Toxic - Zoe Blake

Chapter 1

Lizzie

“I hate you!”

I did. I truly hated him in that moment. I hated every controlling, manipulative, toxic thing he had done to me. More than that, I hated that I loved him. Despite everything, I still loved the man.

I would never forgive myself for that fact.

Reaching for a crystal decanter, Richard poured himself a glass of Glenfiddich Grand Cru, turning toward me as he raised it to his lips. It was still early in the morning, but I had just tried to shoot him less than an hour earlier, so I guess it entitled him to a stiff drink.

Unable to hold back, I let out a primal scream and threw his phone at him.

Richard smoothly ducked out of the way. The iPhone crashed through an antique glass window, sending shards of glass showering down onto his shoulders, then the thick Persian carpet at his feet.

Pointing to the now-shattered window, I raged, “The phone proves it. It was all lies. All of it!”

The man had me so turned around I didn’t know what was real anymore. If he had told me the sky was purple and unicorns existed, I probably would have believed him.

Somehow, he had slowly and methodically taken over my entire life. Everything revolved around him. He had become my sun, the only source of light and energy in my world. Without him, I was certain I would wither and die. I knew this deep in my bones, just as surely as I knew that same light had burned away all that remained of my identity… had burned away my very soul.

It was true what they say, anything could be poisonous… it just depended on the dose.

Richard was toxic for me, but I willingly drank his poison.

But this time he’d gone too far… him and his games. I was finished.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I challenged, “Are you going to deny it?”

Richard reached into his glass and pulled out a jagged piece of glass. Keeping his cold sapphire eyes on me, he placed it between his lips and licked the amber liquid off its sharp surface before tossing it aside.

The man’s unassailable arrogance and confidence was maddening.

Was it any wonder I was now mad as a hatter?

Was it any wonder I’d just tried to kill him?

Careful to keep the desk and two heavily upholstered chairs between us, I frenetically paced the length of the room, forced to grab fistfuls of fabric and lift my skirts high as I did so. Having no other choice, since I was wearing one of the Victorian gowns Richard had provided. With no petticoat, my heavy skirts dragged on the floor; that this dress was one of my own creations just rankled me more. I remember loving how the cobalt blue taffeta matched his eyes.

Damn him.

All of this. The dress. The estate. The servants. Me.

We were all just pawns on a board. Players in a game and only he knew the rules.

To think he’d almost had me believing his lies! If it hadn’t been for his disdain for modern technology, I might never have come across his phone, abandoned and silent, in his desk drawer. Proof the modern world, which had haunted my dreams, existed.

It was then I also found the revolver.

I may never know if I missed on purpose or accidentally. Yet I had known, the second before I pulled the trigger, that I’d wanted him dead with every fiber of my being.

How I’d felt the moment after?

When the bullet left the chamber?

That I couldn’t say, and yes, I hated myself for it.

Gripping the back of the chair, my nails dug into the paisley tapestry as I bravely met his hard gaze. “Say something.”

One sharp eyebrow rose. The only hint of emotion on his chiseled, handsome face. His voice was deceptively casual as he asked, “Does this mean our little game is over?”

My mouth fell open in shock at his cavalier attitude.

Once more he brought the scotch glass close to his lips, then mused, “I wonder who won?” Taking a sip, he then smirked. “Me.”

Claws bared, I flew at him.

Richard threw his glass aside and latched on to my wrists before they could scratch long red marks down his perfect cheeks.

“It’s over! Over! We’re done!” I screeched as I struggled in his grasp. My cumbersome skirts tangled between my legs.

Spearing his fingers into my long, loose hair, he twisted it, securing a handful in his tight fist. Wrenching my head back, he leaned over me to threaten, “It’s over when I say

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