CHAPTER SIX

Chapter Six

The car ride was heavy with silence as Agnes drove Anderson back to his house. The city lights blurred past them, casting fleeting shadows that danced across Anderson’s tense face. He stared out the window, his mind replaying the devastating scene at the church: Wanda, in that beautiful gown, exchanging vows and kisses with another man. Each image was like a fresh wound, stinging and unrelenting.

Agnes glanced sideways at him, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. She could feel the anger radiating off of Anderson, his body taut like a coiled spring ready to snap. She wanted to say something—anything—to break the oppressive quiet, but words felt useless against the storm brewing inside him.

As they pulled up to Anderson’s mansion, he flung the car door open and stormed out without a word, his steps unsteady on the cobblestone path leading to his front door. Agnes hurried after him, her heels clicking loudly against the stone. “Anderson, wait!” she called out, her voice a mix of frustration and concern. “You don’t have to be alone right now. Let me help you.”

Anderson whipped around, his eyes blazing with fury. “Help me?” he spat, his voice shaking with rage. “You’ve done enough already, Agnes. All you ever do is make things worse!” His words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, she recoiled, her carefully composed expression faltering.

“Everything that’s happened is because of you,” Anderson continued, his voice rising. “You’re the one who turned my life upside down! You’re the reason Wanda’s gone. If you hadn’t pushed her, if you hadn’t—” His voice broke, his anger collapsing under the weight of his grief.

Agnes stood there, her lips parted in shock, struggling to find a response. She reached out tentatively, her hand hovering near his arm. “Anderson, I—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, pulling away from her touch as if it burned. His eyes were wet, the tears he had tried so hard to hold back now slipping free. “Just leave, Agnes. Leave me the hell alone.”

Agnes felt a sharp pang in her chest, a mix of guilt and resentment clawing at her insides. She had never seen Anderson like this—so raw, so broken. She wanted to scream at him, to defend herself, but the words died in her throat. She turned sharply, her eyes stinging, and walked back to the car, her pace quickening with every step.

Anderson watched her go, his shoulders slumping as the adrenaline ebbed away, leaving only the hollow ache of loss. He turned and trudged into his house, the door closing behind him with a final, echoing click. Alone in the darkness, he sank to the floor, his hands raking through his hair as he let the tears flow freely.

Meanwhile, at Michael’s mansion, the atmosphere was starkly different. The sprawling estate was alive with celebration, bright lights illuminating the lush gardens and grand halls. Guests mingled in elegant attire, glasses clinking as laughter and music filled the air. Michael and Wanda had just arrived, stepping out of a sleek black limousine to a chorus of cheers and applause.

Wanda’s heart pounded in her chest, not from excitement, but from the overwhelming sense of being out of place. She clung to Michael’s arm, her grip tightening as her gaze darted around the unfamiliar faces. She forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, her nerves bubbling just beneath the surface.

Michael leaned in close, his voice a low murmur against her ear. “Relax, Wanda,” he said smoothly, his hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her through the crowd. “These are my closest associates. They’re here to celebrate us.”

Wanda nodded, her smile wavering. “It’s just… a lot,” she admitted, her voice barely audible over the noise. She couldn’t shake the lingering image of Anderson’s devastated expression at the church, his pain palpable even from a distance. It gnawed at her, the guilt swirling in her stomach like a bitter taste she couldn’t swallow.

Michael, ever perceptive, noticed her distraction. He steered her towards a quieter corner, away from prying eyes and eager congratulations. “Wanda, this is your new life now,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that was both reassuring and unnerving. “You made your choice. Don’t look back.”

Wanda swallowed hard, her throat tightening. “I know,” she whispered, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I just didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

Michael’s expression softened slightly, though his voice remained cool. “You’ll get used to it. Trust me.” He lifted her chin gently, his fingers brushing against her skin. “We have everything we need, Wanda. All you have to do is play your part.”

Wanda forced herself to meet his gaze, nodding slowly. She could feel the weight of his expectations pressing down on her, the unspoken demand for her to fit perfectly into the life he had laid out for her. She took a deep breath, willing herself to push aside the doubt gnawing at her resolve. “I’ll try,” she said quietly, her voice steadying. “I’ll do my best.”

Michael smiled, a calculated curve of his lips that spoke of satisfaction more than joy. “Good,” he said, his hand slipping from her chin to her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Now, let’s enjoy the evening.”

The night wore on with toasts and laughter, but Wanda felt like a spectator in her own life. She moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and compliments with a practiced smile, but her mind was elsewhere. Michael stayed by her side, ever the attentive husband, but there was a distance between them—a silent understanding that this was as much a transaction as it was a union.

As the evening drew to a close, Michael’s arm wrapped possessively around Wanda’s waist, guiding her towards a sleek, private jet waiting on the mansion’s expansive lawn. Wanda’s heart raced as she took in the sight of the aircraft, its polished surface gleaming under the soft glow of runway lights.

“We’re heading to Las Vegas,” Michael announced, his voice tinged with excitement. “Our honeymoon awaits.”

Wanda nodded, her steps hesitant as she followed him up the jet’s stairs. She glanced back one last time, the mansion now a distant, glittering backdrop against the night sky. She couldn’t help but feel that she was leaving more than just a party behind. There was a finality to it, a sense of doors closing and paths being set that made her chest tighten with unease.

Inside the jet, Michael settled into his seat, motioning for Wanda to sit beside him. He poured two glasses of champagne, handing one to her with a confident smile. “To new beginnings,” he toasted, his eyes glinting with ambition.

Wanda clinked her glass against his, forcing a smile as she took a sip. The champagne was crisp and cold, but it did little to calm the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in her mind. She glanced out the window as the jet began to taxi down the runway, her reflection staring back at her—a woman caught between choices, each as complicated as the other.

As the jet lifted into the night sky, Wanda closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat. The city lights below faded into darkness, and with them, the last vestiges of the life she had known. Michael’s hand rested on hers, warm and steady, yet Wanda couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hurtling towards something unknown, with no way to turn back.