Page 44 of Twisted Love

I shake my head to clear the silly thought. I used to think this house was beautiful, back when it was Charles’s father’s. But as I descend the staircase now, what once felt magnificent now feels like a prison, every detail a relentless reminder of everything I’ve come to despise.

I can’t understand where he gets these ideas about me—about what I wanted, about who I am. Wealth? Status? He keeps throwing these accusations like they’re the core of my being, like they define me. It’s infuriating.

Yes, I wanted a better life than what I had when I was growing up dirt poor. So what? It’s good to have aspirations. Yes, I was prepared to marry Charles in exchange for saving my father’s life. Charles is an adult. He knew exactly what he was getting into. I never lied to him. He was the one who lied to me about his financial circumstances and tried to trick me into marrying him. We never even had sex.

The only person I’d ever had sex with was Earl. I always knew it would never be like what it was with Earl so I didn’t even bother to look for anyone else. What’s wrong with wanting my children to go to Harvard like Charles and his sister did? It’s a decision I don’t regret and I would do it again and again. I’m not going to let Earl convince me that I’m a bad person for wanting to help my dad and wanting a better foundation than I had for my children. And I’m sick and tired of trying to defend myself to him. Enough is enough.

My mind drifts to our days together in that rundown trailer park, sneaking around under the cover of night. Those were the best moments of my life, stolen and sweet, free of judgment and the crushing weight of expectation. I’d told him, over and over, how I never wanted to be without him. Even then, when the world seemed against us, I had chosen him.

Where the hell did he get this idea that I only ever wanted money?

I shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. Doesn’t matter now. I’ve had enough. I’m not wasting my time chasing after ghosts anymore. If he won’t tell me, I won’t ask again. I reach downstairs and make my way to his study, which is tucked into the far corner of the house.

I pause outside the door, my heart thudding against my ribs. The anger that fueled me moments ago feels distant now, replaced by a simmering dread. Taking a deep breath, I knock.

“What is it?” an irritated voice calls from inside.

Of course, he is grumpy as usual, but I don’t care. I square my shoulders and push the door open. To my surprise, the curtains are drawn shut and the glow from a single desk lamp casts long shadows across the walls. The scent of aged leather and faint cologne lingers in the air. Earl is seated at the desk, leaning back in his chair watching me with an air of quiet contemplation.

“What do you need?” he asks, his voice edged with wariness, as if he’s bracing for another fight.

I step inside and shut the door behind me. My gaze flickers to the dark wood shelves lining the walls, the rows of books and neatly stacked papers, the multiple computer screens on his desk, their faint glow illuminating the sharp lines of his face. It’s a far cry from the man I used to know—the one who never cared for material things, who used to dream of a simple life with me.

“I need to borrow a suitcase,” I say flatly.

His brow furrows, his expression hardening. “What for?”

“That’s none of your concern,” I reply, my tone sharper than I intended.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze unrelenting. “Everything about you is my concern, Raven.”

His words hang in the air, and I feel anger bubbling up inside me again, threatening to spill over. I straighten my shoulders, forcing myself to meet his gaze head-on. “Can you lend me one or not?”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his eyes scanning me. Finally, he shifts his gaze away, his tone flat as he says, “Talk to Nora. She’ll get you what you need.”

That’s it. No questions, no comments, not even a flicker of anything resembling emotion. I nod stiffly, unsure of what I expected. Curiosity? Understanding? Refusal? Something other than this distant, detached man who barely resembles the lover I once knew. He’s going to let me go! Just like that. No questions. No objections. A crushing disappointment pools in my chest and I hate that I feel it at all.

I spin around and go outside to look for Nora, but she is already coming towards me. She greets me with her usual brisk efficiency. “Mr. Jackson informed me that you’ll be needing a suitcase,” she says, her tone polite, but her eyes full of curiosity. “Please, follow me to the storeroom. You can pick a suitcase there.”

I realize how strange this must seem to her. A wife borrowing a suitcase from her husband, as though I’m some guest rather than the mistress of the house.

“Thank you.” I offer a small, tight smile and follow her up the stairs.

Nora steps aside to let me into the attic. I enter and notice that there are things that must have belonged to Charles’s family here too. They didn’t bother to take it with them. Dolls houses and rocking chairs.

A row of suitcases sits neatly in the closet. They are mostly pristine and absurdly expensive, but my fingers hover over the handle of a simple black one. I know this suitcase. I’ve seen it years before. Instinctively, I pick it up and go outside.

Nora waits in the landing, her expression unreadable.

“Thank you,” I say again.

She nods. “You’re welcome, Madam. If there is anything else I can do for you please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, but there’s nothing more I need, Nora,” I say softly, and even I, can hear the sadness in my voice.

Then I turn away and carry the suitcase back to my room. Once inside, I shut the door, put the suitcase on my bed and stare at it. It’s a blast from the past. I close my eyes and try to steady myself. The past couple of weeks have felt like a fever dream—unreal and vivid all at once. But the last two days? They’ve been a waking nightmare, a whirlwind of anger and longing and everything in between.

Bending forward I snap the suitcase open. It’s empty. The breath I’m holding comes out in a rush. I don’t know what I expected, but there’s nothing in it. Another disappointment for me.

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