Page 33 of Where Angels Fall

“Yes,” she whispers.

I hold her tighter to my body, unable to help myself from smiling at her answer.

“Good.”

Chapter 14

Maddison

My entire body groans in pain as I stretch out in my bed. My slow, protesting body is sore and stiff.

Daylight pours through my window, my eyes squinting against the harshness of the sunlight. When reality hits me, my head swivels, searching for Ash, but of course he isn’t here.

My heart deflates, and I curse myself for even letting it. This is not the kind of guy you let your heart get attached to. Not even close. After last night, I should be running for the hills, screaming. Yet, my aching muscles bring back memories that causes a small smile to creep over my lips and butterflies fluttering low in my stomach.

And the endless restlessness and hollowness that I usually have to spend my days trying to chase away is out of reach. The need to chase reckless behaviours to feel has dissipated after a night of pure sin and chaos.

My mind reels, trying to muster up the feelings of regret and shame; embarrassment for what I did. But the feelings don’t come. Instead, feelings of giddy excitement bubble inside me. A sense of power lingers, even though last night I let go of all control. I’ve never felt more in control and sure of myself the way I did then. Sure, nervousness and fear still sit deep within me, because I’m not totally stupid.

I know the men I was with last night are dangerous. I know they have the ability to ruin my entire life. And I know I told myself last night was the first and final time I’d willingly walk into that club, but even thinking that thought brings a spike of disappointment with it.

Reaching for my phone, I squint my eyes to check the time.

“Fuck!” I gasp, jumping out of bed in a panic. I can’t remember the last time I slept in till ten thirty in the morning.

Wincing, I stride to the bathroom. I need to shower and dress and be downstairs in less than half an hour.

It’s my family’s monthly lunch, where I sit in the mansion I was raised in and eat a meal in the awkward atmosphere.

So much fun.

Pausing in front of the mirror, my mouth parts when I see myself. My hair is wild, falling down my shoulders in messy locks. Bruises smatter my skin, finger indentations on my hips and over my breasts. My cheeks have more colour than they have in forever and I look... alive.

Smiling at myself, I run my fingers over the marks on my body, the ghost of pain still lingering. The dark marks stand out from my pale skin, little reminders of the sins I committed last night. Of the men who took from me and gave back even more. I shiver at the thought of it, before pulling myself to the present and pulling myself back together.

By the time I’m stepping out of the town car my father sent for me, I’ve shoved last night me firmly back in a box, making sure it’s locked tight. Today, I’m back to the usual Maddison. The passive, professional, and calm Maddison. My usual polite smile feels foreign, as if I haven’t used it in months, but I keep it in check, glued to my face.

My long sleeve shirt hides any evidence of my indiscretions, heels clicking as I make my way up the twenty-four stone steps that lead into the towering building that I used to call home.

Though it never quite felt like it, with its echoing rooms, marble floors and silent tension.

The only moments I felt truly happy here, were when my nanny came and let me spend half an hour in the gardens, or when my tutor brought over some crayons after I begged and begged, bored out of my mind from the maths and English. My father found them a week later and fired her and hired a man with white hair and a permanent scowl etched into his face. I can’t even remember her name.

I drift through the ostentatious space on autopilot, following a path etched into muscle memory. Down the east wing. Past the sitting room that my mother often sits in to drink wine and stare at the walls. Along a hall that has an abstract oil painting that always made the hairs on my neck stand up, so much red and maroon, almost resembling dismembered body parts. At least that’s what my childhood nightmares labelled it as.

The house smells the same as it always has. Polish and something faintly metallic. It smells too clean after my night spent in a club that smells like cigarettes and sex.

The dining room is just ahead. I can almost see it before I slow down, my steps faltering as I near my father’s office, voices sounding from inside. It’s not uncommon for him to work on weekends, but bringing clients here is usually saved for the long-term business partners. Yet, I can’t place a name to the second voice I hear.

I don’t mean to listen, but my father’s voice carries, low and controlled, lacking the warmth he sometimes adds to his voice to be more personable.

“... timing is critical,” he’s saying. “I won’t have loose ends.”

The unfamiliar voice is smooth and calm, yet something about it has me taking a step closer to hear his reply. “Of course. We’re aligned on that.”

There’s the faint clink of a glass. Ice, maybe.

“I trust your discretion,” my father continues. “This stays contained."