, releasing a painful sigh when I wrap my arm around her waist, and she loses all resistance.
"I can't stand to be apart," I whisper, my lips grazing her ear. "I need you, Ivy. Come back to me, please."
A tear streaks down her cheek, and she shudders, slowly dragging her gaze to mine. "How could I?"
I kiss her jaw and then her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears before I close my eyes and breathe her in, hands clutching her in a silent plea.
"What if I could promise you that everything would be alright?" I choke out. "That this nightmare will all be over soon."
"How, Santiago?" she whispers. "How will this pain ever end?"
"It will end if you can find it in your heart to trust me," I murmur against her lips. "That's all I'm asking. Trust that everything I do is to protect you."
She looks up at me, eyes hard. "I get it now."
"What do you get?"
"How it feels," she answers bitterly. "Why you wanted to kill me to avenge your father's death. I understand that now because I feel it too."
Her words ice over any warmth left between us as my hands fall away from her. Pain splinters inside me at the realization there is no fixing this. It can't be undone. Foolishly, I wanted to believe we could survive this, but now I know that we can't.
She will never forgive me. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
I can see it in her eyes.
I can hear it in her voice.
And nothing has ever felt so final when I drag myself away from her, glancing over my shoulder one last time. She doesn't look at me, and she doesn't look at the gift I left her on the nightstand.
Instead, she closes her eyes and breathes a sigh of relief as I walk out the door.