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For a long, horrendous beat, she keeps playing, eyes lost, expression muted.
Face closed off.
She looks up at me with the same empty eyes, not blue. Ice.
It’s the stranger again.
The demon who possesses Ava and leaves this hollow being in its wake.
A metamorphosis of failed existence and shrinking presence.
It hasn’t been long. She shouldn’t be having an episode so soon.
And no, there’s no way in hell I’d take Dr. Blaine’s alternative option.
My fingers trace her face, gliding over her cheek and touching her lips. They tremble beneath my touch and she breathes so heavily, I can taste her exhales on my tongue.
A frown appears between her brows and then a curious blush follows.
The bow halts on the strings as her eyes widen. “What are you doing here? Get out, pervert!”
Bloody fucking hell.
A rush of life rips through me and the noose slowly loosens from around my neck.
It’s not the stranger. It’s my fucking wife.
9
AVA
AGE SEVENTEEN
Tension ripples through my veins and my heart thumps so loudly, I’m surprised no one hears the drums of dread besieging me.
I slip through the invitees, wearing my standard smile and acting on my best behavior. Ahellohere, ahow are you?there.
Unfortunately, I register nothing of what they say. Not the chatter, the exchange of empty words, or the fake polite birthday congratulations.
I shuffle my huge tulle skirt that stops above my knees and check my sparkling glitter top to make sure every tiny crystal jewel is in place.
Everything needs to be perfect tonight.
Everything.
“Happy Birthday!” two female voices scream at the same time.
I squeal as I turn around and hug Cecily and Glyn, who are respectively one year older and the same age as me.
“Aw, thanks, sissies!” I pull away to be greeted by their companions. Glyn’s brothers, Lan and Bran—twins, who are four years our senior. They might share the same looks, but theycouldn’t be more different. Bran dresses like the posh, elegant boy he is. Pressed khaki trousers, a polo shirt, and a sweater draped around his shoulders. His eyes are a warm blue, kind, and welcoming.
Lan, on the other hand, could rival a serial killer—one of those hot ones. He oozes dark, princely charm and he’s dressed in jeans and a designer blazer that gives him an edge.
Bran hugs me as if I’m his precious little sister, and I wish I had a brother like him in my life. Cecy and I always say Glyn is so lucky to share DNA with him.
“Congrats,” Lan says. “Can’t tell if you’re supposed to look like a princess or a wannabe grunge junkie.”
“You could’ve stopped at congrats, Lan.” Bran pinches his nose.
