Chapter 42 This Isn’t Over
The bedroom was dark.
Eleanor sat on the edge of her bed, her phone pressed to her ear, her free hand gripping the duvet so hard her knuckles had gone white. The voice on the other end was muffled, hurried, terrified.
"She doesn’t know," the voice said. "The woman. She has no idea who hired us. She didn’t even ask. She just pointed the gun at him and told him to drop the knife."
Eleanor’s breath came out in a rush. Relief. Hot and overwhelming.
"You’re sure?"
"Positive. She never mentioned your name. Never mentioned anyone’s name. She just kept saying ’drop the knife’ over and over."
Eleanor closed her eyes. The panic that had seized her chest began to loosen. Just a little.
But then the voice spoke again.
"The girl is safe. Thorne has her. Our men are in custody."
"I know," Eleanor said. Her voice was sharp. "I saw them."
"What do you want us to do?"
"Nothing. Lay low. Don’t contact me again."
She hung up.
The phone slipped from her fingers onto the bed. She sat there, staring at the wall, her mind racing.
Veyra did not know.
Veyra had no idea that Eleanor had hired the kidnappers. That Eleanor had planned the whole thing. That Eleanor had wanted to destroy her.
The relief was still there. But underneath it, something else was growing. Something hot and bitter.
Rage.
Veyra had escaped. Again. The woman had swum across a lake in the dark, put a gun to a man’s head, and walked away without a scratch.
It was not supposed to happen that way.
Eleanor had planned everything perfectly. The crowd at the café. The kidnappers. The remote location on South Ring Road where Veyra was supposed to go alone and disappear forever.
But Veyra had not gone to South Ring Road. She had gone to Greenery Villa. She had found Lily. She had saved her.
And now the whole family would talk about her like she was a hero.
Eleanor’s hands curled into fists.
"This isn’t over," she whispered to the empty room. "Next time, I’ll finish it. Next time, you won’t escape."
*
Veyra sneezed for the third time since walking through the front door.
The blanket was still wrapped around her shoulders. Her dress was still wet. Her hair was still dripping. She stood in the foyer, shivering, while servants rushed past her, too busy fussing over Lily to notice her.
Lily was surrounded. Beatrice was crying. Harold had his arm around her. Phillip was asking questions no one was answering. Even Celeste looked relieved.
Veyra slipped away. She climbed the stairs. Her legs were heavy. Her feet were numb.
She reached her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it.
The room was warm. The fire had been lit. Someone had turned down the bed.
She wanted to shower. She wanted to wash the lake water off her skin. But Dorian was still downstairs. He would come up eventually. He would need to change. He would need to check on Lily.
She decided to wait.
She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her knees up to her chest. The blanket fell away. Her dress was cold against her skin.
She thought about the car ride home. The silence. The cold war.
She had been angry. Spiteful. She had lied about the flyers because she wanted to hurt him. Because he had mocked her and she wanted to mock him back.
It was childish. She knew that now.
He had been right. She had disrupted his plan. She had put herself and Lily at risk. She had acted without thinking.
She pulled the blanket back around her shoulders and stared at the fire.
Her mood was low. Heavy. The adrenaline had worn off. All that was left was exhaustion and embarrassment.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Veyra?"
Lily’s voice.
Veyra sat up. "Come in."
The door opened. Lily slipped inside. Her neck was bandaged. Her face was pale. But her eyes were clear.
She crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Veyra.
"You look sad," Lily said.
"I’m not sad. I’m tired."
"You look sad."
Veyra looked at her. At the small, kind face. At the bandage on her neck.
"I was just thinking," Veyra said. "About your uncle and about the car ride."
Lily tilted her head. "Did you fight?"
"Not really. We just... didn’t talk."
Lily was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "He’s not good at talking. He’s better at doing. At fixing things."
Veyra smiled. It was a small smile. Tired. "I’ve noticed."
"He was really scared tonight. I could tell. He doesn’t show it. But I could tell."
Veyra looked at her. "He loves you very much."
Lily nodded. "I know."
She reached out and took Veyra’s hand. Her fingers were small and warm.
"Thank you," Lily said. "For coming to get me."
"Always," Veyra said again.
Lily squeezed her hand. Then she stood up and walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the handle.
"Uncle Dorian is still downstairs," she said. "He looks sad too."
She left.
*
Dorian was standing in the hallway when Veyra opened her door.
He had changed out of his wet clothes. He was wearing dark pants and a gray sweater. His hair was still damp. His face was unreadable.
They looked at each other for a moment.
"I’m sorry," Veyra said.
Dorian said nothing.
"I shouldn’t have lied to you. In the car and also about the flyers."
"You lied?"
She nodded. "A passerby didn’t tell me where to find Lily. I figured it out myself. I put up missing person flyers all over the commercial district. Someone called me. A woman who worked at a coffee kiosk. She told me about the older woman who saw Lily at Greenery Villa."
Dorian’s jaw tightened. "Why did you lie?"