The Palace (Chateau 4)

He used to soften at my tears. Now there was nothing. “If you expect my anger to thaw so quickly, then you really don’t understand how deep your knife went. You fail to grasp the significance of your betrayal. I’m not a man who grants forgiveness. I’m a man who grants death. You should be grateful that I still have no desire to ever hurt you.”

Tears broke free and dripped down my cheeks. “You’re hurting me right now…”

Eight

Winter to Spring

Fender

I came into her room every night and took her the same way.

It was quick, just to get off, and then I went to bed.

Words weren’t exchanged.

She didn’t try to talk to me. She just let me be.

I was in my office on the phone when Gilbert entered. “We aren’t taking more partners right now. Period.” I hung up then looked at Gilbert, annoyed that he stood in front of my desk in expectation when I was on the phone. “What?”

“Melanie just left. Wanted me to give you this.” He placed a piece of paper from her notebook in front of me.

I stared at him blankly, but then I looked out the window, as if expecting to see her walk past. My hand grabbed the note and read her feminine handwriting.

I can’t prove something you won’t allow me to prove.

I’m sorry for everything.

-Chérie

I got to my feet and tossed the note aside. “When did she leave?”

“A few minutes ago—”

“Tell the men to keep the gate closed.”

Gilbert looked bewildered by the order. “Sir? I thought this was a good thing—”

“Do as I say.”

“Of course.” He stepped away and spoke into his intercom. “Quincy, don’t open the gate.”

I marched around the desk and prepared to go after her myself.

Gilbert turned back to me. “The cab just pulled away, sir.”

I stared at him blankly, unable to believe she’d just taken off like that. She’d left me once and it hurt. Now that she’d left me again, it just pissed me off. “Bring the car around.”

I pulled up to the curb of her apartment building and ignored the people who stared at my car.

My boots thudded against the stone as I entered the building, up the hardwood of the stairs, and the sound of my beating heart matched the thudding. The fury was barely contained in my tight fists.

I arrived at her apartment, tried the locked handle, and then broke through the lock when I shoved my shoulder against it with a single push.

The door flew open, revealing Melanie on the couch with her bag beside her. She didn’t flinch at the sound, as if unsurprised. The windows showed the lights of the city and the apartment across the way, hitting her face with the right light to show her glistening tears.

I’d come here to scream at her.

But like always, those tears made me go still.

I pushed the door shut behind me then entered her small apartment. There was a drop of blood on the wall where my man had been slain with a knife by that obnoxious bitch. There were coffee mugs on the counter beside the sink. A couple blankets were thrown over the couches. To her, it had been home. To me, it was a dump.

She didn’t belong in a place like that.

I stared at her from the kitchen until she lowered her gaze to her lap and wiped her tears away.

I moved into the living room and stopped near the couch where she sat. An ambulance passed on the street below. Then a car pulled up to the intersection, playing loud and obnoxious music. There was no silence.

Silence was a luxury.

After a quick scan of the apartment, I dropped my chin to her.

And stared.

She gave a quiet sniff.

“I have more important things to do than chase you down.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

“What did you expect me to do?” I stared at the side of her face, my gaze burning into her cheek, irritated that a woman so beautiful was sitting in an apartment that didn’t complement her appearance. She deserved a fucking tiara and a crown.

“Let me go.” She fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “You don’t talk to me. You don’t look at me. You don’t…even like me.”

I stared at her for a while before I lowered myself to the armchair, sitting at the very edge with my arms on my thighs. My hands came together as I looked at her. I waited for her to meet my eyes.

She wouldn’t. “I want the man that I remember. Not this version of you.” Her voice came out as a whisper. But then her voice grew louder, full of offense. “I don’t want to be fucked like a whore.”

Her request made the anger dump into the atrium of my heart like blood from the lungs. “You’re not in a place to make demands—not after what you did. I’m entitled to my anger. I’m entitled to treat you however I damn well please.”