There was never going to be anyone for me but Logan St. James.
And despite how things went down last night, I believe he feels the same way. I remember the caress of his hand on my face, the way he looks as me like I’m the only thing he sees. I hear his whispers in my head, worshipful words, because he cherishes me. I know it; I feel the truth of it deep inside.
The song lyrics make me think of what he must be feeling right now. He said he wanted to be a part of something, but now he’s not a part of anything.
Logan’s lost his place. His footing.
For someone like him, that must be awful. And because I love him, I should be patient and supportive. I was right to call him out for standing me up—that wasn’t okay—but I should have listened more. I should help him find his new place.
Considering I want to be a psychologist, my empathy could use a little work.
I grab my phone and type a text to Logan:
I love you
But before I can hit send, someone knocks on my door. For a second I think it could be Olivia coming back to check on me. Then I start to smile as I imagine it might be Logan—coming to find me at the same time I’m reaching out to him. Wouldn’t that be romantic?
I climb off the bed and go to the door, excited.
But when I open it, my excitement plummets, and so does my smile.
Because it’s not Logan.
He tells me his name is Cain Gallagher. And it’s clear he’s an angry man.
It’s in the hiss of his words and tight clench of his hand around the gun he’s pointing at me. He’s somewhere in his late thirties, medium height, with a thin but strong build, and his eyes are small and sharp like two poisonous darts. He’s controlled, focused and wrathful.
He tells me his mother used to work in the palace, that he grew up here, was even an assistant gardener when he was younger. Then he moved away, got a job and got married, but his life never became what he wanted it to be.
What he deserved it to be.
His mother passed away a few years ago and he moved back to Wessco.
And that’s when things really went south. He lost his house and his career, his marriage fell apart—but it wasn’t because of anything he did. It was done to him.
And somehow, in his twisted rage . . . it became Nicholas Pembrook’s fault.
Because Nicholas had everything, and deserved nothing.
So Cain Gallagher decided to fix things. To make it right, make it even.
It was Cain who set The Horny Goat on fire. It was Cain who sent the letters and left that sick box for my sister. And it will be Cain who takes Nicholas’s wife and children away from him. Today.
I don’t know why he tells me all of this, but I think he’s going to kill me, so it won’t matter anyway. He seems to want someone to know that it was him, that he bested them all.
It would be too easy to say that Cain Gallagher is insane—I don’t think he is. At least, not in the technical sense. He knows what he’s doing. He knows that it’s wrong. He just doesn’t care.
Because he’s so, so angry.
He shoves the gun closer and I can smell the metal, almost feel the cold press of steel. A scream is caught in my throat—because it’s terrifying. I want to put my hands up and cower, I want to pull out of his grip and run, but I don’t. Because I’m so afraid of the end of that gun. Petrified that if I struggle or move the wrong way it will go off. It will end me.
So I don’t scream or fight or thrash. When he tells me to sit in the chair I do, frozen and as still as possible.
I barely breathe.
There’s a knock on my bedroom door and the gun jostles in Cain’s hand. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the blast. But it doesn’t come.
Instead, I hear Logan’s beautiful voice.
“Ellie. It’s me—open up, we need to talk.”
Cain moves behind me and aims the gun at the door.
Oh no. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no . . .
“Go away, Logan.”
“Ellie, please. I was a twat, I know . . . I’m sorry. Let me in.”
And I want to shout to him that I understand. That I’ve already forgiven him, that I love him.
But that will only get him killed.
So I lie.
“No, you were right. The princess’s sister and the East Amboy bodyguard don’t make sense—we’ll never last.”
“Elle . . .”
“I’ve changed my mind, Logan. I want the fairy tale. I want what Olivia has . . . castles and carriages . . . and like you said, you’ll never be able to give me that. I would just be settling for you. You’ll never be able to make me happy.”
And it’s as if I can feel his shock. His pain. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
The doorknob moves. “Ellie—”
I panic, screaming at the top of my lungs.