Crystal's POV

I woke up in bed alone the next morning. Jackson's side of the bed was cold, a sure sign that he'd been up and gone for some time.

I rolled out of bed and walked over to the dresser to put on some clothes, only to notice that it had been completely emptied except for one outfit. I frowned for a second in confusion before shrugging, pulling out the clothes, and stepping into the bathroom.

I took my time showering, standing under the warm shower spray, and letting my thoughts wander. When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, washed and clothed, Jackson still was nowhere in sight.

I frowned as I glanced around the room. I had completely expected him to be here-only because I knew he couldn't resist his inappropriate comments and after last night I was sure he had plenty to say.

I found myself debating whether or not to go find him or to let him come to me. I knew either way I'd have to face whatever comments he'd come up with. Knew that by the end of the day my face would be red as hell and I'd be wanting to strangle him but, I didn't actually regret what we'd done. I mean after all, if he could use me, I could use him too right?

Eventually, I just decided to get it over with and go find him myself.

He wasn't hard to find. It wasn't as if he was hiding. He was standing out on the balcony, wearing his usual suit-minus the jacket-staring out at the ocean, completely oblivious to everything.

I leaned against the door frame in the open doorway. Crossing my arms over my chest I just watched him silently for a moment.

"I'm curious," I finally said, drawing his attention to me. "Is there any particular reason you chose this outfit for me to wear today?"

He glanced at me briefly over his shoulder. "It's comfortable for travel," He replied.

"Yeah?" I questioned. "You found Branson already?"

He shook his head. "I have not," He replied.

I frowned at him in confusion. "Then where are we going?"

"We are not going anywhere," Jackson said as he turned to face me. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the railing. I also noticed that he wasn't smiling. He didn't have the infuriating look in his eyes that he usually did. Nothing about his expression was how I was used to seeing him. Nope.

Instead, everything about him, his posture, body language, expression, everything was so . . . closed off. So guarded. He'd put his walls up. Only this time, he was keeping them up.

Well, this isn't going to go well.

"No?" I questioned as I watched him carefully. "Then why am I in clothes comfortable for travel?"

"Because you're leaving," Jackson stated. He said it like it was a fact. Like I didn't have a choice. "Your bag's already been packed. All your stuff's inside. It's all waiting by the door."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And why the sudden urge to get rid of me?"

Jackson stared back at me. "You're not needed anymore."

"Not needed?"

"No," He said. "I've gotten what I wanted from you. I no longer need you." The way he spoke was harsh and cold. His words pissed me off, and they hurt, but I wasn't convinced. There was more to this.

I continued to stare at him with narrowed eyes. Continued to watch him.

He made a dismissive motion with his hand as if I were a dog he was trying to shoo out the door. "You may go. It's nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" I repeated.

"Are you going to repeat everything I say like a dammed parrot, or are you going to leave?"

I shrugged, keeping my face carefully blank even though my anger was spiking. "Do I really have an option?"

Annoyance flashed across his face. "No. Leave. I no longer need your help. I'll continue to track down Branson on my own."

"Because that's worked out so well for you before."

Jackson glared at me but otherwise didn't say anything else.

I glared at back him. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Yes, you do," I said.

Jackson just watched me silently. Still not saying anything, though I could see in his eyes there was anger. At what, or who, I did not know but he seemed content to take it out on me.

"So let me see if I understand this," I said as I pushed off the door frame and took a step toward him. "You blackmailed me into sticking around even though I wanted nothing to do with you. You insisted on my help even though you could have done it all yourself, and now you're trying to get rid of me all because . . . what? Because we slept together?"

Jackson's face was a blank mask. Only, I knew from experience it was taking him quite some effort to keep it that way. Still, he did not answer me. As a matter of fact, he seemed to be making the effort not to speak to me at all.

That was fine. I figured he was finally sick of his own voice anyway. So, I'd take over talking.

Lord knows I had plenty I wanted to say to him anyway that I'd never had the chance to.

"Or," I said. "is it because of something else?" I watched him carefully with every word I said, waiting to see if I could get a reaction out of him. "I mean, Noah told me you don't actually care about anything," I said conversationally and I noticed his eyelids flickered for a second. "So, I wonder how you would react to realizing you care about something again."

He continued to stare at me.

I shrugged. "Any suggestions?"

"The last person I'd ever care about in this world, is you."

Now that stung, more than I'd have like to admit. The way he said it was cold and harsh. And the fact that he didn't even seem to hesitate let alone blink when he said it, made it all the worse.

"What did I ever do to you?" I questioned harshly. "I'd never even met you before you inserted yourself into my life. Never even heard of you. And you came crashing into my life, made me fall for you, made me care about you. You gave me the best few months of my life I'd had in a long time and then you turned around and destroyed my life, ruined my career, and reminded me all over again why I shouldn't care about anyone. You tried to break me. You admitted that much. So, why?" I asked him. "Why me? You could have had any woman in the world. Why did you choose me? Why was I the mark?"

"Kurt Branson." That was the only reply I got from Jackson.

I glared at him. "If that were true," I said. "you would have just gone after my father. You could have conned him no problem, instead, you decided to go through me and I want to know why. There's always a reason with you."

He said nothing and just stared at me.

"And," I continued. "yes, I did come and find you after the fact, but you didn't have to blackmail me to keep me around. You could have copied the information or gotten it from me, you didn't have to make me stay here with you. So, why? And don't tell me it's not personal. The hell isn't. If it was not personal you would have let me walk away when I tried to leave with the SD card."

He tilted his head to the side as if deep in thought. Then he shrugged, the cold look that had covered his face never wavering. "What makes you think you were the mark?" He finally asked.

I threw my hands in the air. "Who's life did you ruin? Who did you humiliate? Who else, would the mark have been?"

"Contrary to your belief, princess," He said. "not everything revolves around you."

I clenched my teeth together and fisted my hands once more. "Then why?" I pressed. "You still haven't answered me."

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me, and considering you're in such a rush to now get rid of me, I feel like you owe me an explanation."

"I don't owe you anything."

I glared at him. "Then why are you suddenly being so intolerable?"

Jackson had the audacity to roll his eyes at me. "At what point did I give you the impression of being a good guy, Miss Carver?" He questioned. Though, he spit out my name as if it were poison on his tongue.

I clenched my hands into fists and barely resisted the urge to hit him. The look on his face had considerably darkened. He was no longer the Jackson who was always flirting, teasing, completely inappropriate yet commanding, and wicked smart. His eyes which were always alight with devilish intentions were now stone cold. This was a side to him I hadn't seen.

"At what point," He continued. "did you mistake me for a man who cares? You were nothing more than a tool at my disposal and I'm done with you. There's nothing more I want from you except to never see you again. I will find Kurt Branson on my own as I should have from the beginning. I should never have involved you since you're clearly too emotional for any competent thought."

He locked his eyes on my mine and his expression appeared to grow even colder if that was possible. "Never should have gotten involved with someone no better than her father."

I slapped him.

He didn't even try and block it, I noticed. Even though he could have.

"At least I'm a far better person than you," I said. I stared at him for a beat longer. "I hope Kurt Branson kills you," I finally said as I whirled around and walked away.

I stepped back into the room and then kept walking. I didn't turn back to look at him this time. Didn't turn around even though I could have sworn I could feel his gaze on me. Watching my every move. As if he was secretly hoping I'd turn back around.

But I knew that was impossible. Because Jackson Storm didn't care.

What was it that Noah had said? Jackson doesn't really do feelings.

I grabbed hold of the handle of the suitcase as I passed by, opened the door to the hotel room, and stepped out. The door shut behind me, but I was already down the hall. I stopped at the door about six doors down from the room I'd been staying in and banged on the door.

No one answered.

So I pounded my fist against it harder this time.

"Hold on!" Damien's voice sounded.

I heard the lock click out of place and then he was standing in the doorway, scowling at me. "Julie is still sleeping," He informed me.

"I figured," I muttered.

"Then why are you here?"

I took off the watch I'd made a habit of wearing for the majority of my time with Jackson Storm, even when he complained a few times that it didn't go with my outfit. I handed it to Damien.

He looked down at it in confusion. Noticed that the hands of the clock weren't moving. "Were you hoping I knew how to fix this or . . . ?"

"If you take off the back panel where the battery is kept, you'll see the SD card instead," I told him and understanding dawned on his face. "It has everything I've got on my father. Do with it what you have to." I turned and walked away before he could say anything else. Before he could ask any questions.

I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to explain anything. I just wanted to leave. To get as far away from there as possible. To get as far away from Jackson Storm as possible.

He'd taken away my modeling career, my sterling reputation, several of my friends and family. Hell, he'd destroyed my life and made me out to look like a truly horrendous human being. I'd lost everything.

Though, I was going to lose all of that once I turned my father in. Once I'd sent him to prison. Because even in prison my father would still have his influence and even though I was his blood, that wouldn't matter, because I would have betrayed him.

But the worst thing he'd done above all of that, was that he'd made me care for him. And then threw that back in my face as he'd done once before. I really should have learned.

I continued down the hall until I reached the elevator. I waited until the doors finally opened and went to step inside, only to run right into Noah as he was stepping off.

The poor boy let out a yelp and nearly slammed his head back into the wall behind him. He'd been paying more attention to his tablet than the world around him, as usual, and scared himself when he crashed into me.

His tablet clattered to the floor and the kid let out some colorful language I'd never heard him use.

I raised my eyebrow at him as he knelt down on the ground next to the tablet and grimaced at the now cracked screen.

"Pretty sure Jackson will just buy you another one," I muttered.

Noah made a face. "That's not the point," He said with a sigh. He shook his head and then opened his mouth to say something else before promptly closing it when he caught sight of my suitcase. "Where are-"

"Anywhere but here," I said.

Noah looked up at my face and must have seen something that I couldn't completely hide from him because he suddenly looked very angry.

He said nothing more to me before brushing past me and heading down the hall toward Jackson's room. I didn't stick around to find out what he was going to do.

I thought over my options and there really was only one left for me at the moment. So as I pushed the button in the elevator to take me to the lobby, I scrolled through my phone and booked a flight.

To go home.

***

I stood outside the door to my house. Stood just in front of it but didn't open it to go in. Instead, I stood on the front steps, my head consumed with all the thoughts of Jackson Storm.

I could feel tears coming to my eyes, but whether they were tears of anger or sadness, I couldn't actually tell. I blinked them back and clenched my hands into fists at my sides. I sucked in a shaky breath, blew it out. I did everything in my power to keep myself from falling apart. Did everything in my power to keep it all together.

"Jackson Storm," I muttered. "I'm not going to cry over you." I wiped at my cheeks, even though I hadn't actually let any tears fall. Blinked my eyes a few more times and took a few more deep breaths. I plastered a false smile on my face, kept my eyes wide and bright, and prayed to God that my face and eyes weren't red. That there was no evidence of my internal struggles on my face.

My father was home. I'd seen his car in the driveway. His preferred car at least. Occasionally he took out one of the other ones, but more often than not it was just the simple black SUV. I learned that because the damn thing was like a tank.

I brushed a hand down my clothes, smoothing them out though there really wasn't anything to smooth out. There was no reason I shouldn't have already opened the door and walked inside.

Except that walking inside felt like the end of my life.

I'd turned over the SD card. The FBI would already be putting together the rest of the case. They'd be here in a few days, a week at the most. So until then, I was, what? Back to pretending?Back to acting like everything was fine and dandy? Back to looking my father in the eye and pretending I knew nothing of what he was doing? And soon as the pretending was over, what then?

I'd be living on the run. Dodging one hitman after another. Because yes, my father would have me killed. There was no doubt about that in my mind. And of course, there was the fact that walking through that door felt like I was well and truly leaving Jackson behind.

Which bothered me. Stupid as that was. I should have been smarter than this.

I ran a hand through my hair. "Should have just shot the bastard when I had the chance," I muttered. But then, I wouldn't have had as much fun as I'd had these past few months. And yes, I had had fun even if I would never admit that to anyone.

I shook out my body, trying to shake out my nerves. I once again plastered that fake smile on my face and this time, when I reached out and grabbed hold of the door handle, I pushed it open.

It didn't matter when I walked through the door. I was always to see . . . something. Always expecting to catch a glimpse of what my father was hiding. As if the house would suddenly turn black, bloody, and ugly, like what was hiding inside it. But it never did.

It was always neat, clean. Always bright. Always cheerful. But the past few years I'd noticed something lurking in the silence. In the shadows. Something sinister. Something frightening. Although, maybe it had always been there and I'd just been too blind to see it.

The cream walls, the elegant décor, the sunlight streaming through the windows. That was what greeted me now as I stepped inside. As I pushed my suitcase against the wall in the entryway. The house seemed too bright. Too cheery for the secrets it held.

There were voices coming from the living room to my left. My mother's voice I could hear clearly above all. Especially when she laughed. So she was entertaining guests today. That wasn't unusual for her. She always liked to have guests over. I could hear my father's voice as well. Could hear him call out to me.

"Crystal, is that you?" My father called out. "Come join us."

Is it too late to make a run for it?

"Yes!" I called out enthusiastically. "Coming."

I walked toward the living room, stepping inside and nearly crashing right into my father who'd come over to greet me.

He pulled me into his arms for a hug, and even though I should have hated it, knowing what he'd done, I couldn't help but sink into his familiar, warm embrace.

Sometimes. Just sometimes, there were a few moments where I could pretend for just a second that my father wasn't the monster he really was and instead was the man who'd raised me. Who'd stay up watching movies with me when I'd had nightmares when I was little. Who'd show up to every one of my modeling jobs. Who'd brag to everyone he met about me. Who'd always tell me how proud he was of me.

But how proud would you really be if you knew I was conspiring against you?

"How was your vacation?" He asked me as he pulled back and for a second I wanted to hug him again. Just one more time, before I wouldn't be able to.

I didn't let any of my thoughts show on my face and smiled up at him brightly. "It was wonderful," I said, forcing a joyfulness into my voice. "Just what I needed."

He beamed down at me. "Good. I'm glad," He told me and I nodded. "You'll have to tell me all about it, but first I'd like-"

Whatever he said next, I didn't hear. Whatever he continued to say, I didn't hear. When my father moved out of the way to allow my mother to come up and give me a hug, I stopped breathing.

Because Kurt Branson was sitting on the living room couch, watching me.

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