Chapter 280
It was a spacious double room, easily large enough for two adults to share the bed. Jonathan frowned as he knelt to help Marina off with her shoes and jacket. He paused at her inner layers–those, he left untouched. Straightening, he turned to leave.
But before he could take a step, a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He didn’t need to look to know it was Marina.
“Marina…” he began, but his words faltered as he felt her fingers at his belt.
“Jonathan… Jonathan, I’m so hot… I- I feel awful…” Her voice trembled, thick with desperation.
Jonathan turned. Marina was kneeling on the bed, her face flushed, eyes glazed, lips parted and gasping for breath, her hands restlessly tugging at her own clothes. He stared at her, realization dawning. His hand moved for his phone–he needed to call Prescott, get a doctor, do something. But then, a strange sensation swept over him. His body felt… off.
Every glass of whiskey on the tower tonight–Marina had laced every single one.
Not only had Jonathan drunk; Marina had too.
She’d counted on Jonathan not leaving her alone, certain he’d drink with her. This way, they’d both be affected, and he’d be less likely to suspect her. Besides, she’d arranged for Preston Winslow and Zachary to join them too.
Zachary, notorious for his wild behavior, could easily have slipped something extra into her drink without meaning to–something more dangerous, more
unpredictable.
But the pills Edna had given Marina were specially mixed, slow–act timed perfectly for this hotel room rendezvous.
Now, everything was unfolding just as Marina had planned.
Her cheeks burning, she threw herself into Jonathan’s arms. Her whole body was feverish–she couldn’t wait any longer.
Tonight, she was sure Jonathan would sleep with her.
And if everything went as hoped… maybe she’d even get pregnant.
Marina’s mind grew hazier by the second. She clung to this one, fevered thought:
She was going to become Jonathan’s woman.
The city slept under a heavy silence.
Ravenplume Peak.
At this hour, the winding roads of Ravenplume Peak were usually deserted, empty beneath the flicker of streetlights.
But tonight was different.
Headlights cut through the darkness, carving up the mountain road. A white BMW 3 Series tore up the asphalt, engine roaring in the night.
The road to Ravenplume Peak twisted through sharp S–curves, then ran straight along a cliff’s edge–a treacherous route, especially after dark.
But some people craved danger.
People like Niamh.
It wasn’t that Niamh had no fear of death. It was just that, tonight, her heart was too heavy. She’d driven up here on impulse, seeking the thrill of speed to drown out her frustration–better, she thought, than drowning it in whiskey.
She remembered the last time she’d tried to drink her sorrows away.
That had been because of Jonathan too.
He had thrown her a lavish birthday party, but the gesture was little more than a consolation for letting Marina steal the gemstone that was supposed to be hers.
And tonight, Jonathan had finally been gentle, attentive–yet it felt less like affection and more like a transaction.
Niamh couldn’t quite say what, exactly, made her so angry–or so heartsick. She only knew that, somewhere along the way, she’d lost the reckless, radiant boy she’d loved in silence for ten years.
The BMW picked up speed, zipping through one hairpin turn after another. Anyone watching might have broken into a cold sweat at her daring maneuvers.
As she drove, Niamh replayed Jonathan’s words from earlier in the night:
“My love… isn’t that what you’ve always dreamed of?”
14:37
Chapter 280
Once, she had. Once, she believed she’d finally found it.
She slammed on the brakes. The BMW screeched to a halt in the darkness.
Pulling out her phone, she meant to send Jonathan a message–to tell him that whatever games Sprague wanted to play, whatever exchanges he hoped to make with his hollow declarations of love, she was done. She wanted a divorce.
But before she could even open WhatsApp, her phone rang.
She glanced at the caller ID–and froze, startled by the name on the screen.
