AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Give it up, Iris! Your sick little game is over. You’ve won. Okay?”
The car slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder of the road, where it came to a complete stop and Trystan rapped on the privacy window.
“Now would you kindly get the fuck out of my car?” he said, his voice cordial as he gestured toward the door, which Chance had opened.
Iris’s eyes darted to the door, then back to Trystan, who was inspecting his nails with studied disinterest.
“Trystan, no… please don’t do this to us. I didn’t write that article. I swear to God, I didn’t. You can’t leave me stranded on the side of the road.”
He laughed at that, a horrible, scornful sound. “And give you even more dirt to bury me with? I would never. Just get out of my car and out of my life, Iris. I never want to see you again.”
At that moment Iris realized that the driver had also exited the car and was removing her luggage from the boot. He was transferring cases to the second car, which was parked slightly in front of theirs.
“I love you,” she reminded him desperately. “You love me. You said we’d make this work. You said?—”
“Yeah, I said a lot of things, most of which are probably in that article somewhere… but the woman I thought I loved doesn’t exist. She never existed. She was someone you made up. And I’ll grieve for her and miss her. You? Not so much. I fucking hate you for preying on the weakness you found in me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you for that.”
Before she was able to properly comprehend what was happening, Iris found herself curled up on the back seat of the smaller black Mercedes-Benz sedan. Her thoughts a whirl, her emotions chaotic, and her heart racing. She was shaking so much that some distant, detached part of her brain recognized that she was exhibiting all the symptoms of shock.
The car started moving and she scrambled upright, desperately searching for the other vehicle. It was two or three cars ahead of this one. She pressed her palms against the window, her breath misting the glass as she hoped for a glimpse of Trystan, wanting to see him, wanting him to recognize the mistake he was making. But the heavily tinted windows of the SUV gave no hint as to the occupant inside of the vehicle. And as she watched, the car slipped further and further away, until it was lost in the sea of vehicles around them.
A quiet, despairing sob slipped out as she finally lost sight of the Maybach. Her eyes continued to restlessly search the traffic around them, hoping to spot the car again, but it was no use. It—he—was gone.
Forever.
At some point Iris became aware that her face was wet with the tears seeping from her eyes. She hadn’t even known that she was crying. It wasn’t a violent storm of tears but a slow, constant flow. It was as if her eyes had somehow sprung a leak that was impossible to stem or repair.
Trystan’s easy dismissal of her protests and denials had ripped open a catastrophic wound in her chest. The pain was brutal, and the consequences fatal to her heart and soul. She wanted to curl up in a ball, claw at her chest, and weep. But all she could do was sit here with hot, salty tears dripping silently down her cheeks while the shards of her shattered heart sliced her to pieces.
It was only when the car slowed down and slid to a stop that she was dragged from her all-encompassing sorrow, and was reminded that she wasn’t alone in the car. That there was a witness to her humiliation and devastation. The privacy shield wasn’t even in place and her eyes lifted to meet a pair of concerned green eyes in the rearview mirror.
Chance.
Iris hadn’t even noticed that he’d stayed with her. She’d assumed that she’d been bundled over to a stranger. That Chance would remain with Trystan who was, after all, his principal and thus his priority. The original driver of this car must have traded spots with Chance because the Australian was the only person in the vehicle with her.
She shifted her eyes away from his, reaching for the door handle, wanting to get out of this car and away from the memory of these few brief weeks with Trystan when she comprehended that they weren’t anywhere near her home.
“Where are we?”
“Gunnersbury Park.” His reply was succinct and baffling.
“What? Why?”
“I wasn’t sure where you wanted me to take you.” He extended a blue linen square toward her, and she blinked at the handkerchief for a moment before taking it from him with a muttered thanks and dabbing at her wet cheeks self-consciously.
“There now. Give your nose a good blow, and take a deep breath. You’ll feel better,” he said, his low and sympathetic voice merely causing her tears to well again. He had turned in his seat to look at her and she hated the gleam of pity she was sure she’d spotted in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking that deep breath, and was even more embarrassed when it hitched on a sob.
“That’s okay. You’re having a day.”
“I didn’t do it. I know you don’t know me, but I didn’t write that article.” It was pathetic, this need she had to justify herself, to clear her name.
She knew she was blameless, and the knowledge of her own lack of wrongdoing should be enough for her. But Trystan’s instant rejection of her truth had sparked this deep sense of injustice, outrage and betrayal in her. Along with this pathological overwhelming need to convince the world of her innocence.
“It’s not my place to comment, ma’am. I’m just the driver.”
Her chin quivered and she pursed her lips as she fought to scrape together some semblance of pride and self-control. She nodded, and blew her nose. Her face felt hot and swollen from the tears, her throat raw from the suppressed sobs. Her stomach was in turmoil and her head pounding.
