Shattered: A Dark Romance

“You’re coming with me today.” He says as he steps up behind me, running his hands down my forearms and settling on my waist. He leans in pressing a kiss into the spot between my neck and shoulders. A shiver races down my spine at the sensation.

“For what?” I ask, my voice leaving my throat in a hoarse whisper.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror I had been staring at myself in. They rake down my body, taking in the silk sleep shorts and camisole I wear and then move back up to my face. He studies me for a moment, looking for any signs that I’m a liar.

Even with my promise that I trust him, he’s still guarded around me, as if I’m lying. Which is fair considering the heavy plastic around his ankle is due to a video my family made.

“I have a hearing.” He tells me, still studying me, watching how the features on my face respond.

“Okay,” his answer doesn’t trigger anything in me, I’m not sure why he’s acting weird. As if he’s hiding something, or I’m missing it. “I’ll get ready.” I spin in his arms, leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek before heading to the shower.

My mind is normally chaotic. It’s loud and messy, hard for me to follow a single thought, but as I step into the shower I realize how quiet my head has been. How normal I feel.

I can breathe.

There was a weight pinning me down before I started to trust Noah again. It felt like I had to choose sides, my family or Noah. And every time I thought about it, in the center of this whole mess is Auden, my baby sister who never did a thing wrong in her life.

How did she manage to fall victim to this game?

Picking Noah felt like betraying her, so instead I chose to be unhappy. To be alone, confused, and fucking miserable.

That weight floated away the moment I decided to step back and just trust Noah.

I pick out a short-sleeved deep purple dress that's cinched at the waist. It’s cute and swings somewhere between casual and business casual. I don’t do much with my face or hair, other than lightly dabbing some products on and releasing my hair from the elastic band.

I feel cute, but understated. I don’t want to draw any more attention than needed. I want to play my part, look like a good fiancée and nothing more. I don’t want rumors started about me, or my looks picked apart.

When the media first got a hold of the story, the video played on repeat in the news. I tried to keep it off, avoid all the discussion, but eventually the need to know took over and I found myself glued to the television. I even used actual cable television, live news on my t.v. rather than reading it through the screen of my phone.

I needed to know. I was glued to the thing waiting to hear something, someone else's account, anything to fill in the missing gaps.

But nothing came. It was all speculation. Criticisms ran rampant, mostly about Noah and the Bancroft family. All of the anti-rich came out in hordes to talk about how corrupted the Bancroft family is. His legacy was picked apart.

Even that held my attention. I knew a lot about the Bancrofts, but professional researchers were able to dig up more dirt and I hung on their every word.

It wasn’t until they started in on my family that I had to turn it off and stop listening. Seeing my face on the screen was more than I could bear. There were journalists who wondered where I was when my sister came to the house to see me. What was I doing? Then inevitably someone would share that I was too drunk, I didn’t remember. The look on the journalist's face would be priceless.

My sister was dead and I was too drunk to remember even seeing her.

Shame coated my body. Every damn time.

I wasn’t there for her the moment she needed me the most, and now every stranger in the world got to judge me for it.

I shake the thoughts from my head, forbidding myself from traveling down that train of thought again.

Instead, I slip the engagement ring back onto my finger, pair it with some sparkly earrings and meet Noah downstairs.

He drives us silently in the Mercedes and I don’t ask where we’re going, instead I sink into the leather seat and listen to the music. I know he needs me to trust him, and subsequently he has to trust me. He has a plan, something spinning in that head of his and I realize I’m integral to it.

Beckett’s words from the other night replay in my head, trial by media. What happens in the courtroom means nothing if Noah can’t win back the public, and I’m his key to doing that.

I’m not thrilled about it, but I don’t think anyone expects me to princess wave as I walk beside him. My presence alone is enough to show my support.

Noah navigates the Mercedes into the pay to park lot across from the courthouse. He said he had a hearing, but I’m not familiar enough with how criminal cases work to know what sort of hearings he should be having.

We walk across the street hand in hand to the courthouse. There are reporters lining the steps, cameras rested on shoulders and microphones ready to be shoved in our faces.

“No statement,” Noah tells me, leaning in and whispering the words into my ears.