Page 80 of Outcast’s Return

But I do have some responsibility for the madness. I could’ve refused. I made a choice that day, and a choice every day since when I decided to remain silent.

As the chill New York air bites my flesh, I pull out my phone and scroll to Fabien’s name. I instinctively start to write something, but I can’t even find the words.

I turn off my phone, drop it in my lap, and roll my eyes at myself.

What are you doing? Restrain yourself, Jolie. Don’t do something stupid.

Maybe I’ve never even fallen out of love with him. Maybe that’s why I’ve outright rejected every man who’s come my way these last few years. Maybe I’ve experienced true love for a brief moment, and I let it go.

My phone rings. It makes me jump out of my skin.

Him?

No. It’s not Fabien. It’s Clement.

His name appears on the screen, and I let out a moan. I don’t want to speak to my brother. I don’t want to face what I have done to him.

I’m screwing up everything.

And I worry. What if I start rambling? What if I can’t help myself and reveal everything? Fabien. Me. Our secret ties. Our forbidden history. Our destructive deception.

Because if I am on a path to self-destruction, I might as well hammer the final nail into the coffin.

I could blow everything apart with just a few words. It’s so tempting. What’s left to lose now?

I reach out for the vibrating phone, but I pull back.

No, I won’t do that. Clement would kill Fabien. I can’t ruin everything in that man’s life.

God knows I’ve already done enough.

31

JOLIE

“I’m not cooking tonight,” Fabien declares as he walks through the front door of the penthouse before I can even say hello. “Get changed. We’re going out.”

I’m standing in the kitchen, scrolling mindlessly through my phone on social media. I look up.

“What? Another private art gallery tour?”

Fabien puts his hands in his pockets and stands straight.

“Get ready.”

“What is it, Fabien?”

“I’ve booked a table for us both,” he says sternly. “We need to talk. We leave in half an hour.”

It’s not a request. That’s not Fabien’s way.

It’s a demand.

And I, putting down my phone, obey.

* * *

He takes me to an upscale steakhouse in Midtown. A place, clearly, where big business deals are hammered out over vintage red wine and expensive meats.