Chapter 5
1152 Words
Isla’s POV
I called another taxi from the main road. The driver who picked me up was young, barely said two words the whole drive back to the city.
I was grateful for the silence.
By the time I got home, it was after nine. The house was dark. Empty.
I walked into the closet. Custom-built shelves lined the walls, drawers in the center island. Glass-fronted cabinets Theo had insisted on. "You should see them every day." he'd said.
I stood in the doorway, looking at it all. Rows of designer clothes. Shelves of shoes. And in the center island, drawers full of jewelry.
I opened them one by one.
The five-carat diamond studs from our engagement—D color, flawless, set in platinum. The Cartier Love bracelet from our second anniversary, custom-engraved with coordinates of where we met. A twenty-carat emerald necklace—Colombian emerald, one of a kind—that he'd given me after his first major deal closed. A Graff yellow diamond ring, rare and eye-wateringly expensive, that Theo said reminded him of sunlight on my hair.
Piece after piece.
I pulled them all out, letting them pile on the floor. In the overhead lighting, they sparkled.
And there, in the bottom of the last drawer, was the bullet necklace.
I picked it up carefully. The bullet had been deformed by its journey through Theo's chest, flattened and twisted. He'd had it encased in platinum, strung on a delicate chain, turned it into something beautiful.
"So you'll always remember," he'd said on our wedding day, fastening it around my neck, "that I'd die for you."
The most romantic gift anyone had ever given me.
I held it up to the light.
My vision blurred.
I blinked, surprised. I thought I was done crying. I'd promised myself no more tears for Theo.
But apparently, my eyes hadn't gotten the memo.
One tear slipped down my cheek. Then another. Silent. Inevitable.
I wiped them away roughly and started gathering the jewelry into a large leather duffel bag from the shelf. It took both hands to lift it once it was full.
My phone rang.
FaceTime. Theo.
I set the bag down, wiped my eyes again, and answered.
His face filled the screen, handsome and smiling.
That wasn't the Hamptons house. That was—I recognized the paneling—The Core Club. Manhattan. Behind him, I could see dark wood paneling, soft lighting, other men in suits holding drinks.
"Hey, beautiful." His voice was warm. Affectionate. "I miss you."
In the background, someone laughed. Low, masculine voices blended together.
"Miss you too," I said. My voice sounded normal.
"How was your day?"
"Quiet. Did some work. You?"
"Exhausting." He shook his head. "But we're close to closing the Tokyo deal. Very close."
"That's good."
He studied my face through the screen. "You look tired. Are you okay?"
"Just a headache. I was about to lie down."
"I'm sorry, baby. I wish I could be there." His eyes were so sincere. So convincing. "I'll try not to be too late."
The camera shifted slightly as he moved, and I caught it—just for a second. In the shadows behind him, a glimpse of red leather. A small bag. Hermès, unmistakably.
Amanda's bag. The one from her i********: photos.
"Take your time," I said. "Really. I'll be fine."
"You're the best." He blew me a kiss. "I love you."
"Love you too."
The screen went dark.
I sat there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at my own reflection in the black screen.
Then I opened i********:.
Amanda had posted twenty minutes ago.
A mirror selfie. And reflected in the background, blurry but unmistakable: Theo's hand. His left hand.
I zoomed in on the photo. His left hand. Fourth finger bare. No ring.
I looked down at my own hand. At the naked finger.
We matched now.
The pain was physical. Sharp. Like something vital had torn loose inside my chest.
I doubled over, arms wrapped around myself, trying to hold it together. Trying to breathe through it.
It lasted maybe thirty seconds. Maybe a minute.
Then it passed, receding like a wave, leaving me hollow and gasping on my closet floor, surrounded by diamonds.
I sat there for a while, just breathing. In and out. In and out.
When I could move again, I pulled my laptop over and opened a browser.
Charity donation pickup.
*Please direct all proceeds to women's shelters and domestic violence support programs.*
Perfect.
I saved the confirmation email, then pushed the laptop away.
---
I must have fallen asleep on the couch in the living room, because that's where Theo found me.
His hand on my shoulder, gentle. "Hey. Hey, wake up."
I opened my eyes. He was crouching beside the couch, still in his suit, smelling like expensive scotch and cigars.
"You fell asleep reading," he said, picking up the book that had slid off my chest.
I sat up, disoriented. "What time is it?"
"Almost two." He sat down beside me, loosening his tie. His eyes were slightly glassy. "I tried to be quiet. Didn't want to wake you."
"It's fine." I rubbed my eyes. "How was the meeting?"
"Good. Really good." He pulled me close, tucking me under his arm. His body was warm, solid. The way it had always been. "We're signing papers next week. "
His fingers played with my hair absently. "What were you reading?"
I picked up the book, glanced at the cover. "Just some thriller. Guy cheats on his wife, she finds out, things go badly."
His hand stilled. Just for a second. "Sounds depressing."
"It is." I set the book down. "She dies in the end. "
"That's..." He cleared his throat. "That's terrible. Why would you read something like that?"
I turned to look at him. Really look at him. At this man I'd loved for almost a decade.
"I don't know," I said softly. "I guess I wanted to see how it ends."
He frowned, not understanding.
"Isla." His voice was serious now. "Is everything okay?" His hand found mine, fingers lacing together. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right? If you were unhappy?"
The audacity. The sheer f*****g audacity.
I smiled. Reached up to touch his face. "Of course I would. "
He relaxed. "Good. Because I couldn't stand it if you were unhappy. You know that, right? You're my whole world."
"I know," I said.
He kissed my forehead, completely missing the double meaning. "Come on. Let's go to bed. You need sleep."
He stood, pulling me up with him. We walked upstairs together, his arm around my waist, just like always.
In the bedroom, he was asleep within minutes, sprawled across his side of the bed like he owned it.
I lay awake beside him, staring at the ceiling, counting down the hours.
Seventy-two more hours.
Then Isla Astor would die.
- Writer
