Bab 15: Chapter 15
Fresh terror rears up within me.
"What…" My throat turns to sandpaper. "What are you doing here?" Barely audible.
"You've been dodging my calls… texts," he says with cold calm. "How else was I going to get your attention?"
My eyes dart to the gun. "What's that for?"
"Pick it up," he instructs.
My insides shrivel at the thought. I shake my head fervently.
"Pick it up, Bella."
"What do you call me that?" My voice is thick with fear. "Who told you that name?"
"Pick up the gun."
"Why?"
"So you can feel in control and know that you have absolute power over the situation…" The dark intensity of his stare grips me. "And over me."
His eyes are a heavy weight that lingers in the air between us. His eyes, smoldering with something unreadable yet deeply unsettling, stripping away any facade I might have held.
"Somehow I doubt that," I say meekly despite mustering bravado, any attempt crumbles beneath the weight of growing dread. My eyes flit back to the gun. "Can you please put it away? Please," I plead, daring myself to look him directly in his eyes. "It's scaring me."
He complies and walks to the foot of my bed to retrieve the gun, and tucks it behind him in his waistband. With his gaze bound to me, I cast a glance behind me. I move back to poke my head out of the doorway before I close the door behind me with a soft click, leaning against it.
"I came to apologize," he says, a sense of shame sundering eye contact. "I went too far."
Not far enough. I crush the thought. So aghast, heat warms my face and feverish fear lances through me.
I walk a few steps towards him, careful not to venture too close. "Only my mom used to call me Bella. It was an inside joke between us."
"Belle," he corrects with confidence. "Nicknamed after that, princess."
Fear rises anew. "How could you possibly know that?"
His gaze, steadfast and unrelenting, pins me where I stand as if a stake had been driven through my being. The movement of his eyes as he takes me in slowly. It feels like a force—silent, suffocating—crawling up my spine, leaving a trail of cold shivers in its wake.
"You've only been aware of my existence for the last few weeks. I've known about you for years. And I've been tasked with watching you and your brothers for the last few months."
My thoughts crash into each other. "That's impossible because—"
"The alliance was only brokered not that long ago? Yes. Marriage alliances are not only about profit and loss, but it is an ancient tool of peace-keeping. And empire-building."
The sudden shrill of an incoming call jolts my heart. Botan observes me with an indecipherable look before he answers the phone. He listens to whatever they're saying, but he doesn't respond. Then he ends the call just like that.
"I have less than two minutes to evac."
"Why are you watching my brothers and I? I thought your dealings were just with my dad. What did you, or your boss, want to know about us?"
"I know everything about you," he says with a strange delicacy laced around his tone. The longer he holds my gaze, the more I feel exposed, vulnerable, as though he's peering into the depths of my soul, searching for something I can't quite comprehend. "I know that every time you need to vent, you call your best friend, Kelsey. And you meet at the corner coffee shop just a few blocks from her boutique. I know that when you're anxious, you rub that old scar on your hand."
I glance down—the pad of my finger rubbing the groove between my thumb and index finger thoughtlessly. An old, mottled scar meanders from there, around my thumb from the inside, and ends at the heel. A mark I sustained from the car wreck years ago.
I drop my hands to my sides.
"I know that you have desires and ambitions of your own, but you placed the welfare of your family above them all," he says with a distinct note of admiration. "I know that you treasure family above all else. Something that has become both your strength and your weakness."
My brows clash. "Weakness? Why would that be a weakness?"
He makes a start for the door, slipping his hands back in the pockets of his black pants.
"Wait, you can't just leave?"
"I've said what I needed to."
"You make vague and alarming statements about me and my family. And you expect me to just take it?"
"You've been taking it," he says without looking back at me. "You just never knew what it was."
"Botan."
He freezes in front of the door like it was a command from his boss.
"You've raised questions," I say, dropping my voice to a covert whisper. "Now I need answers."
He turns back and strolls to me, binding the space between us with his breaths. His presence is like being cast under the shadow of a mountain. Dark and looming. I back away, but he keeps coming closer. Every instinct screams to look away, but I'm trapped, mesmerized by the quiet night storm behind his eyes.
"What are you doing?"
He releases a humored breath from his nostrils. Wisps of air tickle my face.
"You did all of this. The flowers, the dramatic entrance, all to… apologize for your conduct. Only to repeat your mistake?"
A forbidding look enters his eyes. Horror and intimacy co-existing in this forbidden moment.
"Was it a mistake?
His gaze trails down. My finger rubs hard against the scar once again. I drop my hands back to my side, not even aware of when I lifted them. Botan frees a deep chuckle, plump lips peeling back into a bone-chilling smirk.
"I guess I have my answer."
He leans infinitesimally closer, his gaze never leaving my lips. My heart implodes, releasing a burst of flutters that swarm my insides like a cluster of wings, a song in my blood sung by an aviary of birds. It shouldn't happen but I also don't do anything to stop it. My eyes fall close and I too tilt closer, almost eagerly. I wait for the spark, the fireworks, but none comes. Confused, I peek one eye open to see my empty bedroom. The other snaps open and I whip around to see my door ajar. I slip out of my bedroom, walking briskly to the staircase, seeing no sign of him like our encounter had been nothing but a figment, a forbidden fantasy. When I make it downstairs, the only proof of intention, his words that became life in the thousand petals of blooms that ornate the interior of my home.
I hurry to the open front door and I rush through it, walking down the driveway to spot a black Range Rover turning into a different street.
***
"Commissioner. Thank you for taking my call."
"I assure you, I won't be making a habit of it."
I'm grateful he can't see my face right now.
I clear my throat, expelling any hint of insolence. "My apologies if I am disturbing you. I only have one last favor to ask and then you'll never hear from me again."
"If that's true… ask me away. And make it quick."
"What's the name of the lead investigator that was looking into my father?"
There's a beat of silence.
"I don't remember."
"Liar," I blurt. My palm smacks my forehead. "Forgive me, it's just that I know you're quite a methodical man, commissioner. Nothing escapes your notice."
He breathes deeply. "Miss Du Pont. I may not know the truth, but I know nothing good can come from what you're planning to do."
"I'm not planning to do anything," I say with a sharp inflection in my voice.
"Then why do you want the name?"
I pace thoughtfully in my room. "Curiosity."
"And we all know what happened to the cat."
My nose wrinkles at the veiled threat. A warning, really. Which makes me even more worried.
"If you wouldn't want me looking into this, you're only affirming the impression of his guilt. I know you think he's crooked. You've said as much."
"What I say or think aren't valid justifications. Do yourself a favor, Miss Du Pont. Let this go and carry on being the dedicated daughter you are who adores her father."
I remain silent.
"What's this?" he asks, speculation suturing his interest. "You were singing his praises at his inaugural dinner party to anyone who would listen. Now you're… doubting him. I wonder what made you stick your head out of the ground?"
"I wasn't aware it was in the ground to begin with," I murmur back. "You're implying, no, you said, that I was ignorant. You were referring to me being ignorant of him. Truth be told, you started this. Now I'm asking you to finish it. What is his name, and how do I find him?"
"He was fired."
My eyes widen.
"A few years back," he adds. "He went after your father. He took a shot and missed; your father didn't. He pressed charges of harassment and demanded to have his badge taken after his cases fell apart. His request was granted."
I become still. "Commissioner… how do I find him?"
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