The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

It looked like he was carefully selecting the words of his response for maximum impact. It was hot outside, and there wasn’t a breeze, but Macalister’s voice was so chilling, it made me shiver. “You’re mistaken if you think I care at all what you do, or who you do it with. You lost that privilege the night I found Marist half-dead on the stairs.”

Her chest heaved as she backed up against the railing, and her gaze frantically darted away. She hadn’t expected his indifferent reaction, and since it wounded her deeply, she scrambled for a new weapon to strike back with.

“And Vance too,” she spat out. “Do you know how many times your son happily climbed into my bed when you wouldn’t?”

Royce and I froze in place. Everything around us decelerated to a stop, and the world focused in on Macalister.

The glaciers in his eyes flash boiled, but his voice was eerily calm and quiet. “What did you just say?”

Alice peered up at him with love and hatred twisting together into one painful emotion. “He was just a substitute at first, but the truth is he was better than you.”

Macalister had lost his seat and his company this morning, but it didn’t compare to what she’d just revealed. This was the perfect thing to destroy him altogether. He was a glass hovering at the edge of a table. One tiny push and there’d be no going back. Catastrophe felt imminent.

He straightened his shoulders as he loomed over her, his shadow covering her face. “Perhaps you’re right, and I did not give you the attention you so pathetically desired.” He sneered as he seized her shoulders. “But my eyes are open now. You came after my son with a knife. You’ve nearly killed Marist twice now. You’ve hurt the people I love, and that is something I will never, ever forgive.”

“Love?” Her laugh was incredulous. “You’re not capable of love. You said it yourself, you’re not even human anymore after Julia died.”

He jerked her like he could shake sense into his wife. “Enough.”

“No.” Her smile was hollow and cruel. “You taught me to never give up, to win no matter what. You fucking made me this way.” Her face was scary. “I’m just as tenacious as you, and I won’t stop until I have what I want, you understand?”

She reached up and set a hand on his chin, squeezing her fingers on his cheeks.

“As long as she exists, that girl is in our way,” Alice said. “You’re a monster,” each word carried its own gravity, “but you’re my monster.”

I believed what she’d said. It was win at all costs, and Alice would never stop coming after me. It was obvious Macalister believed her too. When she tried to kiss him, his control burned away. The Minotaur broke free and reared back.

“No,” he roared and shoved her away with all his might.

Horrified surprise went through her face as she tipped backward. I knew the sensation all too well, how disorienting it was to go over the railing. Unlike me, Alice was too stunned to make a sound, and although her hands clawed at the air, she didn’t find anything to grab on to. There was nothing to save her.

I stood paralyzed as her legs went up to the sky and her body spilled over the side, slipping toward the earth.

And then she was gone, vanished over the edge of the building.

I screamed beneath the hand I clasped to my mouth, which was wet with Royce’s coppery blood.

Time suspended, dragging out each second until it was a century long.

I blinked desperately, trying to clear the image from my mind. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t witnessed Macalister shove Alice off the sixtieth-story balcony, or that she had just plunged to her death.

He had his hands on the railing and leaned over it, his tie dangling in the wind and his face utterly white. No one moved. No one said a word, not even as the distant, panicked screams carried upward from the sidewalk below.

My heart wasn’t working, and neither were my lungs as Royce and I watched the realization of what he’d done crush Macalister to his knees. He turned, collapsing to sit on the ground with his back against the glass, and dropped his heavy head into his hands.

He looked broken.

Defeated.

He’d killed her.

And I’d probably wonder the rest of my life if it was purely by accident or if he’d lost control and subconsciously done it to save me.

I wasn’t sure which one of us pulled the other along, but I found myself on my knees beside Royce, huddled next to Macalister. My husband’s voice was hushed and hurried. “She jumped. We’ll make the video go away.”

When Macalister lifted his weary gaze to his son, we all aged ten years. He looked like he appreciated the idea, but sadness consumed him. “You can’t.”