Florence covered her mouth with a hand, too horrified to speak. Tears stung her lids, an oncoming flood of emotions that she desperately tried to stave off with a few blinks. She didn’t wish to cry in front of Clay.

And to think, she’d come here in the hopes of hearing his side.

Fool.

“Florence, come on.” Her father took her arm and tried to tug her toward the door.

Florence didn’t move, her feet rooted to the floor. “You knew. This whole time you knew what that house represented to me, why I needed it. And you knew you were taking it all away.”

Silent, Clay studied her from behind his icy reserve. None of the heat or affection she’d seen so often over the past month was evident in his expression. It was as if he’d erected a three-story barrier around himself, a fortress that refused to let any emotion escape.

God, this hurt.

“That’s it, then,” she said quietly. “I suppose you’ve won.”

He nodded once. “Yes, I suppose I have.”

She drew herself up and strode to the door, desperate to get into a carriage and away from this place. With her hand on the latch, she paused, not ready to leave without a parting shot of her own. “Congratulations, Clayton,” she threw over her shoulder. “I wonder how long it will take you to figure out what you’ve lost.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Clay stared at the elegant four-story limestone building. The afternoon light bathed the facade in a golden glow, a rarified benediction seemingly reserved for the very best families. Families like the Greenes.

Duncan Greene’s childhood home. Now it belonged to Clay.

So why didn’t he feel satisfied?

He’d won. He had everything he’d ever longed for as a boy. Money, power, a casino of his own. The Greene family home would soon be destroyed. His revenge was complete.

Then why couldn’t he shake this dark restlessness?

I wonder how long it will take you to figure out what you’ve lost.

She was wrong. He’d known all along. With every step closer to his goal he knew he’d taken one step farther away from Florence Greene. Each day had felt like borrowed time.

And now she would never forgive him.

It had been two days but he could still picture the hurt and betrayal in her eyes, the horror at realizing what truly lurked underneath his fancy suit. This is why I always wear black. Because his soul was as dark as midnight. Scarred and ugly, the inside matching his outside.

She was better off without him.

He knew this and had accepted it. So why couldn’t he sleep at night? Why couldn’t he look at the casino floor without his chest aching like an open wound? Why couldn’t he take a deep breath without smelling her?

He was losing his mind.