She loosened her grip on my shoulders slowly.
“Good cut,” Faye said. “I was going to teach him a lesson anyway.”
She moved with that practiced precision I knew so well.
Faye carefully lifted my hand and dabbed at the wound. When she applied iodine, she blew on it the same way she always did. She’d been in the habit of tending my injuries like that for a long time. Back when my mother beat me until my body was a raw bruise, she could only find rubbing alcohol to disinfect my wounds. Even though she doesn’t use alcohol anymore, she’s still careful not to hurt me more.
Her palm, streaked with blood, left a print across her face.
“Stop it. It’s filthy,” Faye said, tilting her head away.
She didn’t even bother to ask whether I meant the blood or her.
Instead, she called for the butler, Mr. Blackwell, and handed him the first-aid kit.
There was a pause while the room reorganized itself.
The boy’s name was Harvey Robinson. When I tried to investigate further, all traces disappeared. I realized then that Faye was protecting him.
If I hadn’t acted quickly, I might never have found out his name.
With that, I confronted Faye. “You like him that much that you’ve cut off my access to all his messages?”
She let out a slow, measured sigh. “Chester, what’s the point of clinging to her?”
I flung the divorce papers at her again and demanded, “Sign them, and I’ll let you be. I won’t go after your baby boy.”
Faye made the decision that settled everything. The agreement didn’t last two seconds in her hands before she tore it into pieces and scattered the confetti across the floor.
“I told you that between us there is no divorce, and only death can separate us.”
I only laughed.
Everything changed in an instant. A wine bottle came crashing down on Faye's head. Red liquid streamed down her cheek, and it was impossible to tell if it was wine or blood.
I snatched the dagger from the table and charged.
She clamped onto my wrist, bracing herself against the downward force.
“Faye.” I was within a centimeter of her face. “Do you really think I won't?”
We held each other in that tense breath. Our hands trembled, neither yielding.
“Sign the divorce, or one of us dies," I growled.
But the standoff didn’t last.
Faye let out a soft, almost amused laugh and shifted the pressure inward. My hand, still clasped in hers, plunged the dagger deep into her shoulder. Blood splattered across my face.