Page 7 of Nemesis
We moved toward the front door, when my eye caught the blinking red dot signaling one of the security cameras around the property. There were five cameras in total covering the house. Three faced the front at different angles while one was in the back, covering the security team’s wing, the last one covering the front gates.
A beautified prison where nobody could come in and nobody could get out. Well, unless you were me.
We walked up the stairs and through the large double black doors, stepping inside the house. Victor flipped the lights open and the crystal chandelier hanging on the high ceiling instantly lit up the space, the glossy wood floors gleaming under it.
As I looked up, I noticed the package on the large, black round table in the foyer that sat in front of a split white carpeted staircase. Victor approached the anniversary gift awaiting us while I removed my coat and hung it in the entry closet.
“I wonder who sent this,” he mused.
Yeah, me too.
I glanced at him over my shoulder and watched him reach for the box, untying the ribbon around it before removing the lid. A startled expression marred his features.
“¿Qué diablos?”
“What is it, Victor?” I asked, worried.
My heels clicked on the wooden floors as I stepped closer to him. I scrunched my nose when the faint smell of gasoline filled the air. Standing behind him, I peeked over his shoulder just as he retrieved the object inside.
It was a small, identical replica of the summer house that had burned with his wife inside. A matchbox was leaning against the structure with a letter with his name written on the outside tucked underneath it.
He peered back at me over his shoulder and I returned what I hoped was a worried look.
As if I had no idea what is going on.
In another life, I could have been an actress with the amount of faking I’d had to do around this man.
He reached for the envelope, inspecting it. It was postmarked August 21, the date of the fire, and the return address was the address of their summer house.
“Victor.” I paused. “What is this and why does it smell like someone doused it in fuel?” I asked again since he had ignored my previous question.
He ripped the top of the envelope open with his house keys, retrieved the note inside, and flicked it open before he started reading.
His shoulders tensed as he kept reading, his face paling, the blood slowly draining from it by the second.
As he finished reading, he looked straight ahead, his mouth tense as his expression changed again. But this time, rage settled over his features.
His jaw clenched and his knuckles whitened with how hard he was fisting the piece of paper. I whispered his name over and over, but he just kept staring at the note.
I attempted to soothe him with my touch, but he jerked his arm away, tossed the paper on the floor, and stalked toward the back of the house. He threw one of the sliding glass doors open and marched into the backyard, yelling Jaxon’s name.
I crouched down and picked up the crumpled piece of paper to read its content.
A lit match starts with a flicker
Before it meets the air and arrogantly becomes a flaming torch
Leaving the ashes of a beloved behind
Will you let history repeat itself?
I left my scribbled note behind, my knees cracking as I stood. From the kitchen, I stepped outside and followed Victor’s strained voice chewing Jaxon’s head off for not being more careful.
“How could you let this happen again?” he snapped, anger dousing off him. Jaxon apologized and relayed that they had seen no harm in the package since it was a gift for our anniversary.
“Victor, what’s happening? What do you mean byagain?” I interrupted, letting a fake tear slide down my cheek as I forced my bottom lip to tremble.
Victor quickly zeroed his attention on me. He gave a dismissing nod to Jaxon before marching toward me and pulling me against him, wrapping his arms around me.
