Page 114 of Devil's Tulip

It’s only been a few days since he inked my finger, and it’s already healed quite nicely. Michael removed the bandage just this morning, so seeing it bare still feels a little surreal. But I love it. I suppose I’ll get used to it with time—just like I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that I’ve fallen in love with my husband. Although I’m too much of a coward to tell him.

I stretch as I push up from the chair, only to wince when a sharp cramp ripples through my lower back and stomach. Couldit be menstrual cramps? The thought makes my heart trip over itself, and suddenly I’m too awake.

Menstrual cramps.

When was my last period?

I try to remember. I try really hard. And I… Ican’t.

The last time was probably while I was still in Seattle, right before I met Michael.

No. No, no, no, no.

That’s impossible.I used the morning-after pill, and I’ve been taking my birth control religiously ever since.

I can’t be pregnant.I can’t.

I’m about to go into a full-blown panic attack when someone knocks on the door. “Sorry to interrupt your study session, Gia,” Gracie calls from the other side. “But there's someone at the gate asking for you.”

Someone wants to see me? My brow furrows as I cross the room and open the door. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know her,” the housekeeper answers, her expression pinched with uncertainty. “I’ve never seen her before.”

Not Elira, then. She’s been here twice since the pill incident. Gracie would recognize her.

So who the hell could it be?

An unfamiliar visitor sets off warning bells in my head, but curiosity wins out. I follow Gracie down the stairs to the security panel near the front door, and the camera feed displays a face that punches the air from my lungs—Marie Cabello.

Aldo’s wife.My aunt.

I’d almost forgotten I even had extended family, but here she stands, a living reminder that they still exist. “What the hell are you doing here?” I snap, hating the horrible memories her presence drags back to the surface.

On the screen, Aunt Marie looks right into the camera, hunching dramatically into the thin jacket around her shouldersas she shivers. “I–I ran away from Aldo, and I couldn’t think of where to go that he can’t reach except here. Please, let me in, Gigi.”

I go rigid.

The use of that nickname sends cold chills through me. Nothing good has ever followed that name. But then, it’s what everyone from that side of the family has always called me, so she probably doesn’t mean to tug on my trauma by using it. Probably…

“Gianna, please,” Aunt Marie sniffs and throws a quick, fearful glance over her shoulder. “I’m not sure, but I think I’m being followed, and if he catches up to me… I’m as good as dead.”

I don’t owe her anything.

No love lost between us.

But I remember what it’s like to be in her shoes—the gnawing fear, the suffocating paranoia, always looking over your shoulder for shadows.

It’s that memory that makes me do it.

Against every screaming instinct, I approve her entry into the house, letting her in.

I wait by the front door, watching the empty driveway for several endless minutes until her slim figure finally materializes on the long road. A small, stupid part of me itches to meet her halfway, but I crush it ruthlessly.

She can walk her own damn way here.

By giving her sanctuary at all, I’m already showing her way more kindness than she ever showed me. Not once did she lift a finger when I was suffering under her husband’s and son’s cruelty. She happily turned an ignorant ear to my plights—hell, and sometimes even seemed to derive pleasure from them.

So why now?

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