Page 59 of Arrogant and Merciless

Almost Six Months Later

I clutch my phone in my hand, hating myself for it, but in the end, I give in to the weakness—the obsession that’s been gnawing at me for months—and search her name on Google.

The first few pages talk about her disappearance over two years ago. Then come photos of her on the yacht, out strolling with that bastard. But what intrigues me is an image from an Instagram account, showing Taylor teaching violin to children at an American charity, according to the caption.

I stare at my phone and, for the first time in ages, feel my blood boiling in my veins.

Suddenly, I know exactly what to do to make her pay for the time she held me prisoner to her spell—had me crazy with worry and guilt.

She’s back, and I want my revenge.

Taylor

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The Same Day

“You can’t just gofrom home to work and back forever.”

“I don’t have the courage to go out until I remember everything, Jackie, because one thing I’m sure of is that I didn’t run off to be with that man who took care of me for more than a year.”

She looks at me the way she’s done so many times before. “How can you be so certain?”

“Because I couldn’t stand his touch. Besides, after what you told me—that I was in love with his son—I doubt I’d betray the man I loved by getting involved with his father. I refuse to believe I was some tramp.”

“You weren’t, Taylor. I can vouch for that.”

I only returned to the United States about three months ago. The guy who rescued me—Jackie’s friend—who only gave me the first letter of his name, “L”—got all my documents in order and let me stay for nearly a year in an apartment he owns in a dreamy Mexican coastal town.

While there, I had access to everything I’d been denied during my time with the man I now know is William Marshall IV. I got a phone, internet access, and at least learned who that “Mr. William” really was: a wealthy businessman who, around the time I came out of my coma, was newly divorced, and is the father of a doctor.

When I saw the date he officially became a free man, my blood ran cold. If what he said was true, I’d been his mistress, since the divorce decree only went through right when I woke from the coma.

“L” said he wouldn’t let me come stay with Jackie straight away for my own safety. She visited me twice, and the first time, she cried with me for over an hour.

Ignoring the doctors’ advice—who examined me and said my memory should return naturally and gradually—she filled me in on who I was, bridging some gaps, though many things will only become clear once my memories really return. For instance, how did I end up in Southeast Asia?

A month ago, I worked up the nerve to start closing certain doors to the past. Until I landed back in the States, I had no idea who anyone in my life was; it was only when I moved back to Manhattan that Jackie urged me to start looking for the people who’d mattered to me before. I didn’t remember any of them, but I did it anyway.

The first was a woman named Bonnie, who according to Jackie, lived next door to me and got me the job at that “Mr. William’s” mother’s house—my supposed protector. When I identified myself on the phone, Bonnie said she was relieved I was alive but had known that for over a year, and told me that I shouldn’t contact her again.

My former employer, mother of the man who’d rescued me, was a bit warmer but brutally honest: she said she knew her son was a cheat, still cared about me deeply, but wouldn’t condone adultery and wouldn’t accept my friendship going forward.

Finally, I sent a message to the man I’d left behind in Asia. I had no desire to speak with him, so all I said was I appreciated him taking care of me but that I needed to sort out my life on my own and he shouldn’t contact me unless I reached out first—which I’m certain I never will. He never replied. He tried to call me once, but I refused to answer.

Only last week did Jackie give me another blow: she told me I was romantically involved with the doctor—this Mr. William’s son. Father and son at the same time? I can’t believe I did something like that.

After I tried apologizing to everyone around me, I called the hospital Jackie said he owned, to do the same. But I found a slammed door in my face. His secretary practically laughed when I said I wanted to speak with William Randolph Marshall IV, and I doubt she even passed on my message.

In hindsight, it’s probably a good thing—because that same night, when I searched for him online, I saw all sorts of celebrity magazines showing him with a range of female companions over the past few months. Maybe not being able to reach him saved me the embarrassment of hearing he doesn’t even remember me.

“There’s something I need to tell you that might upset you,” my friend says in the living room of the two-bedroom apartment we share. She says she bought it shortly after I disappeared.

“Believe me, after spending years in the dark about my past, any news you can give me is better than not knowing who I am.”

“It’s about our work.”

Jackie’s studying to be a social worker. She told me we both used to work at a bar but she quit right after I left and decided to focus on something she’d always been passionate about. She found a job with a charity organization for kids with special talents—music, sports, theater. She also said I once confided that I played violin as a child and suggested I could work there, too. Technically, it’s more volunteer work than a real job, because the pay is negligible.

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