The Secret

by Stella Gray

  I left dinner early, citing a non-existent business meeting I had to prepare for the next morning, and whipped out my phone to call Dmitri as soon as I got into my private car. And now I was on my way to confront her.

  If anything, I was more pissed about the fact that she’d turned off her phone, intentionally making it impossible for me to track her with the app I’d installed. I didn’t like the idea of her being out there in the city on her own, without me able to protect her, but that’s exactly why I had contingencies in place. Contingencies like Dmitri.

  I leaned back into the plush leather seat of the Town Car and scrolled back through the photos Dmitri had sent. Fucking Gavin. I really didn’t like that guy. There was something about him that made me want to punch him in the face. Probably something to do with the fact that he knew Tori was married and underage, yet he kept asking her out to dinner and taking her out to bars and clubs she wasn’t even old enough to get into. He had a lot of nerve.

  I almost crushed my phone in my hand when I zoomed in on the pictures of them dancing. Sure, she was also surrounded by her female friends, but that didn’t stop Gavin from putting his hands all over her. That was my wife he was touching. I could kill him.

  The Town Car couldn’t get me to the club fast enough. Adrenaline surged through me as I fantasized about putting my fist through Gavin’s face. But when I got there, I couldn’t find him or Tori. They weren’t outside, they weren’t at the bar, and they weren’t on the dance floor.

  I scanned the room, looking for Dmitri’s shaved head.

  At least he wasn’t hard to spot—he was over six-foot-four and built like a brick wall. He was standing off to the side, barely blending in to the crowd, his eyes focused on something near the bathroom. My eyes followed his gaze, just as his expression became focused and concerned.

  That’s when I spotted Tori.

  She was weaving through the crowd, but not in her usual, graceful way.

  No, she was stumbling and reaching out for stability. Something no one around her would offer. They all ignored her, despite the obvious physical distress she was in.

  My blood boiled as I pushed through the crowd, needing to get to her.

  Something was obviously wrong. How could no one be helping her?

  I watched helplessly as she stumbled, her movements slow and uncoordinated. Was she that drunk? She seemed intoxicated, but I’d seen her drunk before—and it was nothing like this. I couldn’t imagine my wife drinking to the point of practically passing out in a crowded club.

  It wasn’t until I got closer and saw her slumped on the floor that I realized she wasn’t drunk at all. She was barely conscious, her eyes glazed over. Totally incapacitated. It was obvious she’d been drugged. Someone must have put something in her drink.

  As I pushed my way toward her, my heart pounding, my anxiety spiking, I was beyond livid. I was ready to murder the person who had done this to her.

  I scanned the crowd, looking for Gavin. The asshole who had apparently roofied her and abandoned her in the middle of the dance floor. There was no sign of him, so I focused my attention back on Tori, on reaching her before something happened.

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” I ordered the people around me, all of whom were too busy laughing and grinding on each other to pay attention to the woman slumped on the floor.

  When I finally reached her, our eyes locked for a brief moment before she passed out completely, her head rolling back against the tile.

  “Tori,” I yelled, my voice getting lost in the heavy bass pounding through the speakers. “Tori!” But she was out cold.

  Dropping to my knees, I cradled my wife in my arms, holding her against me. Her breaths were shallow against my neck, and I thanked god I had gotten here in time. I was sick to my stomach. I should never have let Tori out of my sight. It was too dangerous for her to be out without me. Even Dmitri hadn’t been able to keep her safe.

  This was what my secrets had wrought.

  With a growl, I stood up and pushed through the mass of moving bodies, Dmitri at my side as I carried Tori through the crowd. She felt so small and delicate tucked up against me, and despite the emergency I couldn’t help but savor it. It had been weeks since I’d touched her.

  But those feelings of relief at finding her, and any comfort I felt as I held her, were all washed away when I saw Gavin heading our way. Immediately I passed Tori over to Dmitri, who could handle her with one arm as I pushed my way over to Gavin.

  “What the fuck did you do to my wife?” I demanded, grabbing him by his shirt and yanking him toward me.

  “Get your hands off me,” he shot back, but he couldn’t wrest himself out of my grip.

  “What did you give her?” I needed answers. I was about five seconds away from beating the shit out of him in front of an entire club full of people.

  “I didn’t give her a damn thing,” Gavin said. “Nothing she didn’t want, anyway.”

  I released him to gesture at Tori’s prone body, still draped over Dmitri’s arm.

  “Does this look like alcohol to you? She was drugged. And you’re the one who’s been feeding her drinks all night. Don’t lie to me again, asshole. Is this how you get women in bed?”

  Gavin glanced over at Tori, his expression softening. Then he got up in my face, his eyes cold and flat. “Look. I don’t know what the fuck is going on here,” he said. “But the thing is? I wouldn’t have to roofie her to get her in bed with me. Can you say the same?”

  My fist came up, but before I could slam it into his smug face, Dmitri blocked me.

  “Let’s get her out of here, boss,” he said, gesturing to Tori, who was pale in his arms. There was a light sheen of sweat across her forehead, and her breathing was still shallow.

  I looked back at Gavin, whose face still looked like it deserved a good punch. Or twenty. But I’d deal with him later. Dmitri was right. I had to get my wife home now. Take care of her.

  “This isn’t over,” I told Gavin.

  He shook his head and walked away.

  I clenched my jaw, wanting more than anything to go after him. To beat him to a bloody pulp. And if it weren’t for the fact that Tori needed me, I would have.

  Back in the car, I held my wife tightly against my chest. She’d murmured a few nonsense words and I’d managed to get some water into her, so I knew she would be okay. As angry as I was, though, it was myself that I was really furious with. If only I could be honest with her. Keep her protected and safe at all times.

  After Anja’s disappearance all those years ago, it was impossible for me to feel comfortable with Tori out of my sight. I couldn’t let anything happen to her. She didn’t belong in my world, even if she deserved all the good things it afforded her. If only there wasn’t so much tension between us. If only she could trust me. If only I could trust her. But there was no way I could tell her the truth. It would only put her in more danger.

  At least I could hold her in my arms, even if it was only for the moment. It might be the best I could get, considering all the bad blood between us.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about how I hadn’t been able to protect Anja. How she’d been taken from me right when I thought we’d finally found our freedom in each other. I hadn’t been able to save her. But I had been a child then, just seventeen, with no resources of my own.

  Things were different now, though. I was a powerful man. I had money at my disposal. Money and connections and ways to protect the things I cared about.

  I would keep her safe. That’s all I needed to focus on. And if I had to hire a million bodyguards or keep her locked up in our condo in order to do it, then that’s what I’d do.

  She just needed to trust me. Needed to trust that I was doing all of this for her own good.

  The truth hit me hard.

  I cared about her. A great deal.

  The worst thing I could imagine was losing her.

  And it scared the shit out of me.

  Tori

  Chapter
9

  I woke with a jolt, blinking rapidly at my surroundings. It took a second to realize I was home. In the guest room—my room. The last thing I remembered was feeling sick at the club, the way the floor had rushed up to meet my face, the image of Stefan that had burned itself into my mind as the world went black. But no. It had to have been wishful thinking in my state of panic. There was no way my husband had been there last night. How had I even gotten home?

  Gavin. He must have dropped me off. I’d said he could babysit me, and I knew he’d taken the job seriously. He definitely would have gone looking for me after I disappeared on the way to the bathroom. Thank god for him. I’d turned my phone off last night so Stefan wouldn’t know where I was, and look what had happened. It was something I now regretted, in light of the awful night I’d had. But hindsight was 20/20 like that.

  Why was my mind so obliterated? How many drinks had I had? I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember much of anything at all. Not clearly, anyway. Just random flashes.

  I’d gone out dancing with friends from school, that much was certain. There was dancing, I was pretty sure, and plenty of cocktails and shots, which Gavin had been in charge of.

  Gavin.

  We’d danced a little. Flirted a lot.

  After that, though…

  It was all a blur. Except Stefan’s face, the one clear thing I’d seen in the crowd before I passed out. I’d definitely fallen, though—I looked down and saw I had bruises on my knees, and when I gingerly rubbed the side of my sore head, I found a knot there from where I must have hit it against the floor. Yet all I could recall about the night’s end was the nausea that had swept through me and the hazy image of my husband looming overhead.

  Unsteadily, I got to my feet, but sank right back down on the mattress as a massive headache pounded against my skull. My whole body felt weak and shaky. What the hell had happened to me last night? There was nothing but blank space where most of my memories should have been. I had so many questions, and zero answers.

  There was a glass of water on the bedside table and I drank it down, gulping greedily, my mouth dry and vaguely sour. My phone was sitting there too, still turned off. I thought about turning it back on, but I really wasn’t in the mood to see the angry, disapproving texts Stefan had undoubtedly sent me when he realized I wasn’t coming to dinner. We were probably in a huge fight now, and since it was Saturday I wouldn’t even be able to hide out at school all day. The last thing I wanted to do right now was face him over the breakfast table, silently seething at me from three feet away.

  So I took a long, hot shower. Maybe he’d be out of the house by the time I was done.

  When I got out, I felt slightly better. It was almost 10 am, the time I was usually heading out the door to go to yoga. If Stefan was here, he’d be at the kitchen table with his coffee, reading the news on his tablet, but I crossed my fingers and hoped I was home alone. There was no way I’d make it through the day without my coffee.

  I picked up my phone, debating whether I was ready to turn it back on.

  I couldn’t face the embarrassment of texting Gavin to ask what had happened. Had I thrown myself at him in my state of intoxication? And if so, had he reciprocated? What if we’d hooked up on the dance floor, right in front of everyone? What if my friends had seen me cheat on my husband? There was no way I could text them now and ask. Even if it wasn’t true, they’d think it was if I claimed to be too hungover to remember what I’d done the night before.

  God, this was such a mess.

  Yet it seemed unlikely that Gavin and I had gotten physical. Ever since our almost-kiss that night at Navy Pier, I’d made an effort to be extra clear about the boundaries of our relationship. And Gavin was a good guy—a great guy, actually. He wasn’t the kind of person who’d take advantage of me in the state I’d been in at the club. I was more sure than ever that he’d been the one to get me home safe last night. I hoped I’d taken my own pants off, though.

  What would I say to my girlfriends when I saw them in class on Monday? I was pretty sure Lila had been there—she never missed a night out—but it was humiliating that I remembered absolutely nothing prior to my collapse. I’d have to just pretend it was a great time and hope I hadn’t done anything too mortifying or disgraceful.

  I could smell bacon all of a sudden, faintly hear the sizzle from the pan. It made my stomach turn. But that must mean Gretna was here, cooking up one of her big Saturday breakfasts. Stefan had probably given her the night off yesterday, what with the Zoric family dinner on the calendar. At least I had one friend to comfort me today. And coffee was a must.

  Putting my phone back down, I threw my robe on over my leggings and T-shirt and padded down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Gretna, I didn’t know you were here tod—” I stopped dead in my tracks as Stefan turned around, still pushing bacon around in a pan on the stove. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He stared at me, his mouth pressed into a firm line as he gave me a judgmental once-over. “What’s it look like?”

  My husband never cooked. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how—the few times he’d actually whipped up a meal, it had been effortless and admittedly delicious—but that he wasn’t home often enough to bother, and we both took full advantage of our gourmet personal chef. Something weird was going on.

  “You’re…making breakfast,” I said, still confused. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  He didn’t answer, just handed me a cup of coffee. I sat in a chair at the table and took a deep inhale of the steam, letting it revive me a bit.

  “I poached two eggs for you and there’s toast,” he told me, just in time for me to hear the slices pop up in the toaster. “Do you want it dry or with butter?”

  I sipped the coffee, thankful it was piping hot and black, and tried to get my head to stop spinning. “I’m not hungry,” I said truthfully as he set a plate and fork down in front of me.

  “You’ll eat,” he commanded, his voice going from neutral to vicious in a split second.

  I pushed the plate away. “I can’t eat this.”

  Stefan stood over me and folded his arms. “Then I’ll make you something else. What do you want?”

  Why was he acting this way? “I don’t want anything,” I said.

  He was barely able to contain his fury, I could tell by the way the muscles in his jaw were twitching. “I’m not going to let you sit there and starve yourself,” he said. “I’m making you a smoothie.”

  He turned away and went to the counter, slamming cabinet doors and knocking things around in the refrigerator as he searched for protein powder and god knew what else.

  Suddenly it hit me. This had to be his way of punishing me for not showing up to dinner last night. Did he seriously think I was on some kind of hunger strike? Rebelling against this marriage by not eating? As if I’d ever do that. He really must think I was a child.

  “Look, about dinner last night—”

  “Forget it,” he said. “It’s done.”

  “I just—” But the roar of the blender cut me off before I could get another word out.

  That made me feel even worse. Like I’d fully fucked up, ruined my one chance at getting our relationship back on track. My stomach rolled with nausea again. This hangover was brutal.

  Stefan poured the unwanted smoothie into a tall glass and slammed it down in front of me. Then he sat down in the opposite chair and looked at me.

  Did he know I was feeling like shit? Was he doing this on purpose to fuck with me?

  I took another sip of my coffee.

  “Your hands are shaking,” he observed.

  He was right. I was visibly trembling. Clearly, I needed to rest more after what had happened last night. Whatever it had been.

  I desperately wanted to crawl right back into bed. Wrapping my hands more tightly around the coffee mug, I held onto it as if it was my lifeline. As I drank it down, one careful sip at a time, I realized that Stefan was watching me
. He’d been pushing his own eggs around his plate without hardly eating them, glancing up at me every few seconds as if I was a bomb about to explode. Finally, he held out his toast.

  “One bite,” he said. “And then I’ll leave you alone.”

  Leaning forward, I took the smallest bite possible and then chewed it up quickly, swallowing it down with a sip of coffee. My stomach seemed no worse for it. No better, either.

  This felt like the Twilight Zone. Everything about this morning was unusual. His very presence, the meal he had made, his continued attention. Over the last month or so, we had become experts at ignoring each other. Now, I couldn’t help wondering what had changed and if his asshole superpower was zeroing in on me during the moments when I was the most vulnerable. Because I was feeling pretty horrible right now and the last thing I wanted was for my lying, cheating, masterfully manipulative husband to take advantage of that.

  I hobbled over to the coffeemaker and poured myself another cup, planning to return to my room where I could recover in peace.

  “You look pale,” Stefan said, a thick layer of faux-concern in his voice.

  Ah. So I was right. Clearly, he was enjoying making me miserable.

  “I feel fine,” I lied, lifting my chin. I knew I probably looked like shit, but I wasn’t going to admit how bad I was feeling so he could gloat about it. He obviously wanted to punish me for ignoring his dinner invitation last night and skipping out on family time with the Zorics.

  “You don’t look fine, kitty cat,” he said.

  The use of my nickname—the one that had become dear to me, that he had used in our most intimate moments—felt like a kick in the chest. Why was he using it now? What was he trying to do to me? If he wanted to make me more miserable, well, he was succeeding.