Page 114 of Twisted (Never After)

I spend the morning sitting outside on the back patio, taking in the crisp autumn breeze and closing my eyes as it kisses my face, wondering if I can feel my father’s spirit in the air if I only try hard enough.

But even through the grief, the world keeps spinning.

Clicking my tongue, I spin the burner phone around in my hand on top of the patio table, staring blankly at it. I suck in a deep breath and open it to the texts I’ve exchanged with the lawyer, Randy, rereading everything and letting my choices cement even further in my head.

I don’t need him anymore, and if I’m going to be with Julian for real— trulychoosehim— then I have to make sure Randy doesn’t think I still want to move forward with our plan to annul things.

Me: Hi. I want to thank you for being so helpful and willing to go up against my husband, but there’s been a change in plans and I won’t need your services.

I press Send, that familiar swirl of anxiety at doing something for myself squeezing my stomach tight. The phone vibrates quickly.

Randy: Understood. I’m here if you change your mind.

And just like that, it’s over. I breathe out a sigh of relief and stand up from where I’m sitting, stretching my arms over my head, trying to ignore the heavy weight of sadness that’s pressing down on my chest when I’m reminded that my baba is gone.

Something my school counselor used to tell me was to write out my feelings in a journal or as a letter, any way that would help me process them so I don’t bottle them all up inside and let them build until they explode. I’ve never tried it before, choosing to find my therapy behind the lens of my camera, but now the urge to take a picture isn’t there, so maybe journaling will work.

I walk down to Julian’s office to find a blank piece of paper and a pen.

When I get there, I stop along the bookshelf, running my fingers along the framed photo of him with my father, both of them grinning as they hold up a large uncut diamond. My heart squeezes tight, and a few stray tears drip down my face. I press my fist to my chest, trying to stem the throbbing ache.

Moving along, I go sit behind his desk, glancing around. Reaching for the right-side drawer, I open it, looking for a piece of paper and a pen. I grab some random papers with writing, moving them out of the way, but my breath catches when I see a flash of a name.

Myname.

A sick feeling weighs down my chest.

“Don’t trust them.”

My breathing stutters, and I scoff, shaking my head and convincing myself it was a trick of the light. Trust is paramount in a relationship. And I do trust Julian.

Frowning, I glance at the papers again, unable to stem the urge to just peek and see.

I pull out the papers.

I read.

And my already broken heart shatters completely as it falls to the floor, ripping through my very fucking being on the way down.

Will of Yasmin Karam-Faraci.

“They’re going to kill you.”

I drop the papers from my hands like they’re on fire, my stomach tossing like I’ll throw up if I stay in one spot.

Maybe the will is a mistake.

Maybe it’s from back when he first started blackmailing me, before things changed.

All these things are possible, and I want to hear his explanation for every one. But not right now. Not like this, when my feelings are so raw and I feel so ripped open and betrayed.

Waseverythingjust a game to him?

I know I won’t get any relief until I find answers. I breathe deep, trying to find my center and not react out of shock. I’ve spent my entire life running away from problems, and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere good.

It’s what got me in this mess in the first place.

I slide down the desk and just sit on the floor for a long time, staring down at the pages that say if I die, everything is left to Julian, and it isn’t until the doorbell rings that I come out of my daze, standing up and trying to hold myself together long enough to walk across the foyer and answer it. I’m sure my eyes are puffy and I look like a disaster, but I can’t find it in me to care.