A Designer Dress From Heaven and Your Dirty Wedding Ring

xiv. nothing makes me weak now (you better run for your life)

this chapter contains warnings for the following: guns, wounds, cigarettes, scars, medical inaccuracies, legal inaccuracies, canary's anxiety and ptsd

The news of Price's arrest—of your alleged murder—sends you into a state of shock.

The room lapses into an uncomfortable silence; everyone cautiously watching for your response. When you don't give them one, instead lying back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling, Rudy ushers everyone from the room. You hear the soft murmurs of too much for her too soon as you're left alone to your thoughts.

It's not that it's too much, it's just—

You knew Phillip didn't like you, that he cared more for you as a possession than a person, but you never thought he'd try to kill you. That had to be what he was trying to do; it was a lesson your father had stressed to the both of you. You don't shoot anyone you don't mean to kill.

You try to take the next few hours to rest, but your mind and body can't relax. You feel the anger simmering, slowly spreading its burn beneath the surface of your skin.

How dare he?

After everything you've given him, everything he's stolen from you, and he has the nerve to try to kill you?

That ungrateful little traitor .

Fueled by fury, you push yourself to sit up. Your torso aches in protest, but you force yourself to ignore it. Kyle had said you'd been unconscious for weeks; you can't afford to wallow and waste any more time. Not when Phillip is out there using your money, your estate, your family name.

You're careful to stand, unsteady on your feet as you stumble to the bedroom door. You keep an arm wrapped around your torso, warm palm resting over the bandaged wound while you make your way through the manor. The stairs prove difficult, but you take them one at a time with deep, calming breaths. The echo of voices trails in from the dining room as you reach the bottom step. You clumsily follow the noise, coming to a stop just outside the door.

Deep breaths, you think, coaching yourself through calming breaths. You straighten, shoulders squared and firm despite the pain. Not bothering to knock, you push the door open and walk in.

The room goes still as your presence.

The table is a disaster, covered in stray papers, blueprints, and guns with chairs strewn about the room as everyone pours over their own piles of documents. There's no method of organized chaos, only complete and utter disarray.

You don't see Roach or König, but you do see Kate sitting at the head of the table staring back at you with shock and concern.

Rudy is the first to move, hurriedly standing from his chair to move to you.

"You shouldn't be walking—" He reaches out to you, and you take two steps back.

"I'm fine," you say firmly. He gives you a disbelieving and disappointed frown, taking one careful step closer.

"You need to rest," he urges softly.

"I've rested enough. What I need is answers," you counter, wrapping your other arm around yourself—a purposeful show of putting your guard up. Rudy lets out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing at his temple as he mutters Spanish under his breath. You catch a few words, mainly stubborn and exhausting, but he relents, stepping aside so you can move past him.