Chapter 131: Portrait of Me
“Why is Mike important to you now?” Jacob’s voice was low, searching. His eyes bore into mine, trying to unravel the truth. “He was the one who dragged you into this mess. What happened after the wire was cut? We only heard his name before everything went silent.”
The guilt hit me like a tidal wave, pulling me under, and for a moment, I couldn’t respond. My hands trembled as I gathered the courage to speak. “Mike, he wasn’t the villain in this,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of the truth. “He was also a victim."
I forced myself to meet Jacob’s gaze, knowing that this was it—the moment where everything unraveled. He needed to know it all—every secret, every betrayal that had brought us to this breaking point. “It’s a long story, Jacob.”
“Then start from the beginning,” he urged quietly, his voice calm but insistent. “I have all the time to listen.”
For a split second, I hesitated, but then the floodgates opened. The lies, the secrets, the twisted alliances—I let it all pour out. I talked about Lily, the shooting, the beach house, and the impossible decisions I'd taken.
Jacob didn’t interrupt, not once. He sat there beside me, absorbing it all. His face remained unreadable, but his silence said more than words ever could.
When I finally finished, the first hints of dawn were filtering through the curtains, bathing the room in a pale light. Exhausted, I looked at Jacob, searching his face for something—anger, confusion, anything—but all I found was the quiet understanding that only he could offer me.
“Mike is William, Jacob.” The name felt like a heavy stone falling between us, disrupting the fragile calm. I watched as realization dawned in his eyes, the pieces falling into place.
“Please,” I begged. “Take me to William’s house tomorrow.”
Jacob’s brow furrowed deeply, suspicion clouding his eyes. “William?” His voice was low, confusion evident, but there was something else—something guarded, as though he was holding back a darker thought. “The William you knew before?”
I nodded, “Yes. Mike… I mean William… he’s been hiding in plain sight. He knew I was in danger and tried to protect me, but I didn’t see it until it was too late.”
Jacob frowned. “You’re telling me that Mike—the same man who dragged you into this nightmare—is actually William, your friend from the orphanage?”
His disbelief was palpable, but I forced myself to continue. “Yes. He’s been trapped in this because of me, because of everything I got involved with. I should’ve realized when he resurfaced, but I was too wrapped up in the chaos with Lily and the gangs.”
Jacob stopped mid-stride, turning to face me. His gaze was sharp, questioning. “And you’re sure?"
The doubt in his tone cut deeper than I expected, but I stood firm. “I’m sure. He was trying to save me, Jacob. He was working behind the scenes, trying to fix the mess Lily made to keep me out of harm’s way. And now... He’s dead because of it.”
Silence fell between us like a heavy curtain. Jacob stood still, eyes narrowed as he weighed my words, calculating every angle, every risk. I could see the battle raging within him, the tug-of-war between trust and doubt.
Finally, I broke the silence, my voice small but resolute. “Jacob, take me to Mike’s house. I need to see it. Please.”
His expression hardened, but I saw a flicker of something—understanding, perhaps, or maybe resignation. He inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Fine,” he said, his voice steady, but I could sense the tension beneath. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
The next morning, Jacob and I stood in front of Mike’s glass house, the ocean’s cold breeze brushing against my face and sending a shiver down my spine. Perched on a cliff, the house was a marvel of meticulous design—modern, sleek, with glass walls that allowed anyone outside to peer straight into the living room. It felt like a fragile sanctuary, balancing precariously between nature and the abyss below.
“How are we getting inside?” Jacob asked from behind me, his voice cutting through the stillness.
I could sense his lingering hesitation. He hadn't wanted to come here, not really. But his curiosity about how William could’ve become Mike drew him to accompany me. For me, it wasn’t just curiosity. I was still clinging to a fading hope—that William was somehow still alive within the persona Mike had created, that the man who had died in that brutal shooting wasn’t William, my friend.
“I have his key.” I reached into my bra and pulled out the small, cold metal key Mike had given me before he died. I stared at the key for a moment, remembering Mike's face and eyes that seemed to know too much. “I don’t know why he trusted me with it or why he gave it to me right before we went to his death.”
Jacob placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch warm against the chill in the air. “It’s not your fault he got killed,” he said gently, trying to ease the guilt that was gnawing at me. “Let’s just get inside and see what you need to see.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and unlocked the door.
The living room was just as we’d left it the last time—undisturbed. The glass of wine Mike had been drinking still sat on the table, a faint ring marking its place. Everything looked eerily intact, as though he might walk through the door at any moment.
“This place...” Jacob’s voice trailed off as he scanned the room, taking in the high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the endless ocean. “It’s quite impressive.”
But I wasn’t focused on the house. I was focused on the shadows that lingered in every corner, the memories embedded in this place. I moved to the table, my fingers grazing the edge of the glass Mike had used. It felt strange to be here, in his space, knowing that he wasn’t coming back. I was searching for something—some piece of William that might still remain, some clue that Mike had left behind for me.
Jacob wandered around, his footsteps barely audible on the polished floor. “So... Where do we start? ”He asked, his voice breaking the silence again.
I turned to him, my resolve hardening. “I want to know more about Mike and what he was hiding.”
The spiraling stairs caught my attention, drawing me upward as I took each step slowly, uncertain of what I’d find. At the top was a modest second living room with comfy white couches positioned next to a modern mini-bar and shelves packed with an outstanding wine collection. Beyond it, a short corridor led to a veranda, where orange trees lined the back of the house, their scent faint but unmistakable in the air. The sight tugged at something deep within me.
"This house was made of love," Jacob said from behind me.
And then it struck me. I recalled Lily, who was pregnant with Mike's child. The house wasn't merely a reflection of his taste or fortune; it was a home designed for them, for the family they may have had. "This is for Lily Brinson and their baby," I said quietly, almost instinctively.
“What?” Jacob’s gentle question nudged me back to the present.
“Lily was carrying Mike’s baby,” I said, feeling a sharp ache in my chest. The reality of it all—what could have been—was unbearable. “What a waste.”
There were two rooms on the second floor, and I instinctively headed for the first, which seemed to belong to Mike—or William. His paintings lined the corridor, each brushstroke reminiscent of the man I once knew.
Jacob remained at the door as I stepped inside, taking in the details of Mike’s personal space. It felt oddly intimate, like I was intruding on something sacred. I opened the cupboard and found his suits hanging neatly, untouched. My fingers lingered over the fabric before pulling out a gray suit—one that seemed fitting for his final farewell. “He’ll need something to wear for the funeral,” I murmured, almost to myself, but Jacob heard me. He quietly closed the door to Mike’s room as I stood there, holding the suit in my hands.
A strange feeling gnawed at me as I turned to the second room. Something about it called to me—an unease growing in my chest as I approached. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and opened the door.
What I saw left me frozen in place.