Empire of Lies - Whitney G. Page 0,59

dating anyone else. It’s really me, Gillian,” I beg. “Please don’t hang up. Please help me…”

It’s too late.

She’s long gone.

My blood is boiling and although tears are pricking my eyes, I refuse to let them fall.

Crying won’t make any of this make sense.

Nothing is adding up when it comes to the man who calls himself my husband, and I doubt anything ever will. I’ve thought my final move through hundreds of times—weighed the pros and cons, and it’s time to end this one-sided game once and for all.

My husband has never been my partner. He’s the dealer of a twisted game, and he’s finally forcing me to play my best hand.

Slipping the phone into my pocket, I make my way upstairs to face him.

The moment I step into the living room, I clear my throat. “We need to talk. Now.”

“Of course,” he says. “But first, tell me something. How is Gillian?” He smiles. “Did you two have a nice chat?”

I freeze like a deer in headlights, my blood running cold at the shock of his words.

“I’m assuming she didn’t believe it was you who called…” He picks up his whiskey shot glass, tosses it back. “I wouldn’t take that personally. She’s been getting a lot of fake emails and spam calls lately. It’s a shame what some people on the internet will do for attention these days.”

“I’m calling the police now,” I say, pulling the cell phone out of my pocket. My finger hovers above the ‘start call’ icon. “I’m going to tell them everything.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrow, not looking rattled in the slightest. “What exactly do you plan on telling them?”

“That my husband kidnapped me and held me in captivity for no reason,” I say, stepping forward. “That he’s clearly involved in some twisted criminal activity, and I’m willing to bet that if they look closely enough, they’ll find a few more things.”

“They’ll find a lot more things.”

“I won’t visit you in prison,” I say, moving toward him, stopping right in front of the chess table. “But I will send you a wedding invitation when I find a man who isn’t full of shit and actually knows what the fuck it means to love someone.”

“You’ll never find another man who is willing to do half of what I’ve done for you, Meredith.” He looks at me. “You can bet millions on that, all fucking day long.”

“I’d bet my life on the opposite of that.”

“If only you knew how fucking ironic those words were….” He averts his gaze to my hand, where I was finally hitting the call icon—daring him to do something, but he remained still.

The phone’s line beeped a couple times, sounded with a few seconds of static, and then it rang.

For a moment, the two of us stare at each other—taking in the last frames of what I’m sure will be the end of us.

A buzzing sound cuts through the silence, and Michael lifts a couch pillow and picks up a different cell phone. Holding it up to his ear, he keeps his eyes on mine as the ringing on my line finally ends.

“9-1-1, emergency response,” he says, his lips curve into a smirk. “How may I help you?”

I drop the phone to the floor, instantly shattering the glass screen against the marble. I stare at him in utter disbelief, complete and utter horror.

“I figured I’d pretend like I didn’t notice when one of my cell phones was missing,” he says. “Like I didn’t know you had it and would probably call Gillian, so…” He shrugs. “I made it so that’s the only number you could reach, especially since I called a few times to make sure she wouldn’t believe it was you.”

I blink.

“You have to anticipate your opponent’s every move, Meredith,” he says. “Be ten steps ahead of him—or her, at all times. That’s why all of our chess games end the same. Your pattern is too damn predictable, and it translates into everything you do. You’re so deeply steeped in your fucking feelings, that you can’t consider any reasons why someone would risk everything for you. But now that we’re on the same page about who will always—”

“Checkmate.” I cut him off in the middle of his spiel, moving my bishop piece in front of his queen—cementing the block on all sides. She has nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

The game is fucking over.

Michael’s gaze falls to the board and he analyzes all the pieces, looking beyond stunned.

“I could’ve beat you the last eight