Page 69 of Envy

I almost drop the disgusting cake. “What?”

She’s been pale for the past couple of days. I count the days. Subtract. Then count again. A slow, proud smile spreads across my lips. She hasn’t been eating like she usually does, and she looked at the plate of strawberries like it was covered in mold.

“You think?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

“Yes. And she’s also jealous that I’m here.” Veronica crosses her arms. “And she knows.”

Knows what?

“That we’ve…” She tilts her head to the side, avoiding the words.

We don’t talk about it. It was a mistake, but it happened, and at the time, it helped both of us.

She’s happily married and in love with Alaric. And me? I’m in love with the girl who’s more than likely pregnant with my child.

“I guess I have to change that.”

I wave my hand over the trash. The lid lifts with a soft whir. Reaching in, I pull out the note she threw away. The note where, in not so many words, I told her I love her.

Yeah, I haven’t outright said it, but I didn’t think I needed to. I was wrong. I was wrong not to introduce her first. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I was an idiot for inviting Veronica in the first place. I didn’t think about how she’d feel. I should have.

But I wanted to bake her a cake. To celebrate her birthday. Or at least, the birth date Alaric found for her. It wasn’t real—he could only confirm the year, not the month or the day—so I thought of letting her pick one if she wanted.

I didn’t want to buy a cake. I didn’t know which one to get. I wanted her to taste different flavors and find out which one she loved best. What color she liked. Buttercream icing or whipped? Chocolate, velvet, vanilla, or birthday cake?

But again, I didn’t think. I should have never let her walk away. I should have explained. Told her that I love her. That it will always be her.

“What do I do?” I ask, dropping the ruined cake into the trash.

Veronica peers over at the note in my hands, then at me. “What a man should have done a long time ago,” she says flatly. “Kill that asshole. Marry her. Create a fucking legacy with her. Fill this house with children of your own.”

I smile, imagining a little girl with her smile—Rose wearing my ring.

A flash of red light.I groan. My head feels like it’s being plowed by a bulldozer. One minute, I was walking out of my dorm, putting my things back. The next, I was rushed from behind—something hard slammed against the side of my skull.

Pain throbs behind my left eye as I struggle topeel my eyes open. That damn red light.

The stench in the room makes my stomach twist violently—a foul mix of dirty socks, sweat, sex, and cologne. I gag. Then I vomit. It burns its way up, acid and bile hitting the floor.

“Fucking hell. She threw up again.”

David.

His voice is annoyed, disgusted. I inhale through my nose, and my stomach lurches again.

“What the hell is wrong with her?” David asks, irritated. “Is she sick? Did you hit her too hard? She might need a doctor.”

No, you piece of shit. I don’t need a doctor. I need you to fucking die.

“She’s fine,” John replies, impatient. “We didn’t give her the drugs this time.”

John.

John took me. He wasn’t supposed to. He broke the rules. But John doesn’t give a shit about rules. He’s been waiting for this moment. Watching. Plotting. He saw an opportunity, and he took it—like the sickpedophilic fuck he is.

But something isn’t right with me. I’ve felt off since Saturday. I missed my period before I could restart my contraceptive pills. I thought I was safe. I have an IUD. But maybe it failed. And I think I’m pregnant. I won’t tell them. It wouldn’t save me. I need to be strong.

I pull at my wrists. Nothing. The restraints bite into my skin, tight as ever.

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