Chapter 61 Sixty one
Mira stood with her back pressed against the door, listening to his footsteps disappear down the hallway.
Only when she was certain he was gone did she let out the breath she’d been holding.
Her fingers tightened around the doorknob.
“You make me lose my mind.”
His words echoed in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, Mira, get a hold of yourself.”
She refused to think about it.
That was exactly what he wanted. He wanted her confused. He wanted her questioning herself until she forgot who he really was.
She wouldn’t let that happen. Slowly, she walked back into the room and looked around.
The broken glass still glittered across the floor where she’d thrown the vase.
The pillows lay scattered everywhere.
The room looked almost as broken as she felt.
She bent down and picked up one of the pillows.
For a second she simply held it. Then she laughed bitterly. “What am I doing?”
She had spent the entire day crying over a man who had admitted to manipulating her from the moment they met.
A man who had threatened everyone she loved.
A man who had locked her inside his mansion.
He wasn’t a damaged soul. He wasn’t misunderstood.
He was inhumane. A murderer, nothing more
Her eyes slowly hardened. “No more.”
She placed the pillow back on the bed.
No more crying. No more feeling sorry for herself.
She was a reporter.
She had spent years exposing corrupt politicians, dangerous businessmen, and criminals who believed they were untouchable.
Salvatore Corvin wasn’t going to be any different.
He might have known who she was from the beginning.
It was fine.
That only meant she had to change the way she played whatever game he started. She walked toward the bathroom and splashed cold water across her face.
The woman staring back at her from the mirror looked exhausted.
Her eyes were swollen. Her lips still carried the faint marks of his kisses.
The sight made her stomach turn. She grabbed a towel and scrubbed at her mouth until her skin hurt.
It still wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.
“You don’t own me,” she whispered to her reflection.
“You never will.”
She stared at herself for another long moment.
Then something Anna had said earlier came rushing back. All six victims reported being followed before they disappeared.
The words replayed themselves inside her head.
A chill crawled down her spine. She suddenly looked around the room.
The bedroom. The windows. The paintings.
The bookshelf.
A strange feeling settled over her.
What if… Her eyes narrowed.
Salvatore had known everything.
He knew when she searched the mansion.
He knew every lie she told. He even knew she’d been crying all day.
How?
She hadn’t left the room.
Nobody had spoken to her.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Unless… She slowly looked toward the ceiling.
“No…he can’t…”
She began searching. She checked behind picture frames.
Inside flower vases. Under the bedside table.
Nothing.
She pulled open drawers. Checked behind the television.
Nothing.
Her breathing became heavier. “There has to be something.”
She climbed onto the chair and ran her fingers along the curtain rail.
Still nothing. She searched inside the lampshades.
Behind the mirror. Even beneath the mattress.
Nothing.
After almost twenty minutes, she finally stopped.
Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe one of the servants had told him she’d been crying.
Maybe.
But the feeling refused to leave.
She looked around the room one last time. If you’re watching me…”Her voice came out quieter than she intended. “…I’m going to kill you.”
She climbed down from the chair. Her gaze drifted toward the window.
Beyond the glass, rain continued to fall over the estate.
Somewhere inside this mansion was the truth.
Somewhere inside this house was the person who murdered that maid.
And somewhere beyond these walls… …was the person who had left her photograph beside a dead raven.
Who was it? It couldn’t be Salvatore; he wasn’t around.
Mira's thoughts ran wild, but nothing was adding up.
But she knew one thing. She couldn’t afford to fall apart again.
Not now. Not when people surrounding Salvatore were dying like roaches every day. She walked to the desk and pulled open the drawer.
Her reporter’s notebook was still there.
The one Salvatore had never found.
Or perhaps… She frowned.
Maybe he had found it. Maybe he’d simply put it back. The thought made her skin crawl.
She opened to a blank page anyway.
Then she began writing.
Suspects.
Salvatore Corvin. Unknown stalker.
Inside accomplice?
She paused before writing another line.
Questions.
Who killed the maid? Why was my photograph left beside the body?
Who doesn’t want me here? Who wants me to stop investigating?
She stared at the questions.
One thing stood out immediately.
If Salvatore wanted her dead… He had countless chances already.
Instead… Someone else had entered his mansion.
Someone else had killed inside his home.
Someone else had left a warning meant specifically for her.
Her pen stopped moving.
Could it be… For the first time since arriving at the mansion…
She wondered if she’d been chasing the wrong monster.
Her grip tightened around the pen. “No.”
She crossed the thought out immediately.
Salvatore was still guilty of something.
She knew it. She felt it.
Whether it was murder or something else.
She would find it.
And when she did… She would personally make sure he spent the rest of his life behind bars.
No matter what. No matter how dangerously her heart reacted whenever he looked at her.
She would never become the woman who excused evil because it wore a beautiful face.
She closed the notebook.
A slow breath escaped her.
Tomorrow he wanted her at the charity ball.
If he insisted on dragging her there…
Then she’d use it as ground to snoop around. People who knew Salvatore.
Someone would slip. Someone always did.
And when they did… She would be listening.
A small, determined smile touched her lips for the first time that day.
“Watch me closely, Salvatore .” Her eyes lifted toward the dark room. “Because I’m still coming for you.”
Outside, thunder rolled across the night sky.
Somewhere else in the mansion…
Salvatore stood by his bedroom window, completely unaware that the woman he had sworn never to let go had just made a promise of her own.
She wasn’t planning her escape anymore.
She was planning his downfall.