Page 64 of Turmoil's Target

I have to get out of here.

Have to clear my head and figure out what the hell I’m going to do now that my world has been turned upside down.

But even as I peel out of the parking lot, tires squealing against the pavement, one thought consumes me: I need to confront Abe.

I need to look into his eyes and demand the truth, no matter how much it may destroy me.

The drive back to my penthouse is a blur, rage and betrayal shorting out my mind until all I can see is Abe’s face.

Those warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiles at me.

Those full lips that have trailed fire along my skin and whispered sweet promises in the dark.

Was it all a lie?

An act he put on to infiltrate my life and tear down everything I’ve worked for?

I barely register parking the car, storming through the sleek lobby and into the elevator.

My finger jabs the button for the top floor, the confined space feeling like a cage around me as I watch the numbers crawl upward.

The moment the doors slide open, I’m moving, high heels clicking on gleaming marble as I stride down the hall.

I shove my key into the lock, the door banging open to reveal the dimly lit penthouse.

The sight of the tastefully decorated space, with its modern furniture and expensive art pieces, suddenly feels alien to me.

A harsh laugh bubbles from my lips.

Here I’ve been living in a luxurious nest of lies, tangled in a web of deceit spun by my own lover.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

My fists clench.

The urge to break something, anything to mirror the chaotic churn of emotions inside me, is overwhelming.

I scream, making my way through. “You better have a bloody good explanation for this, Abe!”

With a shuddering breath, I head straight for the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine from the temperature-controlled cellar.

Perhaps it’s not the best idea considering my current state, but right now I don’t give a shite.

I’m furious and if I’m going to have this conversation, I’m going to need a drink.

All I need is a moment of numbness, a fleeting escape from the whirlwind of betrayal and raw hurt threatening to consume me.

Abe’s sitting on my couch watching the game and I’m barely containing my rage.

He jumps to his feet as soon as he sees me, a look of alarm in his eyes. “Sera, what…?”

His words die in his throat. Good.

The sight of his momentary confusion brings a bitter satisfaction.

Without a word, I stride across the room and land a stinging punch right on his nose.

The force of it sends him staggering back onto the couch, hand clamped over his bleeding nose.

---