Page 167 of Deceit

She left me alone to fend for myself and how I have to fight off the loss of her.

To live every day knowing I will never see or touch her again whether she married Alexander or not.

Now I have to endure a life where Mills spawned off her kids?

I’m not that forgiving.

Not by a long shot.

Nothing has gone to plan. I thought I’d have enough mental bearings to figure out how I was going to take Alexander and his brother down. However, for the first week of being alone, from being separated from my kids, I fall into what I can best describe as a dark hole.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t eat.

I constantly worry about Alaric and Atlas in the hospital and if something went wrong.

If Alexander tried to pull a fast one on me.

I hired my own security to stand guard at the hospital to protect my kids. I wanted reports every hour on the hour, night and day. I even paid a nurse to keep my babies in a specific spot in the nursery so I could watch them through the security camera in the hall.

I had called Mills so many times that I memorized his number. Even Blue would reach out to attempt and calm me down.

Don’t even get me started on why I agreed to Mills having her know about my still being alive.

I don’t trust her.

I don’t like her.

I didn’t want her, out of everyone in B723, to help. However, I was driving Mills insane, and anything to make things easier, I’d do.

By the middle of the second week, I could move around better and didn’t need to take so many pain meds, but my depression deepened. It was only worsened by watching women in scrubs take care of my children when I couldn’t.

I felt like I was in a glass prison. Happiness and peace were on the other side where my little family resided—my squishies—and I’m restrained by my sins.

At week three, I slowly ate more. Mills came to visit me, being the first visitor I’ve had besides the almost run-in with the mailman last week.

My best friend proceeded to chided and bitched that I looked awful. He double-checked my injuries and told me I needed to speak with someone.

A therapist.

Fat chance. They don’t make medication for people like us, and vocalizing how much of a stupid bitch I am isn’t going to make me feel better.

So I began hunting Alexander. I began organizing everything I wanted to do.

My ex is a straightforward man with a lifestyle that was pristine in the eyes of the public. He was the man who was not only handsome and kind but giving. He prided himself on understanding and being responsible, unlike his alter-ego.

Nonetheless, he was better suited for protection than I gave him credit for or that he ever let on. Which I should’ve been privy to anyway if I did what I normally would’ve done. I let my lack of Bishop in my life overtake a background check and possibly catching onto red flags.

The bank that he held all his money in changes their passwords every five minutes, preventing me from having already hacked in and cleaning him dry.

The man I hired to—this is going to sound fucking horrid—get close to Alexander so I could see how air-tight his bodyguards were ended up being stabbed to death.

Seeing him outside of being with me was something else altogether. I must’ve not noticed it before, like everything else, but he has a mini army at his beck and call.

When we were out together, I never caught anyone safeguarding us from afar, but it wasn’t on my radar.

God, I wish I had half a brain.

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