Page 120 of Darkest Deception

“Sweet talking your way through. It won’t work.” Pushing my shoulder, she walks out.

“It won’t? You sure?” I ask, following her.

She doesn’t answer as she walks into her walk-in closet.

“No. You hurt me, Helia. How could I recover from that?” Her voice quivers ever so slightly, making my heart ache.

“I know, and I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have kept two faces, but once I did, I couldn’t stop. You intrigued me in a way no one else ever has. How could a woman who looks so strong and confident look so fragile? How could she make my heart burn yet ache at the same time?”

She turns around as soon as those words leave my lips. “A woman you should have left alone.” Her eyes turn sad. They dim as she takes a shaky breath in.

I grab her cheeks in my hands and kiss her on her lips.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and steps out of my hold. “It won’t work. Please. Stop.” She turns me around and changes before she throws my clothes at my face.

She walks out, and I quickly dress and follow her.

She’s lying on her bed, facing the balcony.

My emerald looks sad.

I climb in behind her and hug her from behind her, pulling her closer to me.

“I’ll fix it. I’ll fix us. I promise.”

35

“Ambrose!” Helia’s loud voice booms through the living room.

Mom glances up from her breakfast and scowls. “Who is that maniac shouting this early in the morning?”

Abandoning my food, I head to the front door and step out into the bright early morning. The sun is blazing down, burning my skin through my clothes. It feels wrong to feel the rays of the sun when London is all about gloomy clouds and rain.

Helia stands under the sun, fuming, with crazed eyes and a heaving chest, his suit jacket crumpled at his feet as if he threw it in a fit. His sleeves are messily rolled up to his elbows, and his hair is unruly.

He shakes papers in front of my face. “What the fuck is this?”

Helia left in the morning, just as I expected. I emailed him that same morning asking for leave for a week, and now, a week later, I have sent him a resignation letter.

He’s holding it in his hand right now.

His eyes look so angry I would think he might light me on fire just with that look alone.

“My resignation letter?” Indifference paints my face.

Funnily enough, there was no one watching me do yoga for the past week, there was no feeling of being watched, no one disturbing my peace anymore.

And yet, I felt empty.

“Why?” He steps closer, but I take a step to the left and walk down the steps, standing away from him.

He follows me.

“Why did you resign?” He stands in front of me again, panic clear in his voice, his eyes searching mine for answers that he won’t find.

“I don’t want the job anymore.” I shrug.

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