Page 75 of Sardonic Burn

“It’s not your fault, Noelle. It’s mine for not being stronger.”

“Don’t say that,” I say through tears. “Don’t ever say that.”

Dylan is trying to console me, yet he’s the one in pain. I’m too numb, too speechless to comprehend the situation for what it truly is.

And it’s not until I have four people escort Dylan safely to his home that I frown and think about our whole conversation. I’m picking up the glass shards and looking into space, replaying the interaction on repeat.

He’s been locked up in Hudson’s basement for weeks. If he’s been interrogated frequently over the course of a few weeks and hasn’t said a word, which resulted in him getting whipped, then why did his wounds look like that?

Blood drains from my face, and a small shard of glass cuts my thumb. I don’t feel the pain and don’t realize it’s stuck under my skin until I see it bleed.

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks and I’m not sure who to call, what to say, or how to act. What am I supposed to do now?

All of Dylan’s wounds are fresh. They are all five days old at most.

There are two potential answers.

Dylan was so traumatized from the weeks he spent in hell that he didn’t provide me a clear answer—or maybe he was tooanxious to tell me, knowing that at the moment, I can’t kill Hudson.

Or none of that happened in the first place, and all of the wounds were self-inflicted after he escaped the basement.

My skin crawls at the thought, and I already have a gut feeling which one is true.

TWENTY

Ikeep thinking back to my university days.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

During my first and fifth year of studying chemical engineering, Ray allowed me to focus on studying only. I was barely active and not keeping up with the business. It was rough, but it still gave me some sense of comfort, knowing that I had one less responsibility to deal with.

During all the years in the middle, Dylan was right there. He was cheering me on, oftentimes helping me with perfecting my mindset and offering his full support when needed.

When I was frustrated because I nearly missed my target, he tracked them down for me. I wouldn’t have missed but at thatpoint, I’d been running on coffee and no sleep for around three days. It was exhausting and as soon as the target was dealt with, I collapsed.

Dylan was right there to catch me.

No matter how many partners I had, he never cared. He only wanted me to be loyal once we were officially married and to keep my affairs tidy and under wraps. And when all the pressure became too much, it was Dylan who managed to break me out of the darkness that consumed my mind.

So, why?

The man who I leaned on and cared about lied to me. Why did he lie? Why did he inflict so much pain on his body only to lie to me? It’s bound to leave scars for life.

None of this makes sense.

Two months ago, I wouldn’t have suspected anything to be wrong with his story. Yet, here I am, questioning the entire course of our relationship. He told me, numerous times, how much he cared about me.

So, why?

My chest is burning, spreading wildfire inside of my body. It prickles, like I’m being internally stabbed with a million tiny needles that pierce through my organs, deeper and deeper.

Oh.

I peel my eyes open, and it stings.

I’m underwater in my bathtub. It’s been a while since I got in here. A bubble appears as I blow some air out of my mouth, but there’s not much air left.

It hurts.

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