Page 16

Chapter sixteen

Hunter’s Residence, London

Isabella

On screen, I feel alive again with my mask firmly in place. This studio will become my safe space to express myself while I live here. It will be where I retreat each day to lose myself in music and movement and forget the challenges the next months offer.

The hours pass unchecked as I create video after video, working down the content list I wanted to make this past week and haven’t. As I post the first one, my head is filled with hope and possibility, and comments begin streaming in, asking me about the new studio and admiring my page name boldly written on the wall.

The grin on my face says everything I need to know. With adrenaline pumping in my veins, I do something I never do and “go live.” After flicking on the camera, I proudly give my followers a tour of my page's new home. Emojis stream in, filled with love hearts and WOWs. Their positivity only makes me smile wider. I am back in my community, where I belong.

After my legs ache more than I can withstand, I retreat to my room. It’s only then that my earlier conversation with Hunter takes my attention. The music had allowed me to push our discussion to the back of my mind, and its distraction was welcome. Now, in only my own company, I need to face it.

Upon closing the door, my attention is piqued by a box on my bed. It is gray with pink roses detailed around the edges. As I step closer, I see it is filled with piles of soft pink envelopes stacked neatly then tied in bundles with pink ribbon. My name is written on each one in thick black pen. He gave me his letters.

My heart hammers in my chest as I pick up the first bundle, carefully untying the ribbon. I lower myself down onto the bed to sit. The ten envelopes in my hand all look identical, so I lay them out one by one on the soft sheets, deciding at random which to open. Inside is paper of the same color, folded in half. I open it to find a short letter addressed to me from Hunter with the date December 25, 2008 in the corner.

My Darling Isabella,

Another Christmas without you, and still, the ache has not lessened.

When we married, I imagined a life so different from this.

I hoped for days spent in each other’s arms as our children swarmed around our feet. Sunday mornings, we would be tangled in bed, watching family movies and talking about our dreams. Our summers spent traveling the world, tasting freedom the way we were never allowed to.

I wanted so much for us, Bella. I wanted to build a world where our children would never know the weight we were forced to carry, where they would grow unburdened, untouched by the darkness that shaped us.

I wanted us.

With each passing year, I find myself slipping further into the darkness. My life was always complex, disturbed even, but what scares me now is how familiar it has become—how welcoming the darkness is. Without the possibility of you, it is where I want to be.

I tell myself this distance is for the best. That you deserve a life untainted; some days, I even believe it. But on nights like this, when the world is quiet, and the memories are loud, all I want is you.

I hope you are living the best life I can help provide. Some days, I am thankful for the situation, as you are too bright to be with me.

Merry Christmas, Bella.

Love always

Hunter xxx

Tears stream down my cheeks as I read his words over and over. One letter has caused so much emotion to surge through my body that I don’t know if I can read the rest. These words were written a few years after our wedding; our separation was the norm. But I can sense his pain emanating from the page as if it were written yesterday. Truth from a broken man with a broken heart.

Slowly, I work my way through the letters on the bed. Each one waits patiently to be opened and divulge its secrets. Not every note is as heartfelt as the first. Some are more like diary entries, where he tells me about his day and the challenges he faced. Others are terrifying, where he retells stories of business deals gone wrong and details of the dark world he lives in.

My Darling Isabella,

Today, I don’t expect to see tomorrow.

A man angry at lost money is a dangerous one. A tyrant with a gun who has lost everything he risked even more so. It is even more terrifying when that man is your father.

I blink at the words on the page, returning and rereading to ensure I understood. Hunter admits to being afraid of his father, the man who contributed to the demise of our relationship alongside my own parent. The letter is dated October 12, 2012. Something about that is familiar, but the reason doesn’t come to mind, so I continue reading.

My deal went wrong—the one I spoke of with the stock broker on Lombard Street. It turns out he was a snake, selling double information, and we were the buyers sting. We’ve lost thousands, millions even. I haven’t been able to calculate the damage my decisions caused, and part of me doesn’t want to.

Father has summoned me to his office. Fuck knows what retribution he will want in return for my poor decision-making. I’m scared, Bella. I’ve felt his wrath before, but never have I been at the center of the disaster as I am now. Men have died for less on his command. If he takes my life tonight, I will wait for you on the other side.

Always Yours,

Hunter xxx

I reach for my phone, flicking to my calendar, and the date is October twelfth. After staring at it for a few minutes, I try to remember why it is so important. The realization doesn’t come, and I return to the letters. The next one I choose is shorter than the others, only a few lines and dated the day after the preceding one.

My Darling Bella,

I have done both my worst and most extraordinary deed.

He is gone.

The bastard who broke us rots in a watery grave, and I feel nothing but peace.

No guilt. No regret.

Only the weight of years lifting as my blade silenced him forever.

My father is dead by my hand.

In some way, however small, I hope you find solace in knowing he is no more.

I pray it eases your pain. Does it, even a little?

I hope so. I hope you can finally breathe.

Yours Always,

Hunter xxx

Suddenly, it became clear why the date was so memorable. It was the day I felt a tiny bit of justice had been served on one of the men who ruined my future. Never did I think it would be by his son’s hand.

A quiet knock on my bedroom door signals a matching pink envelope being pushed beneath it. I rise to collect it, then return to my position on the bed, sitting against the headboard, knees curled beneath with Oso in my arms.

My Darling Isabella, this time, is written across the front. Inside, I find an invitation, the front decorated as if for a wedding with hand-painted pink roses. Behind it, there is the shadow of a bride and groom.

Ms. Isabella

Mr. Hunter Devane requests the honor of your company for dinner this evening.

Please attend the dining room at 20:00 dressed in the garments provided.

Come with me, Bella. Allow us one night to experience what should have been.

I will be waiting.

Always Yours,

Hunter xxx

A second knock on the door distracts me once more. I call for whoever it is to enter, caught between realizing what has been and the possibility of what is to come. Kasia appears, holding a dress bag across her arms. She smiles wide and nods as she enters my room.

“Good morning, Miss,” she says brightly, and I become acutely aware of how early in the day it still is. A lot has happened in a matter of hours, from finding Kasia and Hunter in the kitchen to reading his letters. “Mr. Devane asked that I drop this off for your dinner this evening.” She hangs the item up on a hook to one side of the room.

“What is it?” I ask dumbly.

“A dress, I presume, Miss. One Mr. Devane wishes you wear tonight.”

She disappears again as quickly as she arrives, muttering lists of tasks she must complete today to prepare for tonight. The door closes, and I clamber off the bed to investigate the package that’s been delivered.

As I lower the zipper, the most stunning white lace comes into view. Hastily, I lift down the dress, take it to the bed, and lay it out. There is no mistaking what it is, and memories flood back of the last time I wore it. Well, perhaps not this particular dress but one identical.

Lying on my bed is an exact replica of the dress I wore to get married, the one I walked down the aisle in. It’s still as beautiful as it was all those years ago—my perfect dress for entering the perfect marriage. Pinned to the tag is a small note; I take it from its resting place.

Please, Bella. Let me give you tonight.

Taken back by his letters, the dress, and the tornado of emotions inside, I close my eyes for a few minutes, attempting to center myself. It does little to quiet my confusion. After returning the dress to its hanging spot, I return to my bed and continue reading.

***

Darkness has fallen over the city outside. In our hidden mansion, you wouldn’t know London is a matter of meters away. My bedroom has a small balcony looking out into the garden. I pull open the door and step out into the cool night air. My robe is lined with fleece, and I tug it around me tighter to fight off the chill. As the water feature in the garden trickles merrily, I hear the dull sound of vehicles in the distance. The only hint of the busy city is beyond the gates.

Hunter’s words from dozens of letters he wrote swirl in my mind. His hope, yearning, and love are evident in every syllable. I have two hours to decide whether to attend dinner. He will know I’ve read the letters. He will not know my reaction. But today, my husband has laid bare how he feels for me and still does. If I go, I will be opening the door to possibility—though deep down, I know it is already wedged open, and attending tonight will blow it wide.

Taking one last deep breath of the winter air, I return inside to prepare to meet my husband for dinner.