The Love Hater (Beaufort Billionaires #3)

Sullivan

TWO YEARS EARLIER

The song’s ended.

Its notes drift out of the church behind us as we exit into the graveyard. It was one of his favorites, played to a montage of photographs and video clips. Seeing those familiar blue eyes was like a knife straight to my heart.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

I can’t believe they’re both gone.

All that surrounds us now is the sound of rain hammering on polished wood, accompanied by Sinclair’s soft cries. A haunting symphony that will keep me awake at night. Something to keep the sounds of explosions and raging flames burning through flesh company.

My father steps toward the twin graves and drops a handful of earth on top of my brother’s.

“No!” Sinclair sobs, burying her face into my shirt and clinging to me.

I wrap an arm around her, my hand skating up and down her back. Each vertebra of her spine juts out through her clothing in jagged hills and valleys. She’s a walking skeleton, too consumed by grief to eat. I slant the umbrella, trying to block out the rain.

“It’s nearly over, okay?” I say, pressing my lips to her blonde hair.

She shudders, letting out a whine that causes another part of me to curl up and die deep inside. I hold her tight, searching for strength in the deep pull of air I drag into my lungs.

My father takes off his ring and drops it into the grave. Uncle Mal stares at his sister’s casket, before moving to my father’s side and placing a hand on his back. He purses his lips, deep lines etched into his brow as the rain slides down it.

They’re both soaked to the core. But they don’t notice.

They’re numb. We’re all numb.

I meet my father’s eyes as Sinclair’s cries gain momentum. “I’m going to take her to wait in the car, Dad.”

“All right, Son. I’ll come soon.”

I lead Sinclair past the black-dressed crowd of mourners, nodding at the ones that catch my eye as I pass. They’re all wearing similar expressions of disbelief and loss. My mother and brother were loved. Respected. They had friends. They had us.

We were the Beauforts. New York’s wealthiest family. Running our empire. One steeped in value and brilliance. Pioneers of our craft.

Beaufort Diamonds, almost as beautiful as the person wearing them.

Our company motto.

Our family’s legacy.

What are we now, except broken? An empty husk of something that was once whole and magnificent.

My fiancée, Claudia, stares at me from amongst the sea of faces, concern spilling out with her tears.

She wipes at her cheeks; the giant Beaufort diamond a glittering beacon on her finger.

The way she’d smiled when I opened that ring box; I didn’t even make it onto one knee before she was pulling it from the velvet and sliding it on with a squealed, Yes!

She tries to give me a reassuring smile. But it does nothing to ease my pain.

“Fuck,” I mutter as Sinclair stumbles beside me, jerking on my arm.

My grip loosens on the umbrella, ready to toss it and grab her. But she’s already straightening up, her eyes snagging on the face of my father’s head of security, Denver, as he helps her straighten up and asks if she’s okay.

“Thanks, Denver,” I say.

He flicks a cursory nod my way, before his attention immediately returns to my sister.

“Are you okay?” he asks, unwilling to let her go from his grasp.

She shrugs him off, snapping that she’s fine. A lie, of course. None of us are fine. We never will be.

“Keep walking.” She sniffs, leaning into my side.

I lead us to the black town cars and help Sinclair inside. She grabs my hand, pulling me into the backseat with her.

“What are we going to do without them?” she whispers, staring at me with wide, frightened eyes.

“It’ll be okay.” I squeeze her hand, noting how even her fingers feel like bone.

“Dad’s holding it together for us, I know he is. He was talking about the business yesterday like everything was normal. But he only found out about Mom’s affair after they were gone. It’s too late for him to get any answers from her. I’m scared he’ll shut it all out and not deal with it.”

I turn to look through the window at the dark outline of my father and uncle standing in the rain. Two matching silhouettes with shoulders weighed down by pain and loss.

Twin pillars of grief.

My temples throb as I force away the heavy threat of a migraine.

“Don’t worry,” I say, putting voice to the decision I made the day we lost them both and I saw the utter devastation on my father’s face. “It’s time I took over as CEO. Dad can take all the time he needs.”

“Are you sure?” Sinclair asks; hope making her eyes twinkle.

I’m the eldest of the three of us. Now two of us.

This was always the plan. I’d take over the family business.

Sinclair would pursue her modeling career.

And my brother would be free of the constraints that come with the duties of a first-born.

He could run the global marketing like he wanted to do, while living a wild life climbing waterfalls and base-jumping off skyscrapers—two of his favorite pastimes.

I’d snorted when he’d told me I should try base-jumping with him.

Where he got his rush of adrenaline outside of work, from pushing his physical limits, I’ve always got mine from closing deals. From taking risks, where I already know I’ll come out on top. From winning. From knowing that when it comes to business, no one has one like ours.

No one can break apart the Beaufort Empire.

Now, it’s all we have left of them. I need to do everything I can to ensure its continued success.

“I’m sure,” I say. “You don’t need to worry, Sis. I’ll take care of it.”

The noise gets louder. An incessant wail that pauses briefly, then starts again with added defiance.

“What the fuck is that?” I groan, pulling the pillow over my head, but not before seeing the bedside clock reading two a.m.

The funeral, followed by half a bottle of scotch once Claudia and I got back to my apartment, and my head feels like someone’s sawing it in half with a blunt object.

“I think it’s a baby.” Claudia frowns.

I peer out from under the pillow as she sits up in bed beside me.

“Stay. It’ll shut up in a minute.” I fling my forearm over her hips and pull her down onto the mattress, shoving the pillow beneath my head.

She shuffles into me, pushing her silk-clad ass into my crotch. We fit perfectly like this. My dick nestled between her tight, toned ass cheeks. Ones born from a mix of good breeding and an upbringing that included private tennis lessons, and her own pony to play polo on.

Claudia sighs as she melts inside my hold, stroking the back of my forearm tenderly.

“I’m here for you, you know that, right?” she says softly.

“I know,” I reply, kissing the top of her shoulder where the strap of her camisole has slipped down. I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale the notes of her perfume that linger on her skin. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Ssh,” she soothes, tracing light circles over my arm with a fingertip.

I kiss her shoulder again. It’s the truth.

She’s been a constant for me when I needed one to cling to.

She was the one at the end of the phone, calling me after the accident.

Checking on me. The one waiting for me at the airport the day we flew their bodies home.

The one who has laid beside me every night since, her gentle, sleeping breaths stopping the silence from devouring me as the memories of that day haunt me.

And she’s the one I asked to marry me after a few short months of dating, because the thought of being alone with those memories was inconceivable.

“Do you think it’s coming from next door?” Claudia asks as the incessant wailing increases to an impressive ear-piercing pitch.

“Fuck knows,” I mutter as she throws back the covers and climbs out of bed.

She pads across the bedroom and opens the door.

The noise intensifies.

I wrench my head off my pillow, cursing at the liquor-induced fog taking up residence in my brain, and make my way out of the room after her.

I find her in the hallway, hovering by the front door.

“Sullivan.” She turns to me, eyes wide as the squawking pushes its way through the door, so loud and insistent that I’m surprised the door isn’t rattling in the frame.

“What the hell?” I grumble, gently maneuvering her behind me so I can open the door.

The sound pauses momentarily as I stare down at the source.

It blinks back at me.

Then it opens its mouth and wails louder than ever.

“Whose baby is that?” Claudia gasps, leaning past me to search up and down the deserted hallway.

Tiny balled up fists shake in anger as its face grows redder. It’s kicked off a blanket covered in tiny teddy bears.

I reach down and slide the envelope with my name on from inside the cardboard box it’s lying inside. Its body turns rigid with each outraged cry as I turn the envelope over and lift the unsealed flap, pulling the thin piece of paper out.

“What is it?” Claudia’s gaze bounces between my face and the baby. The paper creases inside my grip and nausea claws its way up my windpipe. “What does it say?” she asks.

She reaches for the paper, but I shove it inside the envelope and stuff it into the pocket of my sleep shorts.

“It says her name’s Molly,” I croak in a voice that doesn’t sound like mine.

“What?” Claudia reels back, her eyes snapping back to the baby, still crying in the box.

I clear my throat as I stare at the baby.

“She’s mine.”

Claudia scoffs as if I’ve made a joke, but the color drains from her face as she takes in my grim expression. “Sullivan… you can’t be serious?”

“She’s my daughter,” I confirm, the paper in my pocket feeling like a live grenade. I curl my fingers around it, crushing it into a crumpled lump.

The baby pauses its wailing for a micro second. Long enough to blink at me with wide eyes the exact shade of blue as my own.

Fuck.