Page 69 of Ruthless Regret

“Good?”

“Fine.” That seems to be the word of the evening.

He starts the car, the engine humming to life. I glance at Ashley through the mirror. She’s staring out of the window, arms crossed. Her posture screams anger and defiance, but she doesn’t say a word.

The car is quiet as we drive through the darkened streets. It’s not until the city is fading into the distance behind us, that Ashley speaks.

“I thought you were a lawyer, not a chauffeur.” Her words are tart, directed at Peter.

One corner of his mouth tips up. “I’m moonlighting.” He glances at me, one eyebrow raised. I give him a small shake of my head.

She lets out a slow, measured breath, her shoulders loosening slightly. There’s still tension in her jaw, the way her lips are pressed together, like she’s biting back whatever she really wants to say.

Peter taps his fingers against the steering wheel, his gaze shifting between the road and the mirror. He’s watching her, too. He’s not a fool. He knows Ashley isn’t happy with the situation I’ve forced her into, and there’s a high possibility that something is going to break.

But it won’t. Not tonight, at least.

We pass the sign marking the exit toward Whitstone, and I catch Ashley’s slight shift in position through the reflection in the windshield.

She recognizes the road. Is probably aware that we’re less than thirty minutes away from reaching the town.

There’s no turning back now. No changing her mind. No running away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ASHLEY

The car glidesthrough the electric gates, its engine rumbling the only sound as we follow the circular drive toward the house. The headlights sweep across the dark exterior, casting shadows over the stone walls, making it look colder, more imposing than I remember.

Has it only been a couple of days since I was last here?

I get out when Zain opens the door for me, and wait for him to open the trunk so I can retrieve my suitcase. While he walks around to the driver’s side to speak to Peter, I turn to face the house.

Halfway through the drive here, I almost told them to turn around and take me back to New York. It all seemed so logical back there. Coming back, finding answers, getting closure. But now I’m here … There’s a weight pressing down on my chest, the slightest hint of fear that I’m about to open the lid on Pandora’s box and let out all the bad things.

But I’ve made my decision. There’s no turning back now. Not if I want to be able to move on with my life.

Zain’s voice is a deep, quiet murmur behind me as he talks to Peter. Too low for me to hear what he’s saying, but enough to be aware that he’s there. After about a minute, there’s a lightthump, as though he’s hitting the top of the car. It’s followed by the crunch of tires on gravel, a flash of headlights, and then the car is disappearing down the drive, leaving us alone.

Me … alone … with Zain.

The night is still, quiet, like even the air is holding its breath while it waits to see what happens.

Zain moves past me, up to the front door. I stay where I am, watching as he unlocks the door and disappears inside. Lights go on a couple of seconds later. Taking a deep breath, I follow him. The wheels of my suitcase clatter over the gravel. Each step feels like a countdown. Like I’m walking along the executioner’s path.

The entrance hall is as beautiful and cold as I remember. My eyes shift to the doorway on the opposite side, but the remnants of the vase I threw at him have long gone.

Zain is standing to one side, in front of the alarm panel. Once he’s finished, he flips it closed, then turns to me.

“Follow me.” His voice is crisp, even, emotionless.

He walks up the stairs, not bothering to check if I’m following him. My heart is pounding, as I walk behind him. It’s so loud, I’m surprised he can’t hear it. Every instinct I possess is screaming at me to turn around and leave, to get as far away from here as I can.

But I don’t.

Ican’t.

Because there’s something else beneath the fear, something that keeps driving me forward.

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