Although Xanthe was taken aback, she wasn’t surprised.
Barrington had always had feelings for Vionnet. It wasn’t exactly unexpected that he would go
this far for her.
Had it happened before, Xanthe might’ve taken it personally. But now, she simply responded with a calm composure. “Alright.”
After all, she was leaving soon. Whether their wedding photos were burned now or later didn’t
make much difference.
For a second, Barrington froze, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He’d only said those words out of frustration, annoyed she hadn’t given him a way to save face.
Wasn’t she the one who used to treasure those things the most? Why’s she suddenly agreeing so easily?‘
Without another word, Xanthe called a servant to take down the framed pictures from the wall. They carried them to the garden and burned them until nothing remained.
Vionnet had just returned from Germany and wasn’t ready to move into her own place yet, so Barrington offered her a room in the villa for a while.
Kanthe had agreed, showing no hesitation. “Sure,” she said.
She even told the housekeeper to prepare the guest room next to Barrington’s for Vionnet–then quietly moved her own things into a smaller room downstairs.
As she was packing, Barrington’s voice came from behind her.
‘Come on, don’t be so petty. I know you’re just jealous, but Vionnet’s only staying here for a
while.”
He lingered by the door, his arms folded. “You hate sleeping alone. Moving downstairs–can you even get a good night’s rest here?”
He hesitated, then softened his tone. “About the photos–I overstepped. If they meant something o you, we can take new ones. When there’s time.”
He stepped closer, reaching to hug her from behind–only for her to slip out of reach.
Turning to face him, she met his gaze. Calm. Clear.
To be fair, Barrington had treated her decently over the past three years. He’d done enough to nake her believe–just maybe–they could last.
But every time Vionnet appeared, he never hesitated. He always chose her.
Kanthe loved him. She really did. But what she wanted wasn’t love handed out with conditions or affection that came second to someone else.
‘I’m not jealous,” she said calmly. “You’ve been working late a lot lately. Sleeping alone helps me
est better.”
Barrington’s face hardened. He wasn’t used to pushback, not from her. He’d already swallowed his pride–this was supposed to be the part where she softened too.
‘Whatever,” he said coldly. “By the way, what was that document you had me signed this
333
8:01 pm D D D D
afternoon?”
Xanthe replied, “A little gift for our third anniversary. You’ll see soon enough.”
At that, Barrington’s expression eased a touch.
He knew Xanthe minded Vionnet’s presence. But Vionnet had just returned to Illinois, and he was only helping out as a friend. Once her apartment renovations were done in a few months, things would go back to normal. He still intended to live a proper life with Xanthe.
“Alright. It’s late. You should get some rest.”
As she walked past him, he instinctively held out his arms, expecting the usual goodnight hug- but she walked right past him without a glance.
He stared after her, sensing that something about her had changed. He just couldn’t put his finger on what.
At midnight, Xanthe–already asleep–was yanked out of bed and dragged upstairs.
Her shoulder slammed into the wall. The impact stole her breath. Dazed, blinking through the pain, she heard his voice above her–cold and sharp as ice.
“I get that you’re jealous of Vionnet, but drugging her? That’s a line you don’t cross, Xanthe.”
She looked up, her vision swimming.
On the bed, Vionnet was lying and clinging to Barrington’s arms. Her cheeks flushed deep red, and her breath came in gasps.
“I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!” Xanthe cried out.
No sooner had she spoken than Vionnet began sobbing. “I only drank the milk you gave me… I didn’t have anything else…”
Xanthe’s mind snapped into focus. Her narrowed eyes stared at Vionnet. “You asked for that glass of milk! I drank from it too–why am I fine, then?”
“And what would I even gain from drugging you?” She scoffed. “Vionnet, if you’re going to frame me, at least make it believable!”
She was telling the truth. And she wasn’t going to take the blame.
But as soon as she finished speaking, Vionnet just sobbed even harder. “Forget it. If she says I faked it, then… then maybe I did. I have nothing else to say.”
Xanthe clenched her fists as fury boiled under her skin. It felt like punching water–no resistance, no justice.
That was it for Barrington. His voice rang out again, harsher this time.
‘That’s enough, Xanthe. This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. You know exactly what happened three years ago.”
His words dropped like a hammer.
‘You really think someone with a record like yours deserves trust?”
One sentence. That was all it took to convict her.
She stared at him. “I’ll say it again,” she said in clenched teeth, each word crystal clear. “I did not drug you three years ago.”
333 53
8:01 pm D
Back then, she’d heard Barrington was drinking alone at a bar. Worried something would happen to him, she went after him.
Turns out, someone had already drugged him. Yes, she loved him. Yes, things spiraled. But no, she didn’t plan it all. He never believed her, though.
From that night on, it became a wound that never healed.
“Barry, I can’t help it. Please… help me…” Vionnet moaned, clinging to him as she writhed, her nightgown slipping from her shoulder.
Barrington frowned and pushed her away, only for her to snatch a small knife from the drawer and slash it across her arm.
“I know I’m a burden,” she sobbed. “I should just disappear, so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Blood quickly streamed down her pale arm, staining the sheets deep red.
Barrington clenched his fists, then grabbed the knife from her hand.
“I’ll help you,” he said.
8:01 pm
Chapter 4
