Page 46 of Twisted Love

EARL

The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the computers on my desk. The glow of their screens cast faint patterns of light across the polished wood. A few emails need replies. Some reports to review. Things that actually matter. Not her.

Definitely not her, but my fingers remain frozen over the keyboard and my mind filled with thoughts of her.

She wants a suitcase.

She wants to leave me.

I lean back in my chair, staring blankly at the rows of books on the shelves. My jaw clenches. Fuck her. If she wants to leave, she can leave. Let her go. Hell, I’d welcome the quiet. Since she walked back into my life, it has been nothing but drama.

I try to summon the hate and anger that’s kept me moving all these years. The cold fury that’s driven every carefully placed chess piece in this house of revenge.

But I can’t.

The truth is, the thought of her walking out ruins everything.

My hand tightens into a fist on the desk. Why do I let her have so much control over me? Why does she still even matter? I’ve already told myself a hundred times over that she’s just a gold digger and every ounce of tension, snide remark, and cold stare is justice. Justice for what she did to me.

So why can’t I stop feeling like the world is coming to an end?

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, raking a hand through my hair.

I sit upright and try to shake off the creeping unease. If she’s packing, I have very little time. Once she leaves, I will have no more leverage. My fingers drum impatiently on the desktop. I need to do something drastic and I need to do it soon.

But before I can find the solution to my problem, the phone on my desk buzzes. I glance at the screen. It’s not a number I recognize, but it’s a local number.

I consider ignoring it. I don’t have the energy for some telemarketer or misplaced business call right now, but because it’s local something compels me to pick up.

“Earl? Hi, It’s Annabelle.”

The sound of her name stops me cold. Well, well, Charles’s sister. Calling me. How surreal. My grip on the receiver tightens, and I lean forward in my chair, my attention piqued.

“Annabelle?” I repeat, more a query than a greeting. It’s been years since I last heard from her—she was always composed and polite, unlike the chaos her brother embodied. Why the hell is she calling me now?

“Yes,” she confirms, the faintest tremor in her voice. “It’s … it’s been a while.”

Understatement of the year. I don’t respond immediately, my mind trying to piece together the purpose of her call. The years, the silence, the sudden intrusion—it doesn’t add up. A slow smile starts on my lips. It’s not a good smile, but maybe, just maybe I’ve found the leverage I was looking for.

“Hi, how are you?” I ask silkily.

There’s a soft laugh on the other end, the kind that manages to sound both amused and mildly self-deprecating. “Better than I thought I’d be … all things considered,” she says, her tone casual, as if we’re picking up a conversation left unfinished.

Her friendliness surprises me. She’s not angry, cutting, not even guarded. I pulled the rug from under her family and her. But Annabelle was always … civil, even kind when it came to me. She was the only one who ever stood up to Charles’s taunts or rolled her eyes at his provocations.

Still, it doesn’t erase the fact that I took their house, their last remnant of wealth, left centuries ago by their ancestors. That truth lingers between us, unspoken but undeniably there. And yet, she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Not at all.

“So,” she says lightly, “it’s been forever. I heard what happened between you and Charles. Charles and I grew apart many years ago and I haven’t kept in touch with him. From what I gather, you have been up to quite a lot lately.”

I don’t know how to respond. I should feel triumphant, instead, I feel confused. Her unaffected tone makes me uneasy. What game is she playing at? I knew she didn’t get on with her mother, but even so, she is taking being thrown out of her ancestral home too lightly.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” I say finally, keeping it vague. “What about you?”

“Oh, me?” she laughs again, this time more genuinely. “I just got into town, actually. I moved to Los Angeles five years ago. Been teaching yoga.”

Yoga? Not what I expected for someone who was going to Harvard last time I checked, but I guess she was always a bit whimsical and airy-fairy. I don’t comment, I just let her continue.

“You, on the other hand …” She laughs again. “I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard. Man, what an Alpha move. I don’t think I’ve ever been so upset to miss a wedding before. You do know that Mother will never forgive you, don’t you?”

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