Page 134 of When Hearts Surrender

Chapter 48

I need to leaveher.

There’s no other choice that won’t endanger her life. Whether or not she believes in the curse, or if there’s another nefarious reason for these incidents, the reality is simple.

She’ll die if she stays with me.

And I’ll die alongside her if she’s gone from this world.

Perhaps that’s why I’ve protected my heart behind steel bars, because I know deep inside, I’m an artist looking for his muse, a man roaming this earth missing a part of himself.

Once I find her, I’ll give up everything for her.

I pause by the door of my studio and take out the locket I gave her—the one that had me mesmerized the moment I laid eyes on it on the website Lana sent over. Last night, after we came back home from the hospital, Belle asked me to fix the clasp for her.

Opening the locket, I swallow the lump in my throat and reread the masculine script.

Upon you, my dearest, my love rests for eternity and beyond, for anything less would be insufferable.

A shiver runs through me and I’m gripped with an unexplainable sensation that these words are specifically meant for Belle. From me.

A phantom echo foretold from the past.

My fingers tremble before I close the locket and walk out of the studio toward the stairs.

Toward Belle.

Because I have to leave her even though I love her. If one day I break the curse, I’ll find her again and hope she’ll take me back.

And if that day never comes, I’ll spend the rest of my days loving her from afar, knowing that while I’m heartbroken, my better half is alive and hopefully thriving and moving on without me.

A heaviness sinks its talons into my chest, and I quietly walk toward the grand staircase, dread weighing down my feet like cement blocks.

“…I have everything handled. We’ll get the money soon.”

A furtive whisper interrupts my thoughts, and my hackles rise. My steps slow to a stop and I hold my breath.

“It’s all your fault. If you could just stop your gambling, I wouldn’t need to do this.”

I hear a faint masculine voice, but it’s too muffled for me to make out the words.

Suddenly, Agnes steps out of a room, her face flushed as she holds a cell phone up to her ear. She startles when she sees me and drops the phone.

Narrowing my eyes, I assess her before kneeling to pick up the phone from the floor. But before I can see who she’s talking to, she snatches the phone from my grip.

“S-Sorry, Sir Maxwell, for disturbing you.”

Her eyes dart behind me. She seems nervous.

“Is everything okay, Agnes?”

She nods. “Everything is fine. Excuse me, I need to tend to some things now that Ms. Belle is back.”

She scurries away, her footfalls quick and loud before she banks a right and disappears from view.

Frowning, I continue my way to our bedroom. During Belle’s stay in the hospital, I had an investigative crew come into the mansion andexamine all the food, spices, and water sources in the kitchen to see if the cyanide somehow came from within these walls.

The team came up with nothing. They even searched the commonly used rooms, such as the staff’s quarters and the bedrooms, but there were no signs of any illegal substances or poisons in the house. They concluded the poison must be from the outside, from her work, perhaps.

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