Page 132 of Manic

I ignored my father’s text, shoving my phone away.

When Manic and Axell finally re-entered the penthouse, Axell didn’t spare me another glance; he simply left with that folder tucked beneath his arm. Manic ascended the steps again, his features tense, and resumed his position at his desk.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Manic said, then sighed like he owed me an explanation and swiveled toward me. “Axell doesn’t agree with the inmates I chose to release. Nothing to be concerned about.”

I knew there was some truth to his words, but I had a sinking feeling there was something more he wasn’t saying. I ignored it and kept my head down, determined to work what days I had left.

Work. I almost scoffed.

After my father’s text, I deliberately focused on skewing numbers to appear as if my father had skimmed from Ronan, my personal ‘fuck you’ to both of them. It would take them a while to figure it out, and hopefully by the time they did, I’d be far away from Vancouver.

The following night, Manic left for a few hours to meet with Ronan, leaving me anxious the entire time. I was pretty sure a permanent path was indented on his rug due to my pacing and inability to sit until he arrived.

When he did, Manic informed me that they had agreed to re-negotiate and release me to my parents with a few minor changes. I almost cried at the news, and even though I asked what exactly those changes were, Manic spared me the details by distracting me with his mouth again.

Yet even with the welcoming distraction, dread and heartache thumped in my chest. I should have felt more relieved, ensuring sound sleep and less worry. Instead, nausea accompanied me for the rest of the week, because regardless of where I ended up, my heart would remain in this stupid penthouse.

34

SUTTON

The days all blurred together, bringing me closer and closer to freedom, however that looked.

Even though Manic and Ronan had come to an agreement, I didn’t know how to feel about it. About anything, really. I’d grown so accustomed to the penthouse and Manic’s presence, the thought of leaving turned my stomach.

I only had a few days left and was growing more anxious.

My palms constantly sweat, and I had no interest in eating. I’d even had a nightmare last night over where I’d end up. Manic, the outcome I wanted most, never appeared in my dreams, leaving me with two options. Both tormented me.

My parents, or the Russians?

Whatever this was between me and Manic, it made my chest hurt. I didn’t want to leave, but couldn’t bring myself to tell him. The words burned my throat every time I held his gaze, immediately losing the courage to spew them.

I curled a blanket over my shoulders, failing to hold back the shiver wracking my body. Drifts of snow swirled outside his suite windows, barely morning. I glanced behind me, at the empty bed, refusing to think about the last few nights. Every day since our confrontation, I’d woken up without Manic beside me.

I checked my phone and pulled up one of the last texts Amelia had sent. My heart clenched. I hadn’t spoken to her since the mansion, but I had checked her social media a few times. Maybe one of these days, after I left this place, I could forgive her. We were in the same situation after all, and I missed having a friend.

Needing to find Manic, I quickly dressed and made my way to the kitchen where a fresh pot of coffee was waiting. I poured myself a cup and lifted the porcelain to my mouth. I immediately halted its ascent, my brows jumping as I focused on a thick stack of papers at the edge of the island.

Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I walked over and flipped a few, my breath stalling as Manic’s legal contract from Ronan stared back at me. A few more pages, and I landed on what appeared to be his requirements to leave. I shakily set the mug down and skimmed each one, a rock forming into my stomach.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall, and my heart raced.

“Be there,” Manic hissed quietly. “This is the only time I’ll offer you⁠—”

I glanced up just as he rounded the corner, and Manic slowed his steps at the sight of me, quickly ending his call with a faint beep. He was shirtless and sweaty with a rag over his shoulder, like he’d spent the last two hours working out. His jaw feathered before he leaned over and slid those papers out of my reach.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s exactly what you think it is.”

“Explain it to me, anyway.”

“My terms to leave.” He sighed, pinning me with an unforgiving glare. Yet it slipped, just for a moment, revealing a hint of warmth behind his eyes. “Sutton⁠—”

“You signed them.”