Chapter Twenty Six

Glancing guiltily over my shoulder, I entered my husband's musty study. In semi darkness I groped for filing cabinet. The one I'd never seen opened, not in ten years of marriage. My hands trembling, I turned the key in the lock and jerked the top drawer open.

It was full of files. Nothing that I could make sense of or care about. Accounts of his business, bank papers.

The second drawer was more personal things-our marriage certificate, the dreaded prenup. A picture of Kylie on the day of her birth. A picture of a young Spanish boy amidst several brothers and sisters. A picture of me. Smiling.

The third drawer held the only things I cared about. A change of name certificate. A transcript of a trial. A different marriage certificate.

The light flicked on and I turned my head to face him, still on my knees. He saw what I was looking at and banged the door shut with his foot.

"What the hell is this?" I asked, near tears.

"Nothing that concerns you," he said shortly.

"I'm your wife! Everything concerns me!" I countered.

"This is things that happened when you were still a child," he said.

"Explain it to me!" I demanded.

"Brooke, go to bed," he said.

"I won't. I won't until you tell me," I said. He sighed.

"I was married once, twenty years ago. One day I woke up and discovered that her and the baby had both died. There was a trial, they tried me but couldn't find sufficient evidence. I changed my name and moved away to get away from the shame," he said.

"Did you kill her?" I asked softly.

"Not myself," he said.

"Antonio…" I said, suddenly terrified.

"I had to. I had a call from my brother-she'd seduced him. Dirty whore," he said bitterly.

"So you ordered your wife to be killed?" I asked, my voice squeaking. He closed the study door.

"Not the child-he did that out of spite. Calm down. You're safe," he said in exasperation.

"I've just heard all I had to," I said, suddenly grasping an idea.

"What?"

"Seriously. All I have to do is take this in front of a judge, and tell them what you've told me and I can divorce you and get Kylie!" I said. Perhaps not a good thing to say in the company of a murderer.

"Or I can take that paper from you and you're nothing but a girl with a flimsy story," he said.

"Who are they going to believe?" I asked confidently.

"Me," he said shortly. He leaned down to reach for the paper. I shrieked and rolled into a ball, the paper pulled protectively to my chest. He forcefully and easily pulled my body loose and held me while I struggled and pulled the document from my hands.

"Now go to bed and hope I don't divorce you, leave you penniless and take my child away from you," he said.

It was a week before I'd worked up the guts to do what I had to do.

During the entire week, he'd barely let me out of his sight. He'd kept the door to his study constantly locked, he'd worked at home. He began to sleep on the outside of the bed. He didn't trust me.

It was only possible because he went away on business. It didn't matter so much-even if I left with Kylie, he could divorce me and get her. And he knew that she was the only thing that mattered to me. He took all his keys with him

He didn't know that doors could be broken down. That locks could be picked. He didn't know how desperately I wanted to get away from him.

Kylie and I walked out the front door mid afternoon one day, possibly never to return. Under my arm I carried a file full of documents. In my purse I had nothing at all.

I and my daughter sang along happily to the radio. Periodically I looked sideways at her-she had no idea what was going on. She didn't know that I was taking her from her beloved father, taking her to a potential new father. She couldn't possibly know that the world as she knew it was about to turn upside down. Didn't know that her easy days of wealth were already over.

My heart was in my throat as I took her hand and led her to an elevator up to the penthouse apartment. Was this really what was best for her? Best for me?

"Hey," I croaked, as he answered the door.

"Hey Brooke, Kylie," said Luke, answering the door.

"I need to talk to you," I said.

"Come on in." He ushered us inside and I settled Kylie in front of a cartoon show before I joined Luke in the kitchen and he handed me a glass of hard liquor, sensing I needed it.

"What's up?"

"I just left Antionio," I whispered. He gaped.

"What? Why?"

"I found out that he had his wife murdered for cheating on him with his brother. And he hits me," I confessed. I showed him a bruise I'd gotten from the confrontation in his study. He let out a low whistle.

"Wow. I'm sorry, Brooke. Want to stay with me?" he offered.

"That would be great," I said.

"Doesn't he have the right to take her in the case of a divorce?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the hotel living room.

"Yeah, but I think this will provide a sufficient case. And I don't want his money," I said. If he gave me any, I'd burn it.

"You're so brave," he said wonderingly. I went into the arms he offered and relaxed as he hugged me tightly.

I tilted my face up to look in his eyes.

"Did you rape Peyton?" I asked softly.

"No," he said, leaning down to kiss me. For a moment I returned his kiss, certain it was what he wanted. Then I saw another face-a less handsome one. One that held, and would always hold, the foremost place in my heart.

"Luke?" I said, interrupting the gentle kiss.

"Yeah?" he asked, smiling into my eyes.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this," I said, backing out of the room.

Kylie was confused as to why we were on the road again, but I managed to dodge her questions.

The next house we stopped at was large and beautiful-journalism and sports announcing can give that to you. I hesitantly knocked the doorbell, and his eyes widened when he saw me.

"Hey. Kylie, go inside," I instructed. She walked off, obviously confused.

"Brooke?"

"I'm… I'm still in love with you," I confessed, crying as he took me in his arms.

Author's note: Bet you'd thought I'd forgotten this storyline-sorry about that.