Page 51

CHAPTER 51

Tristan

What’s one word for a man who beats his wife, controls her, lives off her, cheats on her, and now that she’s trying to break out of his prison, now that he can’t get any more pieces of the cake, he reveals her secrets to ruin her life in revenge?

Dead.

If Butterfly man doesn’t kill that piece of shit, I’ll do it myself.

Against my advice, Birdie has tried to call him. She shouldn’t have any contact with him. We don’t know what else the sneaky bastard is up to; he can twist her words and use them against her. He never picked up, though.

She’s been on the phone for the last eighteen minutes in her office, figuring out if it’s just Abel who is in on the press conspiracy or her agent and publisher are backing up the scandal for more sales of her books.

“My agent has no clue what’s going on, and she’ll see what she can do to contain the situation. My publisher, on the other hand, doesn’t answer my calls. What does that tell me?” She tosses her phone on the desk and places her hands on her hips. “How could they do this to me? Why? I’ve made my publisher multiple seven figures, and Blake would have lived as a king for the rest of his life with the money he’s made working with me if he hadn’t spent it all on drugs and whores.”

When I see her like that, I wish I could zip open my chest and let her crawl inside where I could shelter her from the cruelty of the world. “I’m so sorry, Birdie. When money is involved, people do nasty things.”

“But why do I have to be the one that pays for their greed and vice?” She rubs her mouth like a warrior ready for blood. “None of that. Not anymore.” Then she makes another call.

“Who are you calling again?”

“My agent.”

“You said she didn’t know anything.”

Birdie turns her back at me, as if she didn’t hear me. “Martha, I’ve just got off the phone with Blake. He told me everything.”

My eyes narrow at the back of her head. Why would she lie?

“I told him if he came clean, I’d consider reassigning him as my manager, and he sang like a canary. He confessed that he did it. You know who helped him?” Birdie twists and smirks at me. “My publisher. Blake recorded their conversation together, and I listened to every word. You know what that means.” She opens the speaker.

“A lawsuit is in order,” Martha says.

“Exactly. But I have a good heart. If the house will settle, I won’t go to court or destroy their reputation on social.”

“I’ll make sure your message is delivered. How much are we talking about?”

“Half of what I’ve made them.”

Martha clears her throat. “Half?”

“Not a dime less, and my rights reverted back to me.” She ends the call, pride and victory dancing in her eyes.

“Do you think they’ll fall for it? What if Abel tells them the truth?” I ask.

“They won’t believe him, and they’ll settle because they’re guilty. But if they don’t, I’ll go to Blake and offer him exactly what I said I offered him. He’ll run to catch that bone like the dog he is and sell them out,” she stretches on her toes to reach my ear, “but we both know he’ll run out of breath before he gets one bite.”

She walks to the sofa bed nonchalantly, unaware of the havoc she’s wreaked in her wake. I watch her in awe, as if I’m seeing her for the first time, and fall in love with her dark side as much as I have with her light. She’s the verse I can’t write but I’ll spend a lifetime trying. A story I dare not tell without crossing the line between sanity and madness, inspiring quests I never knew I longed for.

“You’re a masterpiece.” One, for now, I can only admire from afar.

Her lips stretch with a sated smile as she sits. “Well, thank you, Tristan. Can you bring Jacob in, please? I need to apologize for doubting him.”

Just like that, I go from picturing myself worshiping at her feet to spanking her while my hand is squeezing her throat.

When I let the detective in, he’s talking to someone on the phone. He wraps it up as he takes a seat right next to her. How dare he invade her space like that? I should be the only one allowed to sit there. I can’t stand the way his eyes roam over her face, drinking in her beauty that should be mine alone to appreciate. Every cell in my body screams to rip him apart, to make him suffer for daring to breathe the same air as her. What happens if I tear him away from her side and throw him against the wall?

I imagine the satisfying crunch of his bones breaking under my fists, the way his blood would paint the floor, the things he’d say to beg for his—

“Tristan?” Birdie brings me back to reality.

I clear my throat. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Yes. Could you please give us a minute?”

My what the fuck stare tightens at her, but she doesn’t budge. From the corner of my eye, I see Torrance smirking.

Bending more than necessary to whisper to her, I smirk back at Torrance, and then I whisper, my lips less than an inch apart from her ear, “If he doesn’t wipe that smirk off, I won’t just do it for him. I’ll rearrange his face in a way he can never smile again.”

She inclines her head and whispers back. “You’re out of line, again, breaking your promise when you literally just said you’d always keep your promises to me.”

One day, I’ll punish that mouth that challenges me, those lips that mock me, so close to mine, so primed for the taking, and yet off-limits. “It’s funny how you seem to remember only one of them and forget the rest. Remember what I said would happen if you let him touch you. Don’t test me, Birdie. My patience has its limits.”

As I wait outside her office, I watch them on my phone. I could listen to their conversation, too, but I choose not to. Maybe she’s testing my trust. Maybe I don’t trust myself if I hear something intimate between them. I can’t let him provoke me into doing something stupid that could ruin everything between me and her. I can’t let him win. I can, however, think of how many ways to kill Jacob Torrance that can pass for an accident. Twenty-three.

I catalogue each interaction between them, filing it away to replay later in agonizing detail. Every smile she gives him, every word, inspires another way to end his life.

Earlier, I said she deserved a good guy, but he doesn’t deserve her. No one does. I’ve memorized her every habit, her likes and dislikes, breathed in her art, learned her darkest fantasies without her having to verbalize them for me, and she shared sacred moments and secrets with me she’ll never have with him. What does he know about her, really? He can’t possibly understand her the way I do, can’t worship her the way she should be worshipped.

If only she could see how perfect we’d be together. If only I could make her understand that no one would ever love her as deeply, as completely as I do. No one has what it takes to give her what she needs from a man like I do.

One day she’ll realize it. She has to. And if she doesn’t see it on her own, I’ll make her.

Torrance comes out, somehow looking even taller than he already is, and strides down the hall without a word. Then Birdie leans against the doorframe next to me, playing casually with her necklace.

“Why did you tell me to leave? And where is he going?” I ask.

She rests her back against the frame, her eyes daring, piercing, peeling me layer by layer. “You mean you didn’t listen?”

“No. I only do when you authorize it or a threat is detected. It’s protocol, Mrs. Abel.”

Her lips curve up at the corners. “Fair enough, Mr. Morra.”

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

She nods for me to come inside and walks toward the windows. “Tell the guards to let Jacob talk to the reporters. He said he could deal with them. Let’s see if he comes through.”

“If he’s flashing a badge to shoo them away, it can backfire. Normal people can get away with calling the cops on the press, but celebrities get slayed on social media for it.”

“That’s not what he’s about to do. Just tell the men to let him through and watch.”

“You’re the boss.” I turn on my mic. “Let him through.”

The previously hushed murmurs of the reporters camped outside the gate swell into a roar of questions and demands as Torrance steps down the porch. Microphones thrust forward like accusing fingers, and camera lenses glint in the morning light, each eager to capture every expression he makes.

He puts his shades at the barrage of flashing bulbs. Clearing his throat, he raises a hand to quiet the clamoring crowd and marches to the gate. “Good morning. I’m Detective Jacob Torrance of the Oak Bluffs Police Department. Thank you all for coming. I’m here to make a statement on behalf of my department to provide an update on the investigation into the death of Katie Saldana, age 26, whose body was found in a vehicle that crashed into Ocean Park on March 5th, 2025.”

The reporters fall into an anticipatory hush. Only the rustle of wind through the oak trees lining the driveway and the distant call of a seagull break the sudden silence.

“Can he do that?” I ask.

Birdie’s gaze drifts outside the windows. “He’s been on the phone with his boss asking for permission, and he’s cleared to give a statement.”

“After a thorough investigation,” Torrance begins, “including comprehensive forensic analysis, toxicology reports, and accident reconstruction, we have concluded that Mrs. Saldana’s death was not the result of foul play as initially suspected.

“The evidence we’ve gathered indicates that Mrs. Saldana suffered a fatal drug overdose while driving, which led to the subsequent car crash. Toxicology reports show lethal levels of psychedelic amphetamines in her system at the time of death. The medical examiner has officially ruled the cause of death as drug overdose.

“While this case did not involve murder, it highlights the ongoing drug crisis affecting our community. We urge anyone struggling with substance abuse to seek help from local support services. We extend our deepest condolences to Mrs. Saldana’s husband, family and friends during this difficult time. This case is now closed. We appreciate the public’s assistance and understanding throughout our investigation. I’ll now take a few questions.”

A commotion erupts, but the detective points at one of the reporters in the middle to speak.

“What about Mrs. Abel’s stalker and their threats? Have you investigated them?”

Torrance glances toward the office, and Birdie nods once behind the curtain, as if he could see her. She must have known that question would pop up. What did she tell him to say? Is she revealing the big bad Butterfly Man secret to the public? Is that why she told me to leave the room, knowing I’d never approve of that plan security wise? Is she provoking Butterfly Man to come out and play with an even bigger move? “What did you do, Birdie?”

“I’m controlling the narrative.”

Torrance’s expression remains neutral. “We’ve followed up on the report Mrs. Abel filed on February 15th, 2024, concerning receiving a rather disturbing note from an anonymous person. The note, while concerning, appears to be an isolated, one-time incident, and we’ve found no evidence linking it to Mrs. Saldana’s death. That case was closed weeks before the unfortunate event.”

Another reporter shouts out, “Is Mrs. Abel in any danger? Why are you here at her residence?”

“We take all threats seriously, but there’s no evidence of any danger to Mrs. Abel. As I said, the incident was never repeated, and no stalking claims could be proved. As a courtesy, Mrs. Abel has agreed to let me share with you some private details about the report.

“Mrs. Abel’s safety is not currently at risk because we’ve identified the person who sent the note, who thought at the time it was a harmless joke. Since it was a one-time incident, and due to the nature of their relationship, Mrs. Abel decided not to press charges. But rest assured we’ve taken every legal precaution to ensure it won’t happen again.”

“Who is the person who sent that note?!”

“What is the nature of their relationship?!”

The shouts and screams demanding to know who Butterfly Man is and how Birdie knows him ricochet against the walls.

“What the hell?” I stand in front of Birdie. “That’s what you told him to say? Are you crazy?”

“Watch your tone,” she says ever so calmly.

“You told Torrance, the fucking police, about Butterfly Man!”

“No, I only told him my assistant tried to prank me, and my greedy husband played along, thinking it was a good publicity stunt just like the police called it. Then I asked him to feed the press that story without disclosing any details, and he generously agreed.”

“Lying to your agent about your junkie husband to get back at your publisher is one thing, but this? This is beyond dangerous, Birdie. We don’t know how your stalker will respond to this.”

“That’s exactly the point.” She meets my gaze, her eyes determined. “We need to flush out Butterfly Man, make him react. This controlled release of information might just do that and, simultaneously, drive away the prying eyes of the reporters.” Her eyes return to Torrance as he handles the press. “I played it your way, Tristan, but it didn’t work. We need Butterfly Man to make a move, to slip up. It’s the only way we’ll catch him.”

I watch her profile, illuminated by the morning light filtering through the curtains. Her determination is palpable, and despite my reservations, I can’t help marveling at her courage. That woman has some ovaries on her, and she’s not afraid of playing with fire.

Outside, Torrance wraps up the circus. “Due to privacy concerns, we won’t be disclosing further details about Mrs. Abel’s personal circumstances. Please know that this is the only statement Mrs. Abel will give. Thank you all for coming. No further questions at this time.”

As the reporters begin to disperse, Birdie turns to me. “See? They’re leaving. Step one done.”

“Now what?”

“Now we wait. And we watch very, very carefully.”

The game has changed, and Butterfly Man’s next move could be the one that finally brings him into the light or burns us all in flames.

Torrance returns to her office, so full of himself, and she welcomes him as if he were a triumphant soldier after a vicious war. But what does he know about wars?

She grins at him. “You saved the day, Detective. I can’t thank you enough. How can I repay you?”

“That smile on your face is the best reimbursement ever,” he replies, and bile rises to my throat.

“At least, let me make you some coffee. The one you bought must be cold.”

“If that buys me some more time with you, then I’d love that very much.”

Seriously, my stomach has just flipped. “Shouldn’t you get some sleep, Mrs. Abel? It’s been a stressful day, and you didn’t sleep well last night.”

She throws a dismissive wave at me. “I’ll be fine after getting that coffee.”

“Actually, your bodyguard is right,” Torrance says. What is he doing? Trying to win me over too? That will never happen, forro. “You should rest. And…I was thinking, maybe this weekend, we can go somewhere…you know, to rejuvenate after all that stress.”

Her face lights up with interest. “What do you have in mind?”

“How about Cape Cod? Or Vermont?”

“That sounds—”

Like something that will never happen in your lifetime, motherfucker. He’s trying to get her to fuck him after one date and one favor? Guess that smile on your face isn’t the best reimbursement ever after all.

“—lovely.”

No. No. No.

“Great. I’ll send you options, and you can choose the one you like the most,” he says and then looks at me, “then I’ll send you the itinerary and all trip information for the security check.”

Smashing his bones and painting the floor with his blood won’t be enough. I’ll make him watch me fuck her like he never can before I tear him limb to limb, and then fuck her again on each part of his corpse.

The images in my head are so soothing I grin from ear to ear. “Who’s gonna be paying for this trip?”

“Tristan,” Birdie scolds.

“I am,” Torrance answers before I have to explain to her that another cop could be taking advantage of her fortune because, shockingly, it doesn’t seem to have crossed her mind. “It’s my idea. Of course, I’ll cover all expenses.”

Because you expect to get your dick wet in return. “We’ll need at least four rooms, one for you, one for her, and two for us, maybe more if I decide to bring additional details. You sure you can afford it on your detective salary?”

“Yes, Morra, I’m sure. Being my age with no family to provide for has a few perks when it comes to money.” He gazes at her. “Lunch tomorrow?”

She nods with a smile. “It’s a date.”

“Have a good day, Morra.” He smirks at me on his way out.

I shoot her a death glare. “How many times have I told you not to test me, Birdie, and you haven’t listened?”

She saunters toward her desk. “I stopped counting.”

“Then I hope you’re prepared for the consequences.” I march out of the house and follow Torrance as he walks out of the gate.

He stops midway to his car. “Looking for something, Morra?”

“Just ensuring your safety exit, Detective. You don’t know what might be lurking in the shadows or who.”

He chuckles. “I can handle myself.”

“Better safe than sorry. Just like I won’t let anyone come near Birdie, I can’t let anything happen to her guests.”

He approaches me and nods, smiling like a goddamn creep. Then he bends his head down to my side. “At some point, you’re gonna see I’m a better man for her than you’ll ever be. Deep down you know I can protect her more than you can.”

“Why? Because of your training and guns?” I scoff. “Look around you, Detective. The youngest one in my team has received more training and has access to more guns than you. Your badge doesn’t amount to much here. If anything, it’s a disadvantage.”

He glances at the mostly vacant area outside the gate. “Didn’t look that way to me today.”

I scoff again, keeping the blazing war inside me buried. “Enjoy the little time she allows you with her while I live in her house all day and all night, where I sleep in the room right next to hers or stand outside her bedroom at night, one step away from answering her if she needs anything .”

A cold fire ignites in his metallic gaze. “She’s not yours to have.”

“Or yours. Consider this your one and only warning, Detective.”

He doesn’t deserve her, and neither do I, but I’ll take her anyway. She doesn’t belong to Abel, Torrance or Butterfly Man. She belongs to me.

Reagan will be mine.