I know I shouldn’t live my life based on fear, but the thought of losing everything again is paralysing.
I’m tired of being afraid.
Maybe I should go to the wedding… My heart skips. Hang on, that’s a great idea! If Jay truly thought I was a thief, would he invite me to his wedding?
No, he would not.
Would my attending publicly prove Theresa a liar?
Maybe.
I park, rush indoors and call, “House, do you think I should go to the wedding?” My words run together as I rush to explain my plan.
The invitation materialises on the sideboard.
“Brilliant, you didn’t send it yet. Do you have any correction fluid?”
The tick besideRegretfully declinefades; ‘Accept with pleasure’is now marked. The house even selects beef for my main meal.
“Am I really doing this?” My voice trembles with fear and excitement. The thought makes me feel downright giddy. “Yes, I bloody well am. I will attend, wear a stunning dress, and meet Theresa’s stare head-on.” They will regret underestimating me.
I exhale a breath of determination tinged with maybe a little bit of madness.
Oh, my goodness, I’m going to my ex’s wedding!
And I’m getting my life back.
Chapter Eight
The weather isglorious after yesterday’s intermittent downpours; today is warm and sunny.
I’m working again and started early, so the day zips along. When a delivery for the yellow-door house appears, my heart lurches and I hitacceptso fast I half-expect the phone to combust.
Day three. This is becoming a habit—one I’m going to miss.
Grinning like an idiot, I collect the order, try not to speed, and soon turn into the familiar street.
The freshly laundered hoodie is folded in a clear bag under my arm. At the door I knock and wait. Nothing. Another knock. Still nothing. Disappointed, I set the takeaway and the hoodie on the step, raise my phone for the proof-of-deliveryphoto?—
The door swings open.
I beam—then freeze. The man in the doorway isn’thim. A stranger stares back. My smile cracks; I hadn’t realised how much I cared until this moment. Gosh, I’m a silly middle-aged woman. I need to go back to the Human Sector where I belong.
“I’ve got a tip for you,” the stranger says, extending what looks like a wad of notes. His thumb hides most of it.
Something about his appearance is subtly wrong. His short, dark hair is combed with meticulous precision, every strand in place. Chalk-pale skin sets off lips so crimson they catch the eye whether you wish it or not. Dark grey eyes—flat and keen—are ringed with a disquieting burgundy hue, like dried blood.
My subconscious recognises the threat. Instinct screamsdanger. I step back from the porch and into the sunlight.
“No, that’s quite all right, thank you. The fee’s in the app. Enjoy your meal.” I turn to go?—
Pain explodes as he grabs my ponytail and drags me inside.
“What are you doing? Let go!” I claw at his wrist, trying to ease the burn in my scalp. “Let go!”
The beautiful man who gave me the clothes off his back to keep me warm yesterday would never have let this happen. Where is he? Why isn’t he here to save me? Is he dead?
“Help! Help me!”