Chapter 930
He reached into his pocket and drew out a tarnished silver pocket watch. He clicked it open. Hidden behind the gears was a tiny, faded photograph — two dirty children sitting on a swing set in the Institute’s courtyard.
He looked at the photo, then at Skye.
Not yet, a voice whispered inside him. You are dying, Julian. If you tell her now, you only give her another ghost to mourn. Let her be strong. Let her hate you if she has to, as long as she survives.
He snapped the watch shut and pushed it back into his pocket.
He straightened his posture, masking the pain, masking the love. He raised one hand in a polite, distant salute. Go to sleep.
Skye hesitated. She tilted her head, a frown creasing her brow. Something in her expression shifted — the faint stirring of recognition she couldn’t quite reach. The ghost of yesterday was haunting her, but she couldn’t see its face.
She nodded slowly, accepting his dismissal, and turned back into her room. The curtains fell shut behind her.
Julian stayed on the balcony until he was shivering violently, letting the rain wash away the heat of the nightmare.
Inside her room, Skye sat on the edge of the bed, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t explain.
When she had looked at Julian just now — standing alone in the rain — she hadn’t seen the cynical media mogul. She had seen sadness. A deep, ancient sadness that tugged at a locked door somewhere in her memory.
D𝘰𝘸𝗇l𝗼a𝖽 P𝘋𝘍𝘴 𝖿𝗿e𝗲 о𝗻 g𝖺𝗹ո𝘰𝘷e𝗅𝗌.𝘤𝘰m
She reached into her bag and pulled out the old leather-bound journal she had kept since childhood. She had been reading it lately, searching for clues about the Mastermind, about her family’s past.
She flipped to the year she had spent away from home — the year her father sent her to the wellness retreat after her mother’s death. Blackwood Institute.
There were pages missing.
Torn out, roughly. The jagged edges of the paper were yellowed with age.
Skye ran her finger along the gap. Why? Who had removed them? And what had been written there that was so dangerous it had to be erased?
She closed the book.
The mystery of Julian Vance was a puzzle piece she didn’t yet have. But she knew one thing: it fit somewhere in the hole in her heart.
“Red. Definitely red. It screams ‘I killed my husband and got away with it,’ which is totally the vibe we want.”
Victoria Hayes held up a scarlet gown that looked less like a dress and more like liquid ruby. They were in the VIP suite of Li Éclat, the most exclusive boutique on Fifth Avenue. Champagne chilled in a silver bucket, and black-clad assistants hovered like nervous crows.
Skye sat on a velvet ottoman, sipping sparkling water. “I haven’t killed my husband, Victoria. We’re just divorced.”
“Same energy,” Victoria dismissed, shoving the dress into Skye’s arms. “Try it on. Please? For me? If I have to wear this poofy pink monstrosity my dad picked out, I need you to look fierce to balance me out.”