Chapter 46

I’m trying to delay the inevitable.

Staring at the somber February skies outside the car window, the clouds hanging heavy, no sign of the sun to be seen, I think back to my confession to Belle two days ago in Austria.

When I told her I love her.

It was the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to.

Seeing her being vulnerable with me, sharing her fertility diagnosis, which was a wound that clearly pained her, realizing how she dealt with all of her troubles in stride, in positivity—it was too much for me.

She asked me if I’d leave her because of her so-called flaws. How could I? They weren’t flaws at all. They were the battle scars of a warrior. They only made her more beautiful in my eyes. And so, I let the vibrant colors inside me override the darkness in my soul. I couldn’t keep the sentiment inside me anymore, one that had been beating against my rib cage, dying to be let out.

I deluded myself—we were far away from the mansion, from the city, from the curse. In a small cabin near Innsbruck, Austria, it was just Silas and Anna again, two people desperately in love with each other. I tried blocking off the guilt for breaking or ignoring almost every stipulation regarding the curse that my father and grandfather put together—falling in love with your wife, confessing your love to each other, the random accidents happening to Belle, the branch shattering the windows .

I told myself I’d do whatever it took to break the curse before she got hurt again.

I’d do anything so that we could be together.

Nothing could separate us.

When I returned, I ransacked the library after Belle was fast asleep. I searched for Grandfather Silas’s missing journal or some letter or book that may give me more information about the curse. I came up empty. Then last night, I moved on to the study, where I kept all the family records.

The lone lamp on my desk flickered on and off as I poured through genealogy records, trying to identify anything I’d missed before. But there was nothing other than rows and rows of names, dates of births, deaths, and marriages. All the women who didn’t die of old age had a cause of death listed next to their names—all seeming to be unfortunate events with no discernable pattern other than these women were in love with their husbands when they died, as cross-referenced with the related entries in the old journals.

“Fuck!” I brushed the records off the desk and buried my face in my hands. I felt so damn helpless, just like the little boy in front of the altar at his mother’s funeral.

I can’t give up. I have to save Belle. I have to find a way for us to be together.

A thought came to mind, and I picked up the phone and called my father, not caring it was close to midnight and he was probably asleep.

“Son, it’s late. What’s going on?” Dad sounded worried.

I took a deep breath and replied, “I need to break the damn curse, Dad. I want to see if there was anything that stood out to you when you looked into the curse before.”

The silence seemed deafening.

“You fell in love with Belle, didn’t you?”

A lump formed in my throat. “Yes,” I whispered, afraid the curse would hear me somehow. “She loves me back too. S-She’s the one for me, the person I can’t live without. I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I can’t let what happened to Sydney happen to her.”

“I was afraid of that after the gala. Even the blind could see the love between the two of you.”

“I need to save her, Dad. I-I…” I blew out a breath and closed my eyes, exhaustion weighing heavily on my eyelids. There has to be something we missed.

“I assume you’re going through the journals then?”

“Yes, the ones from the library. I just reviewed all the old letters and the genealogy records again. There’s nothing! And I still can’t find Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Silas’s missing journal from the 1860s.”

Dad sighed. “I did the same when I was falling in love with your mom. I tried to find the missing journal too. It never turned up. Did you review the autopsy records yet? I looked over the one for your grandmother and the ones before then were so brief they were practically useless, but I never examined the records of your mom and Sydney. I was too devastated to care by then.”

I froze and pulled out the last folder in the pile I took out earlier.

Autopsy records.

Flipping through them, I scanned the oldest records first, noting they were of no use. Then I got to the ones of Grandma, Mom, and Sydney, which were filled with medical jargon I couldn’t understand. But there was a note at the bottom of each one.

Detailed records on file at the coroner’s office.

“D-Dad, I need to go. Thanks for picking up.”

“Son, I hope you break the curse. There’s nothing I want more in the world than to see you happy and in love, and if your mom were here, s-she’d say the same.” His voice thickened, and he cleared his throat. “Regardless, I’m p-proud of you for trying. For facing your fears head on. You’re a braver man than me.”

I let out a ragged exhale, my eyes burning. “I had a good role model with you, Dad.”

We hung up, and I swiped opened my text messages to type a message to Elias.

Maxwell

Do you know a good medical examiner?

He responded almost right away.

Elias

For?

Maxwell

Accessing and reviewing old autopsy files. I want a fresh set of eyes. Someone who can work off the books. I don’t want this to leak to the press.

Elias

I may know someone. Will contact you soon.

A car honks in the distance jolting me back into the present, and I lean back against the headrest, a headache quickly forming, most likely from the lack of sleep last night.

I loosen my tie, unable to breathe as my driver takes me to Fleur for a meeting to debrief on the financial performance for January. The stock price is still a third lower than what it used to be before my disastrous first press conference, even though the recent headlines are more positive.

Attempting to distract myself, I take out my phone and scroll to Lana’s messages.

Lana

Look at these articles. I’m a genius and you’re welcome. Don’t tell Rex I said that.

Lana

CBC article link: “Drama at Fleur is No Longer?”

Lana

IBC article link: “The Frigid King Can’t Make a Speech but He Can Make You Rich.”

Lana

GossipTimes link: “How to Find a Man Who’ll Protect You Like Maxwell Anderson.”

Rex

I’m trying to figure out if this is a passive-aggressive attempt at gloating, Lana, or if you accidentally sent the messages to the group chat again .

He’s referring to an incident last year when Lana sent some advice to Ryland regarding Millie but accidentally sent it to everyone under the sun.

Rex

I taught you everything you need to know, Lana. I take credit.

Lana

God spare me from the fragile ego of a rich white man.

My lips twitch at the bickering between the two when the phone rings.

Elias Kent

My pulse quickens. Does he have news for me?

I quickly answer. “Elias?”

“Do you know a Cole Whelan?” His tone is brusque. No nonsense.

“Yes,” I grit out, thinking about the blond bastard I want to punch in the face for having the hots for my wife. Belle mentioned how he asked about Sydney the other day—the bastard had looked into me.

“You’ve never met him before Belle? ”

“No.” I sit up straighter. “Why are you asking this?” Something feels off…very off.

Elias pauses, as if he’s mulling over something.

“He’s your late wife’s cousin.”

“What?” My heart pounds in my chest. Given Sydney and I had secretly eloped, I’d never met her extended family, but this news still comes as a shock.

I think back to the hatred in his eyes at my wedding reception and in the hospital, the hostility in his voice, and how he has always been too close to Belle for my comfort.

He murmurs, “He’s never told you he’s Sydney’s cousin. Interesting.”

A sense of foreboding washes over me. I can’t help but think I’m a participant in a game I didn’t sign up for.

“He’s never told Belle either. She was shocked when he mentioned Sydney.” I rub my temples. “What does this all mean?”

“Don’t you find it curious he was the person to find her when she fell down the stairs? And didn’t the girls report seeing him before Belle nearly got run over?”

My veins turn to ice and a muscle twitches in my jaw. “You’re saying you think he’s the one behind everything? That he tried to kill my wife?”

I’m going to find the bastard. I don’t care what his reasons are or if this is somehow all influenced by the damn curse, but I’m going to slice him with my palette knife and watch him bleed to death for hurting her.

My Belle.

Elias seemingly reads my mind. “Don’t do anything stupid, Maxwell. I don’t have all the answers yet. I have no qualms about ending a life, but only after I’m sure of the facts. But I thought I should warn you. Give some thought to what I said before you went on your trip. She’s in danger and, curse or not, I’m pretty damn sure it has something to do with you.”

He pauses and I hear a faint clicking sound on his end. He must be playing with the lighter again. “Also, I took the liberty to task someone with reviewing the autopsy records of Sydney, your mom, and your grandmother.”

What the fuck? Is he a mind reader? How does he know those are the records I’m interested in?

At my silence, he continues, “My contact at the coroner’s office tells me the records of your great-grandmother and before will probably be useless. There isn’t as much documentation back then. This is what you wanted to do when you texted me last night, right? It’s what I’d do.”

“Elias, I swear I don’t want to know what happens to people who get on your bad side,” I murmur. The man can predict behaviors like no other. No one would ever escape him.

He lets out a raspy laugh. “They won’t survive to tell the tale. Anyway, I’ll have my contact call you when he finishes his review. Will be in touch if I learn more about Cole.”

He disconnects the call before I can ask him more questions. I grip my phone, my fingers trembling from the bombshell that was just dropped on my lap. Cole’s relationship with Sydney. Elias’s contact re-reviewing the autopsies. My mind is a swirl of chaos.

Belle’s face surfaces in my mind—her beautiful eyes, her beaming smile, the tinkling laughter in her voice. She’s full of life and brightness and I’ve kept her selfishly by my side, basking in her warmth for as long as I could. But now, there’s a sense of doom I can’t ignore any longer.

Why did Cole hide his relationship with Sydney from Belle? What if nothing comes out of the medical examiner’s review? Will she get hurt before I get more answers, if I even get any answers?

Am I running out of time?

My lungs heave in deep breaths, and I tug off my tie and fling it into the corner. I can’t breathe. The dark shadows in my car seem to loom before me, clawing, slithering.

I can’t breathe.

I open the windows and listen to the biting wind howling through the canyons of the tall buildings, the scent of wet asphalt and burned tires sifting into the car .

Leave her now , the wind moans. Leave her now or she dies.

I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.

My texts to Maxwell have been unanswered for the last few hours.

Belle

I’m thinking of getting some real Singapore style vermicelli tonight, you in? How’s your day?

Belle

Love you.

He’s a busy man running a billion-dollar company. Don’t be one of those clingy wives, Belle.

I clutch the locket around my neck for reassurance. He put the necklace on me after we took the sexy shower in Austria together—who knew what orgasms could do for menstrual cramps?

Sighing, I turn my attention to more important matters, like the meeting I’m about to have with McKenzie’s new fashion director, Fiona Kim, to see what she thinks of the designs I sent her before leaving Austria.

I bank a left at the hallway and nod to a few junior designers before pausing at Fiona’s door.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

I step into the stylish office decorated in lavender, fresh flowers, and feminine touches—she obviously redecorated after Gordon left—and Fiona stands from behind her desk and beckons me to the couch .

“Hi Fiona, you want to talk about my designs?” I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants.

She smiles and adjusts her black cat-eyed frames on her face. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Is that a good thing? I think? I hope so. Being what someone expects is boring, don’t you think—”

She laughs. “No need to be nervous. I know we didn’t work together before because I was in high couture and you were in casual wear, but I promise I won’t bite.”

I sit still and pinch my wrist to keep from rambling.

“I was expecting a talentless designer who climbed the ranks because of her family.” She looks at me and grimaces. “No offense.”

I shake my head, thinking here we go again, my fingers twitching on my lap.

“But I’m glad to be wrong.”

Fiona takes out a few sketches—final designs of my hemp and bamboo shawl sweater lined with fleece, a matching asymmetrical skirt, a draped coat using the same technique—all without official sleeves but can be rendered to have “sleeves.”

“Now, I’m not sorry Gordon was fired. The guy was always an asshole.” She smiles and I relax marginally. “But I have to say, I like to throw out impossible requirements for my designers as well. It’s a good way of getting them to think outside the box.”

She leans forward. “If people want average designs they can get anywhere else, why would they come to us? What would make McKenzie Atelier stand out from the other brands?”

I nod. I had the same thought after my breakthrough at the mansion.

Fiona holds up the sketches. “I like these three designs a lot. I’ve never seen anything like them before. Can you tell me how you got the inspiration?”

Excitement chases out my earlier dread and I sit up taller. “Actually, these designs were inspired by books I have at home. ”

The next few hours fly by as Fiona asks me questions about the composition and color choices. She tells me she wants these three items at the fashion show next month because they are unique and versatile and the environmentally friendly materials are a fit for what consumers are looking for right now.

I can hardly contain my joy as I step out of the building later that night after spending the rest of the day revising the drawings to her specifications and reserving time with the design construction team to help with the sewing once the custom fabrics arrive.

The brisk winds lash at my face. The dreary daylight has faded into gloomy dusk. The streets are unusually quiet for eight p.m.

I take out my phone to check my messages, my chest falling when I don’t see any text messages from Maxwell.

It’s nothing, Belle. He’s probably stuck in meetings all day. You know how he hates these group gatherings—it’s draining for him.

I begin to type another message when I sense the piercing stare of another person close by. The hairs rise on the back of my neck.

“Belle.”

I startle, seeing Cole standing a few feet away, his blond hair mussed up, his hands jammed in his coat pockets.

“Cole? What are you doing here?” My pulse quickens as he walks toward me.

He runs a hand over his messy hair. “I want to apologize for what happened when we ran into each other in SoHo. I think I made you uncomfortable and I’m sorry. You see, there are some things you don’t know about me.”

My hackles rise as chills run through my body. Why didn’t he just call me? Has he been waiting outside this whole time?

My vision blurs, the dizziness that has been plaguing me before making a reappearance. The doctors said I was anemic at my last checkup, but that makes no sense. I’ve never been anemic in my entire life .

I back up slowly, my body trying to tell me something my mind hasn’t caught up with yet. I heave out quick breaths, but I can’t seem to get any oxygen inside me.

I feel nauseous. Literally sick to my stomach. This feels different than before. The dizzy spell isn’t letting up. It’s getting worse.

“Belle?”

His tall shadow looms closer and I suddenly find myself backed up against the cold building, my vision spinning, darkening at the edges.

“Belle? Are you okay? Belle?”

He steps even closer. I raise my hand and open my mouth to tell him to back off, but nothing comes out.

Everything feels so heavy, the world blurring around me.

“Belle?”

The wet floor rises to meet me and darkness claims me in its grasp.