I said nothing. My lips remained tightly sealed.
Suddenly, he snapped. His voice turned cold.
“Lainey, even if you're upset, there should be a limit. Wasn’t it you who wanted so badly to marry me? In one week, your wish will come true.”
I sneered. If I hadn't heard them say that Margaret's car accident that killed a couple a few years ago was about to be discovered and I needed to take the blame again, how could Jeremiah have coaxed me into marrying him? But I won't let them do what they want this time. I will find evidence within this week and let everyone know the truth.
Moments later, as if regretting his tone, Jeremiah softened. He reached out and gently patted my head.
“I’ve got a dinner engagement tonight. Be good and wait for me at home.”
Jeremiah had been gone for an entire day and night, yet my phone buzzed nonstop with updates of his whereabouts.
Every single one came from his first love, Margaret Watson.
As I scrolled through her social media posts, I stumbled upon one from five years ago:she had accidentally hit someone with a vehicle and had been plagued by nightmares ever since.
Jeremiah, ever the savior, had spent a fortune tracking down reclusive healers just to help her sleep soundly.
My grip on the phone tightened, fingers curling until my knuckles turned pale.
The most recent post showed that just past midnight, Jeremiah had accompanied Margaret to celebrate an anniversary.
It read, [Still the cherished little princess. Someone said a surprise is waiting for me tonight. I’m thrilled!]
The photo showed Jeremiah clumsily baking a cake, dressed in a soft pink apron. Cream coated his sleeves, smudged across his shirt, and splattered all over the counter, a chaotic scene wrapped in affection.
Suddenly, a memory surfaced.
I remembered the time I’d been sick and too weak to get up and had asked him to make me a simple bowl of cereal.
But he had only frowned and muttered, “I’m a grown man. How would I know how to make that stuff? Just hold out. Or order something, I guess.”
I reached out and lightly traced the man’s face in the photo. Those brows and eyes I once adored, no longer held a place for me.
My fingers moved to the diamond pendant resting at my neck, the one my parents left me before they passed.
Whenever unease crept in, I would instinctively reach for it, searching for the comfort of their presence, even if only imagined.