WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 16 | LIVE A LITTLE LONGER AND LIE

I wanted him to break as much as I did, because he's the one who deserved it.

"Tell me who he is," Percy demanded. "Tell me who he works for."

I didn't need a name to know who he was talking about. William Franklyn-Miller, the stranger. They'd crossed paths not too long ago at the restaurant, but it seems the man wasn't over losing to my bodyguard. I could still see the embarrassment behind his eyes, scratching at his brain like a parasite.

Insecure men never give up. They'll do anything to feel dignified, even if they embarrass themselves more in the process.

"Who?" I asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't play dumb with me."

"I don't know who you're talking about."

"You know exactly who I'm talking about," he sneered, "tell me his name, and who he works for. Do that, and I'll let you walk free."

I stared at him with an unreadable expression.

"Don't you want that?" He asked, dangling his words like a prize. "For me to let you go?"

I didn't budge.

"You can go back to London and put this all in the past."

It's pathetic how you think that's true. Even if I could walk free, nowhere would be safe for me. I'd spend the rest of my life feeling like I was being chased, and I'd never know peace. I still don't know it now. London wouldn't feel like home, and Paris would feel like a prison.

And, even with the sweetness in his voice, I could see through his lies. Once a woman is betrayed, she'll never trust again. I know his tricks now. I know his manipulation, and I know better than to fall for it.

"I don't know who you're talking about," I sneered back.

At that moment, he knew he wouldn't get a single word out of me.

Clenching his jaw in rage, he spun on his heels, storming towards the doorway like a child. He wrenched open the door, fuming. I wanted to laugh at him, but I couldn't find myself capable.

"Have it your way," he spat out. "Your life won't be my problem in a few hours."

He must have seen my face fall, because suddenly he seemed smug again. What was he talking about? I thought, racking my brain for answers. He answered for me.

"You didn't know?" He laughed.

Know what?

"There's an auction tonight, and you're on the market. Already have two buyers lined up. Can you guess who they are?" He was maniac, and sickening. "I'm sure the Ashes' will be hospitable to their new guest."

I wanted to throw up. "You're selling me to them?"

"Selling? No, they'd kill me if I took more of their money. I'm just offering you up as collateral."

"You're sick, Percy."

"I'm smart."

"You can't do this." I didn't care if I started pleading, I just knew I couldn't let him give me to them. The Ashes were cruel, cold-blooded killers. I wouldn't stand a chance. "Please, Percy, don't do this to me."

But Percy showed no mercy in his lifeless eyes, turning his back on me and shutting the door. I was alone in the cold, dark room, and the end was coming.

I could feel the tears start to rush to my eyes. Please don't do this. My life might not be the same, but I still want to live. I don't want to die alone. Not with them. Not here.

I don't want to die a stranger.

Because maybe that's the worst part of it all. My life had been so uneventful, and plain, and I had spent years devoted to a Duke who never really cared. I put my only friend in danger, and I never said goodbye. But—now that I knew I had only hours left—the only thing that mattered was that somewhere on the streets of Paris, I'd left a man behind.

Maybe he was the closest person I could get close to loving. Even with his stubborn personality, and terrible humor, I felt safe knowing he was around.

And when I die, whenever that may be, I hope I go to that room.

The small, damp, and dimly lit hole in the wall where I'd slept for the past few weeks. The place where the old woman played music through the walls, and where the mattress would squeak when you sat on it. The place where I let myself cry, and the place where I said I hated.

The place where I fell asleep next to him. The place where he read me our favourite book, and made me feel wanted.

I may have been a stranger to him, but he was a friend to me.

I closed my eyes, hearing his name echo in my head. If I had one last wish, I'd ask to see him again. He was the only thing that made sense to me. The only sense of stability I'd had. I wished I never ran from him, because maybe I'd have more time.

I heard footsteps running down the hall again.

Maybe this is the end.