Page 53 of Widow's Walk

I remain composed, putting on the façade of following along to the flow of conversation, but that’s not where my attention lies. I’m fixated on the way Sinclair fists her hands in her lap under the table as she wears a careless, vacant smile. Putting on a flawless performance.

If I didn’t witness her consuming all the alcohol myself, I’d swear she wasn’t even drunk right now.

She’s just that good at acting aloof to her family’s cruelty, keeping hold of what little power she still possesses with them. She plays it so well. Detached. Dismissive. As if none of it gets to her. But I see right through the act. I see how deep it cuts.

And the worst part? She’s used to it.

So, when the wine is again poured for her, I don’t bat an eye.

If they make her out to be the villain, she might as well drink like one.

We’re all silent on the flight home. No one questions my mood or dares to speak to me. No one rolls their eyes at my drunk fiancée. We were all witnesses to the same abominable treatment. How Sinclair was carved up by her family and then written off like a check. And how she took it. As if it were normal, expected.

Harlan takes it upon himself to sit next to Sinclair with an unspoken understanding. They all sense that I need time to myself. I need to keep my distance, stewing in my anger until it simmers before dealing with her.

After seeing her mistreatment for myself, I don’t have the heart to take my anger out on her. It’s not a question of whether she can take it or not, because it isn’t a question. I know she can. But she deserves better.

I stare at her profile as she seems to be entertaining him right back, causing him to laugh a lot. But it isn’t long before she passes out.

I don’t know how she does it. Tonight was hardly a glimpse into her wretched life. She was treated like dirt and chewed on like a dog toy, yet never letting them rip her apart. The only purpose she served was to bleed for their entertainment.

If her sister hadn’t swallowed death first, they’d have buried Sinclair long ago, simply for sport. And she would have let them do it if it meant not giving them the satisfaction of seeing her back down.

There’s something holy in the way she endures.

She is no longer for their amusement. No longer their possession. She belongs to me, and she will have a life like no one has had before. Never again will she have to look over her shoulder, wondering if today is the day they finally break her for good.

By the time we land, the space given to me was not nearly enough to cool me down. And when Sinclair wakes up giggly and still intoxicated, it only rips control further out of my reach. I’d save the explosion for the morning, if only I could think straight, but I am only capable of so much.

As soon as we walk through the doors, I pull Sinclair by the hand and take her straight to my bedroom. She doesn’t resist. Still giddy, still drunk on deflection.

I completely tune her out the entire way, and the moment I close the bedroom door behind us, I pin her against it. “What did Royce do to you?”

The smile dies. “Fuck off, Blackwell,” she snarls, shoving hard at my chest.

I’m immovable. “Tell me what he did.” My words are chopped up into tiny pieces.

“I said fuck off!” she shouts and pushes harder.

I’m tired of the secrets and mysteries and games. I want answers. Mostly where Royce is concerned.

I grip her jaw, squeezing and forcing her to remain focused on me. “What did he do?”

Her eyes glass over, and her mask reveals the pure rawness underneath. “I said,” she growls through her teeth. “Fuck. Off!” she screams and starts flailing about, her fists slamming into me, wild and trembling. “Get off me! Get the fuck off me!”

My hand shakes on her face. “Tell me what he did!” I roar.

“Why do you care so much?!” She stops thrashing. “Huh?! Why? So, you can toss me on my ass when you realize how fucking ruined I am? How dirty I am?”

Ruined. The word hits like a brick to the sternum.

And the raw pain in her eyes is so tangible, I can feel it too. It has my knees buckling.

Her chin contorts as her glossy eyes bore into me. “I think you know what he did to me.” Her voice cracks, ripping my heart out. “Just use your fucking imagination.” She shoves at me with the last two words.

I swallow hard as my stomach churns. I need her to say it out loud, so that my imagination doesn’t run wild like it has been. I know it’s selfish of me, but the mystery of it all is gutting me from the inside out.

But then I remember the turmoil of her life. I don’t wish to inflict more pain into it. I never want to cause her any real pain again. I wish I could build a protective cocoon around her.

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