Chasing a Statue: Eight Years Lost

ased Brooks Kane, the "Saint of Wall Street," and for two more, I lived in

ret chapel, praying to a life-sized doll with the face of his adopted sister, Chastity.

stitches, but Brooks wasn't there. He was comforting her, tending to a scratch on her cheek while I b

pte

it that became the stuff of New York legend. She, the vibrant, fiery heiress to a tech empire,

riage, a period where the silence in their grand F

ilence was fi

The decision felt less like a choice and more like a fever

hes, picked up o

was tight with concern. He was in London, but he always soun

s." The words came out st

ss the Atlantic. "What happ

a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "He's

yet. How could she explain that the fina

nsion, a section Brooks had always kept locked. The door was ajar. Inside was not a

kneeling before a small

e as a sin, was praying. But his prayers were not for God. They were f

e of his adopted sis

sick kind of reverence. He spoke of her purity, his forbidden desires, and how his ma

h in her mouth. The humiliation was a physical thing, a cold weight in her stomach. He w

the memory. "Cold. Detached. I told you he was like a marble statue.

room they had never shared as husband and wife. Every piece of furniture, every painting, was a testament to her failed effort. "I thoug

ested in you." Hughes's words were blunt, but not cr

w that

come home. Come to London. I'll have your old apartment

. A place where she wasn't Mrs. Brooks Kane, the failed

hes added casually. "He as

best friend for years. A man whose warm, steady gaze had always held a hint of s

d, her voice sma

gala. He stood apart from the crowd, a vision of quiet power in a black tuxedo. His eyes, a cool, indifferent gray, seemed to see

Kanes are a different breed. Old money, devoutly religious. They thin

timate challenge. She didn't believe anyone could be truly devoid of des

h lunch. She'd buy the art he was rumored to admire. She wore her brightest dress

got nothing. Just a

"He's not playing hard to get,

"He's not made of stone. He just nee

posing. It wasn't romantic. It was a transaction. He'd shown up

r both our families," he'd said, his tone

aid yes. She believed that marriage would be the key, that behin

n of him. The marriage was a sham. A shield. And

pel, it had finally been extinguished. All that was left was the chilling real

desperate plea to the Chastity doll. "Just a little longer, Chasti

had left began to fall. Sh

e. Fine. She would

closet and pulle

picture of detached elegance, reading the Wall Street Jou

oday," Alex said, her voice c

d a page

be home fo

mpatience. He hated questions. He hated small talk. He saw her as a

r?" he asked,

man trapped by his own hypocrisy, using

ght smile that seemed to startle him. It was the kind of sm

tter at all. I was just wondering if I sh

er of something-maybe cur

standing up. "Just feel

away, a slight frown

t the door, h

," she said softly, more to herse

ght years, she walked away f