Page 95 of Ruthless Regret

I don't answer. Ican't. Not right now. I’m still semi-trapped in the memories of prison, in the thoughts of what I did, how I survived, and what I need to do next.

Her sigh reaches me through the door, then her footsteps retreat down the hall, leaving me alone in a room that feels too open, too exposed.

Why did I come back to this house? I should have found somewhere else to stay. I need smaller spaces, controlled environments.

Before I know it, I'm in the adjoining bathroom, setting up a makeshift bed in the tub.

It's ridiculous, I fucking know that. But the enclosed space, the hard surfaces—it's familiar. It's what I know. What I lived with for fourteen years.

I settle into the tub, a pillow behind my back, a blanket over my legs. The bathroom light flickers, casting shadows on the tiled walls. It's not comfortable, but it's not supposed to be.

Comfort is a luxury I’m no longer used to. One I'm not sure I deserve.

Lying in this bathtub, I go over what we’ve learned today. The buried reports. Holson’s concerns. The worry in Ashley’s eyes when I came out of the bathroom.

I'm free, but I don't know how to be free.

I'm innocent, but I feel guilty.

I wanted revenge, but now I just want fucking peace.

It doesn't fit. None of this fucking fits into the man I’m supposed to be.

My eyes drift closed, and that’s when I hear it—the soft click of the bathroom door opening. I tense, ready to snap at whoever's intruding, but the words die in my throat when I see her.

Ashley stands in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the bedroom light behind her. Her eyes widen as she takes in the scene—me, stretched out in the bathtub like some fucking idiot.

"Zain," she whispers, and there's something in her voice I can't quite place. Concern? Pity? Confusion? "What are you doing?"

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

ASHLEY

After Zain disappears upstairs,I wander around the house, in and out of rooms. Listening to Holson today has put my nerves on edge.

A witness saw Louisa arguing with someone outside the house the day before the murders.

Who was she arguing with? And why did Ramsey bury that information?

I end up in the kitchen, methodically going through cabinets and the refrigerator. My hands move on autopilot, finding things I can put together for a meal. It's a poor distraction from the thoughts swirling in my mind, but it's something.

When I’m done, I go upstairs. The room at the end of the hallway has light spilling from beneath it. I assume that’s the one Zain is in, so I tap on the door, and ask if he wants to come out for dinner.

Silence is my only answer, so I go to my room, change into a pair of pajamas, then go back downstairs and eat alone, still thinking about everything we learned today.

Ramsey is dead. Possibly murdered. The implications send a chill down my spine. Someone out there is desperate to keep the truth buried.

My mind flashes back to the day when I was attacked, in this very house, and my eyes jerk up to the back door.

The masked figure, the glint of the knife.

Was that Ramsey? Or the person he was protecting? Are they still out there, watching us even now?

I stand up and walk across to the door so I can peer out of the window, searching the darkness for any sign of movement. Every shadow seems to hide a threat. My skin crawls with the sensation of being watched.

Stop it. I’m just being paranoid.

But am I? Someone killed Ramsey. What if they decide we're next?

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