Strangely, none of them shared my sentiments and cursed me whenever the affair ended, claiming I was a dick. But then again, it wasn’t anything a little jewelry couldn’t fix.
Until the next one.
I can never start a new relationship where love is expected from me.
James clears his throat again, snapping my attention to him, and I reply, “Let’s go home.” He nods and pulls the car away then speeds up as he gets onto the main road, all while hundreds of scenarios of how I can meet Phoenix Hale play in my mind.
And in each one of them, at the end of it all, she spits in my face and shouts at me to leave her alone—because I can’t imagine anything else.
She will never want to help me, yet working with her is the only way to find the true killer, because of his obsession is Phoenix. I don’t need to have a past with serial killers to recognize the signs.
Our firsts are always so important to us, as they settle us on the path we choose. I can still taste the victory of my first international business deal on my tongue, earning my first million, reminding me how excitement shook my entire body, and how finally I could dictate what was going on in the company.
Mainly, I had the power to veto any time Dad wanted to put someone on the board of directors from his fucking wife’s family, who I’ve managed to ignore most of my adult life.
They’ve already had their hands in the family business; Dad made them stockholders after all, and for their greedy asses, that should be enough.
Phoenix will be on my side one way or another; she won’t have a choice, and I don’t mind using whatever is necessary to achieve that goal.
My phones rings in my pocket, and I take it out, grinning, as I slide it to accept, knowing it’s a video call. A three-and-a-half-year-old gazes at me with her mother’s brown eyes and, strangely, my dark hair.
She smiles at me, the dimples showing themselves in her cheeks while she blows me a kiss. “Daddy!” she shouts, giggling. “I called you!” She says it like it’s the biggest achievement on this planet, and in a way it is.
After all, her nanny—and one of mine back in the day, Patience—handles all calls and hides the phone from my daughter, who has a tendency to call me in the most inopportune moments, but I pick up every time, talking with her until she gets bored.
She is the most important thing in this life for me, and has priority above anything or anyone else.
“Yes, you did. Did you steal the phone from Patience again?”
She rests her chin on her hand and sighs heavily. “I don’t steal, Daddy. I borrow!” she says, frowning a little, but then jumps up, and I see a lot of shuffling with her fingers blocking the camera before she comes into view again, standing a few feet away from the camera and twirling from side to side. Her pink tutu is wrapped around her middle while she flaps the edges of it. “Look at my dress, Daddy!” she exclaims, some of her words swallowed since her speech is still not super clear. “Ballet!” she announces and then runs back to the phone, coming so close all I see are her nostrils. “Tomorrow, I start, Daddy. Will you come?” she asks and then adjusts the phone again, blinking at me with pleading in her eyes, and my heart squeezes painfully even if it shouldn’t.
Whatever my daughter wants in this life, she gets.
After all, she is the princess of the castle.
“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it, baby girl.”
She is smiling back and opens her mouth to say something else, and that’s when I hear Patience panting in the distance with her voice booming. “Young lady, you do not run away from me and steal my phone!”
“Borrow!” she corrects her and then drops her voice, whispering, “Bye-bye, Daddy. See you tomorrow.” And disconnects the phone before Patience can see her with it.
No doubt, she will cover it all up and act like she didn’t even touch it, making the nanny question her sanity and the job she barely agreed to take. I begged her, because I could never trust anyone else but her to watch over the ray of light in my life.
Dad strangely loved spending time with her and taking her to various places, claiming that as the grandpa, it was his duty to my firstborn.
James chuckles from the front, catching my gaze in the mirror. “She’ll be a handful once she grows up.”
Yes, she will be, and I intend to be at her side no matter what. I hope someday, once she is old enough to understand the full scope of the situation, my daughter can forgive me for what I have done in the past.
Emmaline Katherine King.
My and Phoenix’s daughter for whom I summoned all the best pediatric specialists in the world in order to assure she would survive, and she did despite the odds not being in her favor. My girl is a fighter.
Just like her mother.
If Phoenix doesn’t come to me to seek justice, she will come to me for our daughter, even if she hates me.
I imagine that hate will amplify by a thousand once she knows the truth about Emmaline.
Our daughter.
Ours, because fuck Sebastian Hale for turning his back on them; he has no rights where she is concerned anyway, unless he seeks a DNA test, and that will never happen.
Not if her mother is on my side.
He won’t be able to claim them back, even once she knows the truth, and I don’t think Phoenix will ever be able to forgive his betrayal.
Until all this is over, Phoenix belongs to me, forever under my protection—a part of me.
No one takes away what belongs to me.
Especially not Sebastian Hale.
Chapter Eight
“They say it’s possible to love and hate a person at the same time.
And I think it’s true.
Even true love can turn to hate if the person you love dumped you into the pit of hell and never looked back.”
Phoenix
New York, New York
Phoenix, 9 years old
“I hate math. Hate, hate, hate it!” I mutter under my breath, propping the heavy backpack on my shoulder, and resuming my walk through the neighborhood in the evening, trying to walk on the wide sidewalk under harsh streetlights. “I should have said no to Teacher Meghan.”
Instead, I agreed to take on an extra assignment at school to raise my grade, because I needed a perfect score in order for Ms. Thomson to sign the permission form for me to attend a school trip.
But now, I’m coming back home later than usual, and during winter, it’s so dark outside my insides shiver in fear, and I’m constantly watching over my back, a heavy rock in my hand in case someone comes toward me.
I lift my scarf higher to block out the harsh wind and almost breathe in relief when I see the old playground lit by the streetlight.
Going through this narrow path, I will save myself ten minutes and be home right on time for dinner without Ms. Thomson complaining about it.
I see a figure in the distance and still my movements, surprised anyone is here, and then speed up, ready to flee. But then I look again, my eyes widening when I recognize the boy from two years ago standing on the concrete walk, wearing a black coat that almost swallows him whole and a black suit, his shoes shining under the light.
I turn toward him, and he raises his gaze to me. “The name is here.” Only then does it dawn on me he is looking at the word spelled on it, and I nod, deciding to keep to myself that I write the name from time to time whenever I see it washing away.