9. Ava

AVA

A s I sat in my Mercedes, idling outside the Byrne’s mansion, surrounded by a towering stone wall, all I could think about was my stalker’s threatening text.

Stop investigating. Or else…

Or else… what? Or else I’d regret it? Or he’d stop me?

He’d kidnap me and kill me just like he did with Liath?

Since the morning he’d replaced my photo evidence with a Belladonna Lily, I kept finding lilies everywhere.

Every morning there was another one on my bedside table, right by my head on the pillow, the scent of the lily sickly sweet in my nose as I woke.

I found lilies on my bookshelf.

The edge of my claw-foot bathtub.

Sitting in my underwear drawer.

The seat of my locked car.

I was certain they were a threat. A pretty poisonous thing. Like he was.

I shivered and tugged my Balmain jacquard trench coat tighter across my body as Lisa announced us to the intercom at the wrought-iron front gate.

“Lisa Sheil and Ava McKinsey. We’re Liath’s friends.”

The gate buzzed and opened automatically, revealing more of the stone and ivy mansion that sat at the end of the tree-lined driveway.

Before I could send the car forward, I spotted him in my rearview mirror.

My stalker.

I spun in my seat, my heart in my throat.

There he was, standing across the street, as rigid as the ornate lamppost beside him.

This time he wore a mask over the lower part of his face, a skeleton’s jaw and teeth over his mouth. But I knew it was him.

Same build. Same intensity coming from those piercing blue eyes.

The memory of his fingers sliding into my pussy filled my body with a sharp wet heat and I pressed my thighs together.

Cars whipped past and he flickered from view. Every time I expected him to move closer, like some kind of dark flipbook monster.

But he never moved.

He just stayed there, watching me, making dark promises with his eyes that made heat course through my body.

Lisa touched my arm, making me jump.

She frowned at me. “Are you okay?”

The gates to the Byrne mansion were fully open. I had no idea how long I’d just been sitting there staring at my stalker.

“Grand.” I cleared my throat and directed the car down the gravel driveway.

I glanced at my rearview mirror for another look at him.

But as always, he’d disappeared from sight.

The Byrnes’ butler led Lisa and me into the formal sitting room, a cold, unfriendly room, despite the deep reds and blacks that filled the space.

Everything in here was too formal, too perfect. The stiff-backed chairs and overstuffed Louis armchairs sat in perfect, uncomfortable rows, like no one had bothered to use them in years.

The red velvet upholstery looked rich, almost plush, but the stuffing was stiff, and it barely gave as I shifted in my chair, trying to get comfortable.

It felt as if the room itself was watching, waiting, with its black-framed windows and heavy curtains letting in barely any light. The air was thick with dust and a powdery air freshener.

A wrought-iron chandelier cast a gray glow over the grim face of Mrs. Byrne, sitting quietly in the chair, her hands folded in her lap, fingers twisting the fabric of her black Chanel skirt suit, clinging to her like a shroud.

She looked smaller than I remembered, like grief had shrunk her down, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was barely holding herself together.

Mr. Byrne stood by the ornate mantle of the unlit fireplace, twisting a signet ring on his right hand, his features sharp and pointed, like they’d been carved out of stone—his chin jutting forward, his nose long and narrow.

But it was his eyes that creeped me out the most. They were dark, too dark, almost black, and they never seemed to blink.

“We’re very sorry to hear about Liath,” I said, reaching out to the elaborate afternoon tea laid out between us and picking up a perfectly quartered cucumber sandwich to place on my plate.

Mrs. Byrne’s watery eyes, red and swollen from days of crying, flickered toward me for a moment before she looked away, as though the weight of her grief was too much to meet my gaze. “Thank you, my dear.”

“I just…” I glanced between Liath’s parents, watching their reactions. “I can’t believe that she would run away,”

The soft curve of Mrs. Byrne’s chin trembled, but she didn’t make a sound.

Mr. Byrne’s stare grew heavier and I chewed on the corner of the now-tasteless sandwich and repressed a shiver, trying to ignore the crawling, skittering feeling across my skin.

Lisa set her Royal Doulton bone china teacup and saucer aside and cleared her throat. “Have the police given you any more information on what happened?”

“The police never should have been involved.” Mr. Byrne scowled and muttered, “Ungrateful girl.”

Lisa and I traded a glance.

Lisa pushed back a wayward strand that had gotten loose from her ribboned ponytail.

I shifted forward on my chair. “Mr. Byrne? You seem angry at Liath.” His soulless eyes narrowed on my face and I regretted the question.

“We knew from the start that Liath ran away.” Mr. Byrne’s voice boomed through the silent sitting room. “We gave her everything she could ever want. The best education, the best lifestyle, the best opportunities…”

He strode over to a small bar, snatching a decanter of whiskey and pouring himself a stiff drink.

“I even pulled strings with my alma mater to get her into Darkmoor because she didn’t exactly have the grades for it.” He knocked back the entire drink before whirling to us. “And how did she repay us?”

Mrs. Byrne began to sob into a silk handkerchief, hiding her face.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Mr. Byrne snarled at his wife. “Don’t you start again.”

“You don’t think Liath ran away,” I said to Mrs. Byrne, a statement rather than a question.

Her eyes darted to her husband. “A mother knows—”

“Enough!” Mr. Byrne bellowed. “You’re not even her real mother.”

I froze, staring first at Mr. Byrne, breathing heavily through his nostrils as he glared at his wife.

Then I turned to Mrs. Byrne whose tear-streaked cheeks flamed red, refusing to look at her husband.

What was he saying?

That Liath wasn’t her real daughter?

Was she a product of an affair from Mr. Byrne and another woman that Mrs. Byrne had covered up?

Only then did I take in Mr. Byrne’s pinched features, his sharp chin, pointed nose, and beady brown eyes.

Liath had full dimpled cheeks and a full mouth, thick wavy auburn hair, and expressive emerald eyes.

Liath didn’t inherit any of his features .

Which made sense if Liath wasn’t his biological child either.

I dropped my cucumber sandwich onto my plate. “Liath was adopted?”

Mr. Byrne pointed at her, whiskey spilling over the lip of his glass in accusation. “It was your fault she found out. That’s why you won’t accept the truth.”

Mrs. Byrne shook her head, makeup smearing down her soft cheeks. “No, no.”

“You let it slip while you were drunk.”

“I didn’t, I swear.”

“Because of you Liath found out.” Mr. Byrne slammed his glass down on the mantle. “She ran off to find her real parents.”

“Excuse m-me, I…” Mrs. Byrne stood and ran from the room.

Mr. Byrne cleared his throat and smoothed down his vest. “I apologize for my wife. She is prone to bouts of hysteria, even before Liath ran off.”

For once, I glared back at Mr. Byrne, the fury at the way he treated his wife making me bold, overriding my sense of self-preservation.

Mr. Byrne’s lip pulled up in a dark smirk and he prowled toward me until he towered over me in my seat.

He placed his spidery fingers on my shoulder. “You’ve always been such a good friend, Ava.”

To my horror, his fingers began to move, to massage up to my neck. “Such a good girl.”

The hairs on my arms stood on end. Every single inch of me screamed to run. Run!

But I was frozen in place by cold dread, by the pressure of his hand.

From behind me Lisa gasped, but what could she actually do?

“Don’t touch me,” I spat out through gritted teeth.

Mr. Byrne merely smiled as if my words meant nothing. “We’ll see you again soon, dear Ava.”

His fingers lingered at my neck before he strode out of the room, following his wife farther into the mansion, not looking back once.

My breaths came in shallow gasps, and I jerked upright in the chair, swiping my hand over my neck as if I could erase the memory of his hand there. I shuddered, the chill of his touch still crawling across my skin.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Lisa hissed as she shot a glance toward the door, as if he might reappear at any second.

I nodded, but my legs were trembling beneath me, and I made no move to push myself to standing.

Liath was adopted.

The thought slammed into my mind, my heart still racing from the whole creepy encounter.

Mr. Byrne let it slip, just like that, with that twisted smirk on his face like it was some kind of joke.

My mind whirred, trying to piece together what this could mean, even as Lisa grabbed on my arm and tried to tug me toward the exit.

Even though the Byrnes appeared to be wealthy, well-positioned, respectable members of high society, they kept so many secrets. I bet this whole house was crawling with secrets.

Clipped footsteps echoed from the front foyer, growing louder with each passing second, announcing the approach of whom I guessed was their butler, ready to escort us out.

But I wasn’t ready to leave.

I would uncover their secrets, no matter the danger.

“Tell them I went to the bathroom.” I pulled my arm from Lisa’s grasp and raced to the door that led to the rest of the house.

“What? Ava!” Lisa hissed, but I was already ducking around the corner toward the stairs.

I’d buy her a drink later to apologize. Two if she was extra upset.

I didn’t know if I’d get another chance to look around.

I took the wide, shallow stairs of the grand staircase two at a time, wincing as my heels resounded down the darkened halls.

I aimed straight for Liath’s bedroom, knowing exactly where it was, having spent many evenings getting ready for various college parties here.

God, those carefree nights of last semester seemed so far away.

At the very end of the hallway, I tested Liath’s bedroom door.

It was unlocked.

I glanced around once more to make sure no one was watching before I slipped inside.

Her curtains were mostly drawn, casting the dark wood and deep purple room in silhouettes.

It still smelled like Liath’s favorite perfume, Twelfth Night, the notes of black violet and cashmeran sending a wave of sadness through me. God, I missed her.

I took a moment to listen for noise coming down the hallway. I didn’t have much time. The Byrnes’ butler would come after me soon enough.

I had to hurry.

The flash of my phone camera illuminated bits and pieces of Liath’s bedroom as I snapped as many pictures as I could.

Liath’s life was in that bedroom the way mine wasn’t in mine. Evidence of herself everywhere whereas I didn’t have a single picture. I could trace her past across those four walls.

If I disappeared next and if someone stood in my room to look for evidence, what would they see? What would they find to prove I existed?

With my past a black void, did I have life enough for them to say later that it was taken from me?

The purple-painted wall opposite her bed was covered in Polaroids hanging between fairy lights of mostly her and Aisling, a few of me and Lisa, too.

But there were places among the mural where some had been taken, leaving stark empty spaces and empty pegs.

I frowned as I traced a finger across one of the spaces and racked my memory for what photos were missing.

But I drew a blank. Dammit.

Had Liath taken them?

Or had her stalker?

And why ?

I rifled through her wooden writing desk but only found textbooks covered in girly stickers and her collection of purple ink pens along with an engraved Mont Blanc fountain pen that was still in the box.

I swore she kept a diary. I’d seen her writing in the purple leather journal, snapping it shut with a coy smile when I asked what secrets she was revealing to it.

So where was it?

Her walk-in closet was an eclectic mix of designer brands and thrifted jeans torn at the knees. In one corner was her pair of well-worn lavender ski boots and a matching Givenchy ski jacket for her yearly winter family holidays in St. Moritz.

Like the police chief said, her favorite Balmain biker jacket was gone.

As was the Chanel vintage quilted backpack she was so proud of thrifting that she never went anywhere without.

Suddenly two strong hands grabbed me from behind.

I dropped my phone from the shock and it somersaulted around the closet until it fell harmlessly on its front, muffling the stream of light against the carpeted floor.

I was shoved up against the walk-in closet’s full-length mirror, my back thudding against the glass, my breath whooshing out of me in a rush.

I went to scream but a gloved hand covered my mouth.

In the dim light, I was met with the same electric blue eyes that haunted my daydreams.

It was him.

My stalker.

And once again, he was pressed up against me so that I could feel every single hard muscled inch of him.

My body erupted into flames, the exhilaration of fear and desire running through my veins like a current. I felt awakened after a lifetime of being asleep.

I felt alive.

I felt …

I felt .

It was only now that the heat of him rolled into me, setting me on fire, that I realized I’d been moving through life numb. Cold. Frozen to my bones.

Before I could rethink my next move, he peeled his hand off my mouth and scowled, his dark brows furrowing with obvious displeasure. “What did I say to you?”

I snapped back before I could stop myself. “Well, you just have so many clever things to say that I just can’t remember them all.”

I shouldn’t be talking back to my dangerous stalker. But something about him just made me want to cover myself up with sass and bravado.

Maybe it was my messed-up reaction to being cornered.

Or maybe it was the unnerving way he seemed to stare right into my soul.

Whatever it was, way to go, Ava, for baiting your stalker.

“Stubborn girl.” He smirked, something between amusement and annoyance passing across his eyes.

Then it hardened into a simmering fury. “ Stupid girl.”

I made an indignant noise. “Who are you calling stupid?”

“I told you to stop investigating and what do you do?” His hot breath fanned my forehead, the slight sweet scent of mint on his breath mixed with the spice and musk of his cologne. “You snoop around Liath’s bedroom?”

“Sorry not sorry if I don’t respond to threats the way you want me to, asshole.”

“God, you make me crazy.” He grabbed my upper arms and shook me, literally shook me, causing my teeth to rattle. “Ava, you need to stop .”

“What?” I tried pushing his hands off me, but his grip just tightened almost to the point of pain. “Scared I’ll find something you don’t want me to see?”

“Yes.”

Prickles raced across my skin. He knew something about Liath’s disappearance. I had to make him confess.

“Where’s Liath?” I demanded.

His eyes narrowed. “You think I had something to do with her disappearance?”

“She was being stalked right before she disappeared,” I accused. “Know any stalkers? Cause I do.”

I gave him what I thought was a blistering look.

He merely snorted out a laugh. “If she had a stalker, it wasn’t me.”

“Then why are you trying to make me stop investigating her ? I think you’re afraid that I’ll find out that the person who took her was you. ”

He smirked as his gaze traced over my face, my cheeks feeling hot at his scrutiny.

“If I were going to kidnap anyone… take anyone…” His voice dropped to a rumbling whisper. “…it’d only be you .”

Then take me.

I shoved that stupid thought away as a shiver went down my spine.

“Now,” he said, leaning in like he was going to kiss me, “be a good girl, and leave Liath alone before I make you regret it.”

He spoke such threatening words like he was whispering words of affection.

My stupid body reacted as if they were, my nipples growing hard against his chest.

“No,” I mumbled against his mouth .

He pulled back. A darkness came over his face. “You need to leave. Now. Get out of this house and don’t come back.”

“Why?”

He shook his head, strands of his messy dark hair falling over his eyes. “You really have no fucking idea, do you?”

“Then tell me.”

“Whoever was—”

The sound of Liath’s bedroom door handle jangling cut him off and my stalker’s eyes widened.

Shit!

Someone was coming.

He reacted faster than me. He pushed us past a row of gowns and into the back of the closet.

I winced as they clanked.

My stalker pushed me behind him, his broad back taking up almost my whole vision, as if trying to make himself a black-clothed shield.

Was he… trying to protect me?

“Ms. McKinsey,” the butler’s stern voice called out into the room.

I froze.

His hand reached back, finding my fingers and threading through them, squeezing my hand as if to reassure me.

The shock of this strange action—so different to the threatening darkness he exuded—had my head spinning.

I was standing in the back of my missing friend’s closet, hiding from the Byrnes’ butler, holding hands with my fucking stalker.

What the actual fuck?

My stalker’s back was so broad I could barely see around it, his height and his shoulders almost completely blocking my view.

As he crowded me against the wall, I could feel that every single one of his defined muscles were tense, pressing into me with each steady breath he took.

He might be ready to spring into action but at the same time he was calm and steady.

Somehow that made me feel less panicked.

I held my breath as footsteps came closer.

Lisa’s voice carried into the room next. “She’s not in here. I told you she went to the bathroom.”

“Then why wasn’t she in the bathroom, Ms. Shiel?” The butler’s voice was so close.

The closet door opened, and from around my stalker’s body, I could see a line of dim light falling across the closet floor.

If the butler took even one step in, he’d see us for sure.

Oh my God, how would I even explain if we were caught?

I didn’t think “I got lost” would cut it.

And how would I explain the presence of my stalker here as well?

He’s my boyfriend.

I shoved that ridiculous thought away.

I peered past my stalker and past the sequined gowns at the entrance, waiting to see whether the butler would catch us.

For a long moment, time stood still.

Then the door closed, cutting off the light and plunging us into the dim again.

Footsteps and voices retreated .

My stalker waited a full minute before he spun, clothes hangers clattering as they were pushed out the way by his wide shoulder.

“Stop investigating, Ava. Or you’ll regret it.”

Then he slipped out of the closet, cold air rushing into the space where he’d been as I sagged against the back wall.

Fuck me.

What had just happened?

He’d been about to tell me something before the butler came in. Another thought occurred to me.

If he was so insistent on my stopping the investigation, it meant I was on the right track.

I grabbed my phone, then slipped out of the closet and glanced around the room. My stalker was gone.

How the hell did he even get in here?

My gaze stopped at Liath’s window and I crept up to it, peering out from the corner of the sill to the dark night beyond.

It may have been my imagination, but I could swear I could see a shadow slinking across the garden.

He was gone.

I should go, too.

But my eye caught on Liath’s large four-poster bed as I turned to leave.

I hadn’t checked her bed yet.

Her black currant sheets were unmade, her blankets kicked down to the foot of the bed as if she’d just gotten up out of it.

But the sheets were cold when I ran my hand across it, smoothing out the wrinkles.

There was nothing caught in her sheets or slipped under her pillows.

I remembered that time I’d lost my phone for a whole day. It’d slipped behind the wall and the bed, an easy place for things to get lost in.

I slipped my fingers back in between the frame and the mattress searching for… I wasn’t sure what.

My fingers caught on a loose piece of material.

I tugged out a rag the color of dirty bathwater that had a faint smell.

I sniffed it.

It was sharp, medicinal, and slightly sweet.

The smell was… familiar.

I tried for a moment to recall the memory of the scent, but it was like grasping at air. There was something there, but I had no hope of holding on to it.

I tore a spare page out of the notebook by her bedside and folded the rag into it before slipping it into my pocket.

I went to leave but I kicked something that clanked and rolled under the bed. I dropped to my knees and peered underneath, using my phone as a flashlight.

I grabbed the small cylindrical object and held it up to the light.

It was a glass vial with a screw-on cap, the kind that drugs came in.

I opened the lid and sniffed.

It was the same smell as the rag but stronger, thanks to the tiny amount of liquid at the bottom.

Why would Liath have a drug vial and a soaked rag in her bedroom?

Was she using drugs?

Or had she been drugged?