Page 106 of The Devil's Pawn

I shake my head. “Leave it.”

“Is it Imogen?” He scans my face. “Your eyebrows are both there, so that’s something.”

I know he’s trying to lighten the mood, but I’m not interested in frivolity. I hoist my shoulder up, and he lets go.

I’m almost out of there when he shouts, “You know where I am!”

I pause, then exit, slamming the door behind me. After showering, I put plasters on the worst of my cuts and head to my office. My heart hits the floor at the envelope sitting on the edge of my desk marked as private and with my name on it.

She signed them.

It’s dumb and illogical, but a part of me had hoped she wouldn’t. That she’d fight harder for us. It wouldn’t make a difference in the end, but the sadist in me would have liked her to at least try.

I pick up the envelope and tip it upside down. Confetti falls out, fanning over my desk. It takes me a second to realize what these bits of paper are. She tore up the papers.She tore up the fucking papers.There’s a note among the mess. I pick it up and scan it.

Alexander, here are the divorce papers. A few weeks ago, I’d have happily signed them, but everything’s changed. I love your stupid ass, and I know you love me, too. I have something to do, but when I’m finished, we are figuring things out. Nothing is insurmountable if two people love each other. I’m done pussy footing around and letting you side-step the hard shit. I’ll be back by five at the latest. Imogen

The relief that swarms through me is as powerful as a tsunami. I grip the edge of my desk and break into a smile.

There’s my girl. My little pawn. My fucking queen.

Maybe there is a way through this after all. Perhaps if I tell her why I don’t want kids, she’ll choose me over being a mother.

And I’m selfish enough to let her.

The feelings splayed out on the pages of my journal shock even me, and I wrote them, although I’m sure I was in some kind of trance when I did. I’ve been thinking of the right way to explain my reasoning for not wanting to father children to Imogen, and I figured if I went back over what I wrote after Annabel was murdered, it might help me organize my thoughts.

When I think about having kids, it's the unpredictability that frightens me the most. There isn't much in my life I can't control, but with children it's different. While I can implement procedures and take relevant safety precautions, there's no such thing as a risk-free life. Not if you’re a De Vil, and not if you’re Frank Jones who works in a factory building cars. Life comes with risk, but by avoiding having children in the first place, I protect myself from the crushing pain of losing them.

I know what loss feels like. It’s having your heart ripped out of your chest, leaving behind an empty shell while the colors of life fade to blacks, whites, and grays. It’s waking up every morning with an emptiness nothing will fill. It’s the bleak despair that follows you wherever you go.

The door to my office bursts open, and Nicholas charges inside. I’m about to kick him out and tell him I’m still notinterested in a heart to heart, but the stricken expression on his face pulls me up short.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Imogen. She’s missing.”

My mouth goes dry, and my heart skips several beats. “What do you mean, missing? Have you checked the stables?”

He shakes his head. “Victoria snuck her off the property.”

“What?” I assumed Imogen’s note saying she had something to do referred to her needing some time alone after I blindsided her with my divorce demands. I never considered for a second that she’d leave the confines of Oakleigh.

“She said Imogen asked her to. That she had an errand or something in London, and she didn’t want bodyguards with her. When Victoria turned up at their agreed meeting place, Imogen wasn’t there. She waited thirty minutes, then panicked and rang Elizabeth, who then called me.”

I’m on my feet now, pacing. What thehellwas she doing in London? “How long ago were they supposed to meet?”

“An hour.”

“God-fucking-dammit!” I slam my fist on the desk.

If one of my enemies has taken her, she could be anywhere by now. I grab my phone. Finding her isn’t a problem. It’s a question of how far away she is, and how long it’ll take me to get to her. They could already have her on a flight and in the air.

I open the app, zooming in to get a fix. The dot is stationery. Pinching the screen, I zoom in further. “She’s in a house in Chalk Farm. You’re with me.”

On the move, I send a group text to Douglas and Steven asking them to meet us at the front of the house, along withthe coordinates of the house in Chalk Farm. We’ll assess when we get there and pull in extra support if we need it. But one thing’s for sure: whoever has her is dead. They’re fuckingdead.

“Wait. How do you know where she is?” Nicholas asks.

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