Page 63

MARISELA

M y phone dinged with another incoming notification. I didn’t have to look to know who it was. Because it was always him . No matter how many times I blocked his number, username, existence … No matter how many notes I dropped in the trash bin or sent back with the courier… he never gave up.

Ignoring him wasn’t working. Responding was worse. Pretending was all I had.

Pretending I didn’t read every word. Pretending they didn’t affect me. Pretending I wasn’t miserable. Pretending I enjoyed the life I’d chosen for myself—as much as I could have chosen anything.

Let’s be honest. I hadn’t chosen shit. I just stopped fighting the inevitable.

I glanced over a shoulder. To where Tate was passed out in our marital bed after deciding to crawl in beside me last night. An occurrence that was as rare as it was unwanted .

My husband wasn’t just a philanderer. He was also a drunk.

Good thing too. It made it easier for me to empty one of the vials I’d stolen from his brother’s bag into his drink the night of our wedding.

Easier than that to convince the dumb fuck that the blood on the sheets was mine when he woke up the next morning.

Did I have to suffer through a few minutes of friction burn before the shit took effect?

Sure did. But then it had just been a matter of shoving him aside, smearing some of Adrian’s blood on the virgin-white sheets, and sinking into a steaming-hot bath.

Where I stayed until my skin was wrinklier than his balls. Which were on full display right now.

I scrunched my nose, trying not to gag at the thought. Until my phone dinged again. Drawing my attention to the screen. A text message after the two emails had gone unanswered. It had barely been an hour.

UNKNOWN:

I could do something about his snoring, you know? Just say the word and I’ll bring my scalpel.

My lips quirked up into a smirk before I forced them down. My eyes flicking around the room as if I could spot him. I couldn’t. Not unless he wanted me to. But I had no doubt he was watching me. Lurking and listening. From somewhere behind the walls.

At the very least he was recording me.

He could have been bluffing. Making educated guesses. But something told me there was more to it than that. There were too many coincidences.

Like how he always knew what I was wearing, what I’d eaten or more often than not what I’d moved around the plate before leaving it on the table, when I went to bed, when I didn’t sleep… He knew it all.

I might have left the barred windows and medical devices behind but I was still under the microscope now as much as ever.

I adjusted the pleats in my skirt, smoothing out the hem, and then grabbed my textbook from the dresser. Leaving Tate to sleep off whatever or whoever he’d gotten into last night.

Attending classes wasn’t an option anymore.

My place was by my husband’s side, whether that be in the office or in the home.

But being a college dropout wasn’t a good look for the Prescott name either.

So private tutoring it was. Enough schooling to make me an asset but not a threat.

Even if I was more than prepared to be both.

I navigated the double staircase with ease, turning the corner as soon as I hit the landing, only to pause in my tracks. My textbook tumbling out of my grip and onto the floor.

A hand reached out to grab it, a set of shoulders rising higher and higher until a pair of dark eyes were staring down at me.

My father-in-law cleared his throat, drawing my attention his way. “She’s a clumsy little thing, isn’t she?” He clamped a hand down on Adrian’s shoulder, forcing him back a step at the same time he maneuvered himself between us. “Shouldn’t be too much trouble for you, though.”

“No trouble at all,” Adrian replied, never taking his eyes off my face as he passed me my textbook and I pressed it tighter to my chest.

It was so much easier to ignore someone when they weren’t standing right in front of you. It was much easier to pretend they didn’t affect you too.

I plastered a smile on my lips, polite with an edge of something else underneath, and extended a palm. “So good to see you again, Adrian.”

“Mr. Lambert,” he corrected. “Best we keep the tone professional. Considering the circumstances.”

I lifted a curious brow, not realizing I was doing it until it was too late. “Circumstances?” I parroted, my glare flicking between the two men in front of me.

“Adrian is going to be tutoring you. Boy could use the extra cash.” Mr. Prescott smirked in a way that told you he was being condescending, in case his tone didn’t get the message across. “Couldn’t you?”

“And what happened to Miss Whittaker?” I asked, knowing I wouldn’t like the answer.

“Unfortunately, Miss Whittaker won’t be returning.”

Neither would Miss Benton, Miss James, or Miss Kent.

Four tutors in twelve months. Five if you counted Mr. Lambert .

At least if this one didn’t return, I knew it wouldn’t be because my husband got bored with fucking him.

Because that was exactly what had happened with the rest. Guess my bastard brother-in-law was their last resort.

Mine too if I wanted to continue with my schooling.

I nodded once. “A shame.” The socialite’s way of saying: I know more than you think I know.

“It is,” Mr. Prescott hummed. His way of telling me to keep my mouth shut and not ask any more questions about what I knew .

Which was actually something we could agree on.

I didn’t care to ask and he didn’t care to tell me.

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it. Adrian, Mary .

” He dipped his chin and exited the room.

His heavy steps trudging down the hall before dying off completely.

I waited a moment, keeping my voice low and my glare narrowed as I turned it on Adrian. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He tucked his hands into his pockets, his stern expression melting into a grin. “Like the old man said, little lamb. I’m just here to teach you a thing or two.”