Chapter 225
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VENUS
I didn’t realize how many times I checked the clock until the ticking started to sound like a countdown.
9:07 p.m.
9:08.
9:08 and thirty seconds.
Every second pushed against my ribs like a thumb pressing into a bruise.
Cedar Ridge Cabin 9.
Midnight.
I’d replayed those words so many times the letters had carved themselves into the back of my eyelids. But knowing the meeting point wasn’t the problem.
Leaving the house was.
Leaving him was.
Aaron didn’t sleep. Not anymore. Not since Iris went missing. Not since the van. Not since the hospital.
The man lived on caffeine, rage, and sheer willpower. It was terrifying. And impossible. And-right now-my biggest obstacle.
He stayed up every night with Connor, Colton, and Dorian, combing through leads, footage, witness statements. Sleep had become a myth. A luxury. A thing other people got to have.
They never looked into Andrea and now I couldn’t insist they do because she had already warned me.
And even when he did drift off, it was never deeper than a soldier’s half-rest. I could sneeze on the opposite side of the house and he’d appear in the doorway asking, Are you okay? What happened? Who called? What did you hear?
Evading him wasn’t like slipping past a husband.
It was like trying to sneak past a wolf.
I spent hours-literal hours-mapping out every possible exit, every hallway, every creaking floorboard, every door hinge that needed oil. I crouched beside windows checking latch sounds. Tested the back porch step that sometimes groaned. Practiced breathing without making the mattress shift.
Only one option worked.
It was cruel.
It was wrong.
It was the last thing I wanted.
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And it was the only way.
If Aaron was awake, I’d never get out.
But if he was asleep… truly asleep…
He couldn’t stop me.
He couldn’t follow me.
And Andrea would know.
She’d know it somehow.
And she would kill my daughter.
My chest squeezed so hard I had to bite the inside of my cheek just to steady my breathing.
I don’t have a choice.
I whispered it to myself like a confession.
The thought alone made me remember Martha Astor and what she did to me years back and I was about to do the same.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?
By the time the house dimmed and the hallway lights were turned low, it was 10:50 p.m.
Ten minutes ahead of schedule.
Ten minutes to destroy whatever trust that man still had in me.
The bedroom door clicked open softly, and Aaron stepped inside. He’d just put George and Sabine to sleep- Sabine curled on her little pink blankets, George finally knocked out after crying himself dry.
Aaron’s shoulders were heavy. His entire frame carried exhaustion like an extra layer of skin. His tie hung crooked. His shirt sleeves were rolled up. His hair looked like he’d raked his hands through it a hundred times in frustration-which he probably had.
When he closed the door, he paused and watched me.
His eyes were dark tonight. Too dark. Like they’d been stripped of everything except focus and fear.
I forced myself to move toward him.
Slow, soft and careful.
My fingers reached up first-touching the knot of his tie, sliding it loose. His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but enough. Enough to tell me he wasn’t expecting tenderness. Not tonight.
He watched me in silence as I pulled the tie free and folded it over my wrist. Then I reached for his cufflinks, sliding them out one by one, my hands steady even though my pulse felt like it was cracking bone.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t question it. He just let me.
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I removed his wristwatch last-Aaron’s favorite, the one he only wore on difficult days. The one he said helped him “stay grounded p>
I set everything carefully on the desk.
Then walked back to him.
He was still watching me.
Not suspiciously.
Not even expectantly.
Just tracing every line of my face like he was memorizing me in case I disappeared.
My throat tightened.
“Here,” I murmured. I lifted a glass of water toward him. “Drink p>
He took it without hesitation.
Without question.
He trusted me.
He trusted I wouldn’t hurt him.
He trusted I wouldn’t give him anything that wasn’t safe.
He trusted I loved him.
My stomach twisted, and something ugly and hot climbed up my throat.
He drank the water.
Every drop.
I felt sick.
“Come,” I whispered, placing a hand on his chest and guiding him toward the bed.
He followed quietly.
He was so, so tired.
I sat beside him, hands folded in my lap to hide their shaking.
“Aaron…” My voice cracked. I hadn’t meant for it to. “I’m sorry p>
His brows pulled together, slow and pained. “For what p>
“You can… tell me anything,” he murmured. His hand lifted toward my cheek, gentle, calloused, warm. ” Anything, Venus. Whatever it is–you don’t have to hold it alone p>
His voice was slurring.
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Barely.
But enough to betray the sleeping pills beginning their soft, cruel work.
His fingers brushed my jaw then slipped, landing weakly against my shoulder.
“Aaron…” I whispered again.
He blinked hard, confusion clouding his eyes. “Why am I-what… is this p>
His breath thickened. His eyelids drooped.
He tried to sit up straight.
Tried to focus.
Tried to fight it.
But the medication was strong-strong enough for someone much heavier than me, let alone him.
“Venus… what-did you-
I cupped his face before he could finish.
His skin was warm.
Too warm.
And his eyes-God—his eyes were searching mine like he still thought he could save me from something.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed.
His gaze widened-hurt, confusion, realization all crashing together-but he couldn’t hold onto it. The sedation dragged at his limbs, pulling him under inch by inch.
He slumped sideways, and I caught him clumsily, lowering him onto the pillows. His hand twitched once, like he was reaching for me even in unconsciousness.
It almost broke me.
His breathing slowed.
Evened out.
Deepened.
Five hours.
The prescription said five hours at minimum.
I brushed my fingers through his hair, swallowing down the guilt burning in my chest like acid.
You didn’t deserve this.
None of this.
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Forgive me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, softer, smaller, because the guilt was drowning me. “I have to see her. I have to go p>
He didn’t hear me.
He was already gone-lost to the drugged darkness I’d forced on him.
I pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead. Just once. Just enough to feel like I wasn’t abandoning him completely.
Then I stood.
My legs felt numb and my lungs were tight.
I grabbed my jacket, my keys, my phone, and slipped quietly toward the door.
My hand hesitated on the doorknob.
The weight of what I was doing threatened to crush me.
Leaving him like this.
Drugging him.
Going into danger alone.
Breaking the last sliver of the trust he had in me.
But Iris didn’t have time for my conscience.
She didn’t have time for my guilt.
Mommy’s coming, baby.
Just hold on.
I drew in a shaky breath and opened the door.
The house was silent.
Dark.
Sleeping.
I stepped out and didn’t look back. 1
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Ruby Walker
Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby’s writing style is bold and irresistible—perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.