Page 63 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
"I think we have nothing more to talk about."
She turned to leave, heart pounding, but he stepped in front of her, not touching, but too close.
"Don't," she warned, backing away.
He sighed and stepped aside, hands raised. "I don't like doing this, but you must understand your position. You're alone, unemployed. You're a liability. Crispin is about to lose everything-his shares, the trust. There are stipulations. He'll be penniless."
She stared at him. "He's not stupid. He'll find a way. He can work-"
"Can he? Or will he spiral? Will you drag him down with you?" Marcus's tone had sharpened. "How selfish can you be? Would you really let him give up everything for you?"
Déjà vu.
Her skin crawled. Helga had said something chillingly similar.
He softened again, suddenly. "I know about your sister. And her boyfriend. You know how many start-ups fail, don't you?"
It wasn't a direct threat, but it didn't have to be.
She wanted to vomit.
"I'm trying to help you," Marcus said, almost gently. "Take the offer."
Aria straightened. Her voice barely shook. "Let me think about it."
He nodded, but his eyes didn't smile. "Crispin's on the verge of losing everything. Ask yourself, has he chosen you even once in the last five years?"
She didn't have an answer for that.
Then, almost kindly, he slid a card across the table. "You seem like a clever girl. Don't waste that."
Aria stood, legs trembling, but she made it to the door.
His voice wasn't unkind, but it wasn't humane, either.
She fled before her knees gave out.
Chapter 34
Aria
She shut the door behind her.
The latch clicked and the world outside ceased to exist.
Aria leaned her back against it, eyes blank, heartbeat lost in the hum of silence. She didn't remember the journey home. Not the short walk to the tube and not the slow climb up the stairs of her third-floor flat. Her body had delivered her here on muscle memory alone, but her mind had remained frozen, as if trapped inside that townhouse with Marcus Falder's smile like a blade sheathed in silk.
She lurched to the kitchen sink.
She fumbled for a glass. She didn't bother with the filter. The tap sputtered once, then streamed ice cold. She filled the glass to the brim and drank in great, greedy gulps. The hard water bit at her teeth and throat with a sharp metallic bite. It spilled down her chin, soaked the front of her shirt, but she didn't stop.
She stood there, clutching the sink's edge, dripping, staring at nothing.
A beep broke through the stillness.
Her phone screen lit up on the table.
She blinked, slowly walked over, and sat down like her bones no longer could be trusted to hold her up. She picked up the phone and unlocked it with shaking fingers.
