Prologue

Blurb

Elizabeth Lockwick wants one thing… to ensure Ophelia remains dead.

For years she’s weaved a life seen through rose-coloured glasses in idyllic Vermont with her husband Sebastian Lockwick, an alluring man with a broken moral compass, whose intent lies in protecting his wife. However, apart from her unorthodox understanding of Sebastian’s dark and gritty hidden nature, she finds herself slipping away from her sanity in maintaining this picturesque life.

After receiving a gruesome gift from an unknown sender threatening to expose her, she finds herself haunted and possibly hunted by her buried past.

In order to make things right for herself and ensure that her secret is hidden, she reluctantly travels back to her sleepy small hometown in Wisconsin. A town where young girls seem to be mysteriously disappearing. There, she reunites with the dysfunctional Pierre-Louis’, a French-American family who sheltered her in their manor in her time of need.

With time slipping away, she struggles with her guilt and a dangerous affair and realizes that perhaps Ophelia wasn’t dead after all these years.

Elizabeth suddenly finds herself caught in a game of cat and mouse, unsure of which she really is this time and who she can trust.

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Prologue

The roof was wetter than she was tonight. Heavy raindrops pounded on, turning into a storm of desire and frustration. He was gone longer than she’d expected. Not a single call. The past few days with these unwanted guests in her house made her uneasy, to say the least. Yet, wanted by her husband. Who the hell told him he could make a decision like that without her? God, he frustrated the shit out of her. God, did she love him anyway.

Elizabeth twirled her wedding ring around her delicate finger and shifted restlessly on the empty bed. The feeling of loneliness crept up between her legs. She shifted again. The nerve that man had to leave her here like this for days. She was thirsty. Really thirsty. The bottles at the bedside table had all been drained from earlier today. She hated cramps with a passion. She hated when he wasn’t around her when she felt like this.

Deciding to refill the water mug, she pushed herself off the bed and threw over a white shirt of her husband’s. This was the closest she felt to him in days, somehow it warmed her heart. Brushing her fingertips over the assortment of his cologne, she opted for her favourite. Musky. Dark. Sensual. Charming. Everything she’d describe Sebastian Lockwick to be.

The lights of the hall had been buried in darkness, yet the moonlight fought through the windows which luminated the moon-crest sloped staircase. The warm soles of her feet licked the icy marble beneath her as she made her way into the kitchen. Her eyes burned from the lack of sleep and worry. Men.

The sound of the ice maker suddenly startled her, causing her to spill the water she was pouring into a glass. “Shit.” As she pressed the rim of the glass to her lips, the sound of a hushed door closing grasped her attention. 11:55pm. Who could have been down here so late? Was someone breaking in? Surely, she could have handled the situation herself. Grabbing a hold of the nearest knife at the counter, she carefully trailed towards the sound.

A blanket of silence fell upon her at the sight of her husband drenched in blood, white shirt now wine, the tang of metallic red sin caressed her nose, his hair soaked in thick salted sweat and blood that slicked to his forehead. His eyes, however, reflected from the moonlight in its majestic silver blue. Elizabeth frowned deeply as he stalked towards her and stood inches apart.  

“Well, you’re bloody late.” She broke the silence, annoyed.

Sebastian gave out a low chuckle, astonished at his wife’s dry humor, “A pun? Really?”

“How dare you leave me here like this,” she softly raged, bringing the knife up to his throat, “How fking dare you.”

“Love,” he cooed into her left ear, and pulled her tenderly by the waist, clasping the spaces between them. “I missed you too.”

“Are you forgetting the knife in my hand, Sebastian?” She warned.

“Go ahead, stab me.”

Sighing, she dropped it and wrapped her arms around his red moist neck. Swiftly, scooping her into his arms and perching her upon the kitchen’s island. “I should get cleaned up,” he suggested, “I don’t want you getting ill.”

“No, no. I’m not waiting anymore,” Elizabeth breathed shortly, locked her legs around him. Pressing her lips onto his, she’d slip her tongue in through smiles. He tasted like blood and vodka. Whose blood was this? She hadn’t even known. His hands traveled along her naked legs, as she moaned into him. Up. Up. Pulling away slightly, she kept an arm’s length, breathed, and slapped him across the face.

“You’re upset. I shouldn’t have left like that. I know. Things got… complicated.” He motioned to his drenched attire.

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