He Chose Her, The Desert Chose Me - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
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The rumors about my disappearance had spun completely out of control, each one more outrageous than the last.
The most popular theory? That I'd masterminded Michael Findley and Yenny's murders before skipping town. As if that weren't bad enough, someone had cooked up fake chat logs between me and Hendry, the hitman in custody. I'd bet my last dollar Bella was behind that little stunt—Arthur would never risk exposing his family's dirty laundry.
Then there was the tragic romance version: that I'd crawled back from Dungeness half-dead and disfigured, been rejected by the Findleys, and taken my own life in despair.
But none of that mattered now. The only thing that did was what came next.
At the Findley mansion, Arthur paced the shadowy living room like a caged animal, cigarette after cigarette burning down between his fingers. With a sudden roar, he smashed his fist into the coffee table, sending a crystal ashtray exploding into shards.
"That goddamn woman!" His voice shook the antique chandelier. "After everything she's done, now she plays the victim? Who the hell does she think she is, disappearing on me like this?"
His assistant Windy flinched, edging forward like someone approaching a live grenade. "Sir, we've turned the north district inside out...still no trace of Ms. Lilly. Should we—"
"Turn over every fucking stone!" Arthur's snarl sent Windy stumbling back. "She's breathing somewhere, and when I find her, she'll wish she'd never been born!"
Bella moved silently through the wreckage, sweeping up glass with practiced efficiency. Sliding beside Arthur like a second shadow, she rested a delicate hand on his shoulder.
"Darling, why torture yourself?" Her voice was honey laced with arsenic. "If Lilly wanted to be found, she wouldn't have run. Even if you drag her back, her heart's already gone. Maybe...it's time to set yourself free."
Arthur collapsed onto the leather couch, fingers digging into his temples. "It doesn't make sense," he muttered. "She used to fight for me. Scream, beg, claw her way back no matter how badly I treated her. But this time?" His hands curled into fists. "Just...gone."
The memories hit like body blows—Lilly shoving him down the Dungeness cliffs, her wild eyes when she'd lunged at his parents. "I didn't even file charges!" he spat. "After all that, she still thinks she can just vanish? What makes her so fucking special?"
[Flashback]
Seventeen-year-old Lilly had clung to him like ivy on a crumbling wall, her arms locked around his neck. "Marry me," she'd demanded, all fire and desperation. When he'd hesitated—"We're just kids, Lil"—she'd bolted for the rooftop edge.
He'd caught her millimeters from disaster, her laughter ringing hysterically as he crushed her to his chest. "Okay! Christ, okay, I'll marry you!" The promise tasted like fear on his tongue. She'd sobbed into his shirt then, calling him her sun, her stars, her everything.
For years, he'd worn her tantrums like medals—every slammed door, every public scene proof of her devotion. Let the world call him a whipped puppy; he'd loved being her anchor.
Now, staring at the hollow space where she should've been, Arthur finally understood the truth: anchors don't get to choose when they're cut loose.
The most popular theory? That I'd masterminded Michael Findley and Yenny's murders before skipping town. As if that weren't bad enough, someone had cooked up fake chat logs between me and Hendry, the hitman in custody. I'd bet my last dollar Bella was behind that little stunt—Arthur would never risk exposing his family's dirty laundry.
Then there was the tragic romance version: that I'd crawled back from Dungeness half-dead and disfigured, been rejected by the Findleys, and taken my own life in despair.
But none of that mattered now. The only thing that did was what came next.
At the Findley mansion, Arthur paced the shadowy living room like a caged animal, cigarette after cigarette burning down between his fingers. With a sudden roar, he smashed his fist into the coffee table, sending a crystal ashtray exploding into shards.
"That goddamn woman!" His voice shook the antique chandelier. "After everything she's done, now she plays the victim? Who the hell does she think she is, disappearing on me like this?"
His assistant Windy flinched, edging forward like someone approaching a live grenade. "Sir, we've turned the north district inside out...still no trace of Ms. Lilly. Should we—"
"Turn over every fucking stone!" Arthur's snarl sent Windy stumbling back. "She's breathing somewhere, and when I find her, she'll wish she'd never been born!"
Bella moved silently through the wreckage, sweeping up glass with practiced efficiency. Sliding beside Arthur like a second shadow, she rested a delicate hand on his shoulder.
"Darling, why torture yourself?" Her voice was honey laced with arsenic. "If Lilly wanted to be found, she wouldn't have run. Even if you drag her back, her heart's already gone. Maybe...it's time to set yourself free."
Arthur collapsed onto the leather couch, fingers digging into his temples. "It doesn't make sense," he muttered. "She used to fight for me. Scream, beg, claw her way back no matter how badly I treated her. But this time?" His hands curled into fists. "Just...gone."
The memories hit like body blows—Lilly shoving him down the Dungeness cliffs, her wild eyes when she'd lunged at his parents. "I didn't even file charges!" he spat. "After all that, she still thinks she can just vanish? What makes her so fucking special?"
[Flashback]
Seventeen-year-old Lilly had clung to him like ivy on a crumbling wall, her arms locked around his neck. "Marry me," she'd demanded, all fire and desperation. When he'd hesitated—"We're just kids, Lil"—she'd bolted for the rooftop edge.
He'd caught her millimeters from disaster, her laughter ringing hysterically as he crushed her to his chest. "Okay! Christ, okay, I'll marry you!" The promise tasted like fear on his tongue. She'd sobbed into his shirt then, calling him her sun, her stars, her everything.
For years, he'd worn her tantrums like medals—every slammed door, every public scene proof of her devotion. Let the world call him a whipped puppy; he'd loved being her anchor.
Now, staring at the hollow space where she should've been, Arthur finally understood the truth: anchors don't get to choose when they're cut loose.
End of He Chose Her, The Desert Chose Me Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to He Chose Her, The Desert Chose Me book page.