Page 67 of Split

I should feel anything but safe with this man, yet the juxtaposition of these tender moments against his otherwise callous demeanor has lulled me into a distorted sense of complacency.Better the devil I know.

“Home?” I ask, blinking up at him as another wave of nausea rolls through me.

“Yes, we’re going back to the manor,” he responds frankly. “You clearly need some time to process all of this.”

Understatement of the century.I need more than time; what I really need is a fucking lobotomy.

“You’re leaving?” Magnus scoffs, rising to stand. “But what about…?”

“Later,” Knox snarls, turning a menacing glare on his father as he, too, pushes up from his seat and rounds the table to join me and Roman.

Magnus snaps his mouth closed with a disgruntled huff, all traces of the affable father-in-law gone when he cuts me a cold glare, as ifI’mthe one at fault for derailing this dinner.

“Let’s go,” Knox grunts, coming up on my other side and grasping onto my arm, steadying me as the pair begin urging me forward.

My knees buckle beneath my weight as they guide me from the dining room, their bodies bracketing either side of mine like a protective shield. I go with them willingly, even though I’m not sure whether they’re marching me to safety or to my execution.

Sadly enough, I’m not sure that I even care anymore.

29

Anumb sense of detachment settles over me as I pause my steps to stare up at the dark exterior of the manor upon our return, Roman and Knox coming to a stop on either side and looking to me questioningly.

“I just need a minute,” I whisper, eyes fixed on the gothic arched windows above the heavy front door.

“Take your time,” Knox nods, continuing forward.

Roman hesitates for a moment, jaw tightening as he lingers in indecision. Then he, too, nods, starting after his brother toward the house.

Even their strides are identical. If it weren’t for the differences in the suits they’re wearing, I wouldn’t be able to tell the twins apart. It’s no wonder they were able to deceive me so easily.

Blowing out a measured breath, I pull my black fur stole tighter around my shoulders and swivel to glance out over the estate grounds. I hear the door to the manor open and close as the men retreat inside. The glow of the town car’s taillights fades in the distance, the sound of gravel beneath the tires growing more faint as Andrew drives away. It gives way to relative silence, save for the creepy nocturnal noises of the estate. Abreeze rustles the leaves of the trees in the forest; the metal garden gate creaks on its hinges.

Everything about this place scared me when I first arrived, but now there’s an odd sense of comfort in the familiarity of it all. The same can be said for my husband. I don’t fear him quite like I used to, and there’s some semblance of relief in finally knowing the truth about the Volkov twins; in verifying that I actuallyhaven’tbeen losing my mind here.

So many questions remain unanswered, but at the moment I’m still coming to grips with the reality of Jekyll and Hyde being two separate people. I’d thoroughly convinced myself the man I married had a split personality– I had the psychology texts to back up my theory. And even after Roman’s denial when I confronted him, I was sure I’d unearthed the truth and he was merely deflecting.

I should’ve known.

There’s always another side to the story.

The sudden sound of approaching footsteps startles me so much that I jump, whipping sideways to see a silhouette creeping toward me alongside the house, distorted by the shadows. I suck in a gasp, eyes widening in terror– but just as I’m about to scream, my father’s gardener steps out from the darkness and whispers my name.

“Wesley?” I choke, face screwing up in confusion. I dart a quick glance back and forth before rushing toward him, my heart leaping into my throat. “What are you doing here?” I hiss sharply.

I haven’t seen him since the day my father caught us in bed together and put a gun to his head, but he still looks the same. Shaggy blonde hair, pale blue eyes, lanky build. Startlingly small and boyish compared to Roman.

“I’m here to save you,” he breathes, his lips curving into a brittle smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He reaches behindhis back as I step in front of him, but then there’s a sudden blur of movement, a flash of something metallic, a spray of hot blood splashing across my face and chest.

Wesley’s hands fly up to clutch at his throat, split wide and gushing crimson. A garbled, choking sound escapes his ruddy lips as he collapses to the ground, my husband standing stone-faced behind him with a blood-drenched blade in his hand.

I stumble backwards, tripping over my heels as I frantically try to wipe the gore off my skin, shock and horror suffocating my lungs.

He killed him.

Roman– I meanKnox– just murdered sweet, innocent Wesley right before my eyes, and as he advances a step in my direction, it’s evident I’m next.

A burst of adrenaline rushes through me as survival instinct takes over, triggering my fight or flight response. Dropping my fur stole to the ground, I pivot around, kick off my heels, and run for my fucking life.

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