Page 25 of Devil's Sinner

It's been a few days since I got flowers from my secret admirer. I still have them in my bedroom, though they're starting to wilt. I don't think I can bring myself to throw them away, though. I'm going to keep them forever, even though I'm not sure where things are going with Mr. Admirer.

I want to like him, I really do... But there's just something about Mr. Romantic, something that pulls me toward him like an irresistible magnetic force. It's so hard to fight it, and it gets harder with every second I spend in his company.

I had read enough to know that Brynne Davenport was being courted by two men. I wasn’t sure who they were, but I had to assume one of them was Hugo Cabot, just based on the timeline. But was he Mr. Romantic or Mr. Admirer?

I began wondering if Violet had kept diaries like this. What would she write in them? Would they be filled with stories from our childhood adventures? I shuddered at the thought of a few of those memories, especially when we stumbled into places we had no business being.

I sipped my drink, furrowed my brows, and flipped backwards through the journals, trying to glean any important details I may have missed before skipping ahead.

As I read, I looked at the phone, almost willing it to ring. Ineededit to ring. The faster it did, the quicker Violet would be in my arms.

Until then, the only thing I had to comfort me were the diaries of a young girl who was too scared of naming the guys she was flirting with. Fear, perhaps? I didn’t know a lot about the Davenport family, but they were old money. The kind of family people knew not to fuck with back in the day, because there were rumors that they didn’t take prisoners - they just planned your funeral.

But that was before my time. Power dynamics had shifted. People had gone to prison. Unlike Hugo, they deserved to be there, and they deserved to see their dynasties fall.

It was hard to imagine Hugo Cabot as a young man, but the more I read, the more I became convinced part of what I was reading was his story as much as it was Brynne’s.

Diary of Brynne Davenport—March 5th, 1989

I asked Mr. Romantic today why he didn't get me anything for Valentine's day, and I think I may have poked the hornet's nest with that question.

He took me out in secret. I climbed down the tree next to my bedroom and snuck out with him, and I didn't regret anything at all. Mr. Romantic is so thoughtful, so it surprised me he hadn't done anything for me for the most romantic day of the year. But he seemed annoyed by my question. He asked me if I got anything from other people, and I had to tell him about Mr. Admirer. He didn't like that one bit. In fact, he got jealous! I know I shouldn't get excited about that, but it made me feel so wanted to know two men were after me!

Two handsome, successful older men who both want me... What more could a girl want?

Anyway, Mr. Romantic told me he didn't believe in Valentine's Day.

It shouldn't have upset me as much as it did, but I couldn't help myself. What's so terrible about celebrating the holiday with someone you have feelings for? But Mr. Romantic was adamant. He said he doesn't believe in Valentine's Day because you don’t need a holiday to show someone how you feel. It really made me sad. A future without a single Valentine's Day celebration doesn't seem so exciting now... but Mr. Romantic is so dreamy. I can't help but think about him when I'm all by myself...

I closed the diary and put it aside. There were only a couple pages left, but something was nagging me, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

The thing about Valentine's Day. I'd heard it before. It was another one of my father’s lessons. I think I was five or six at the time. The memory was blurry, but I fought to get to it. I would have been in first grade. It had to be my very first year at school.

At school, we always exchanged Valentine’s Day cards. We’d walk around the room, placing them on everyone’s desk. The rule was that you gave everyone a card, whether you liked them or not, so that nobody felt left out. I didn’t make my cards. My mom did it, and I’m sure most of the other parents did the same, especially at that age.

Still, it was a lot of fun.

I remember how excited I was when I rushed home with all of my cards. I wanted to make some of my own so I could give them to my parents, our staff, and everyone else I knew. I was fully invested in this strange new holiday, and I didn’t even know why.

After school, I worked furiously on the project until my dad came home, and I rushed to the door, card in hand, to give it to him.

That’s where I heard those words…

“I don't believe in Valentine's Day, sonny boy,”He’d said with a chuckle.“You shouldn’t need a holiday to show someone how you feel about them.”

It crushed me, just like so many of my dad’s lessons. But, once again, it was useful.

My heart began racing as I started to put the puzzle pieces together.

It was obvious one of the men in Brynne Davenport's life was Hugo Cabot. But the other…

“No fucking way.” I reached for my drink, downed it, and poured another as my head spun.

It was my father.

Dominic Windsor was Mr. Romantic.

I returned to the diaries with new found vigor, flipping through the pages, eager to find out what happened.