Chapter 4
FOUR
HAYAMI
FIVE MONTHS AGO
The shopping centre is bustling with late-night shoppers all getting their retail thrill at the end of a boring day at work. I’ve been at university, Bastian babysitting me for that little stint, and now it’s the Hellhound’s turn to watch over me.
He’s been on my security team for a few weeks now—despite my insistence that my father get rid of him. I’m still reeling from him pulling me from the clutches of the water I believed was the answer to everything. But the Beast decided otherwise.
No one’s told me he used to be a Hellhound, but it doesn’t take a fucking genius to work it out. He’s not your average businessman—not with a face like that. But fuck me, I never would have thought my father would let a Hellhound onto our estate, let alone in our house.
The day I took that swim now feels surreal. The conversation with my father the night before had been the start of it, the beginning of the nightmare that doesn’t feel like it’ll ever end.
After that catastrophic meeting, I’d lain awake all night, fear drenching my cold yet clammy skin, revulsion and anger fermenting into a furnace I couldn’t control. I replayed his every word, even though I never wanted to hear them again.
I’d stood in his office like a petulant child, rage building beneath my skin as my father unveiled his master plan, the project he’d been working on for the last few years.
He smiled, like he’d done me a favour, bought me a pony, given me a castle when all he’d done was curse me.
How dare he?
How dare he barter with my future?
How dare he treat me like one of his fucking business deals?
The scream welled in the back of my throat, but I swallowed it like I’ve done so many times before.
Screaming isn’t the way to deal with my father.
He’d have summoned Willa and Bastian, who would’ve manhandled me back to my room and probably sedated me.
Although, sedation felt like a nice option then, because the thought of what he’d proposed had made me want to vomit.
“I want only the best for you, Hayami, only the best. And this is the only way I can secure it.” My father paused, and it took me a second to realise he was waiting for me to thank him, to bow my head and tell him how grateful I was for all he’s done for me, for the fact that he controlled my future like a puppeteer.
But the words wouldn’t come; they wouldn’t betray me. So instead, I’d smiled as I plotted how I could sabotage his plan. There was no fucking way on this earth I was letting him run my life any longer.
I’d risen with the sun like a zombie, having stared at the ceiling for the entire night, and I knew what I was about to do despite trying to convince myself it’d be nothing more than a morning swim, even when I asked Markus to switch off the security cameras.
And I did swim. One last swim. One last quiet moment before I showed my father what he’d pushed me to. With each length, I could still hear my father’s words, still see the look in his eyes.
I gripped the side of the pool to catch my breath. I’d stopped counting after fifty lengths. I’d stopped counting everything.
It was time.
I floated on my back, but the lights above the pool hurt my eyes. Even with them shut, I had felt their stare upon me as if they knew what I was about to do and were judging me, burning into my eyelids in a vain attempt to stop me.
So I’d flipped onto my front and was consumed by the water.
A loud droning filled my ears, the pressure surrounding me, making me feel like the water was holding me, cradling me in my hour of need.
It was the only way to be done with my father. So I let the water claim me.
The only problem with this plan was I wouldn’t see the look on his face when he realised what I’d done. How much I’d cost him.
Pressure built in my chest as I’d held my breath and kept my mouth clamped shut.
The droning noise began to sound like humming, as if the water itself was shushing me, assuring me that it had me and would never let me go.
But before I could delight in this thought, the water exploded beside me, and I was pulled from its clutches and hauled onto the side of the pool.
My eyes were full of water, my mouth gasping, lungs burning. It took several seconds before I could open them. But when I did, he came into focus—the man who’d pulled me from the depths, who’d put an end to my demise.
He knelt beneath me, my body draped over him like I was sprawled across a large chair, his dark trousers plastered to his skin. And as my eyes adjusted, I looked up at his face and was utterly convinced I’d succeeded—because this wasn’t a man at all.
He was an angel. Beautiful.
A serene masterpiece, made of only the finest qualities, the likes of which I’ve never seen on this earth.
Yes, he was an angel, and he had come to take me.
But then he’d turned, slowly, slightly, the fraction of movement distorting the light and shattering the image of him. My angel disappeared. The smooth skin on the right side of his face gave way to something else.
Scars.
Ugly, snaking scars that roamed from his collar and clawed their way up his neck, touching the underside of his chin and nearly reaching his left eye—stopping just short of taking his sight.
The skin was mottled, warped. Nothing like an angel.
Every bit the devil.
I pushed away from him.
And I saw it in his face—the acceptance of my reaction. This was how it must always be for him. The response he was used to. Who wouldn’t look at him and not think he looked like a beast, his perfect portrait slashed down one side?
I could imagine people were afraid of him. But it wasn’t fear I felt. It wasn’t the reason I pushed back from him, with what he must have taken for horror written across my face.
No. I saw something else.
A man who’d endured pain. A man who’d seen the worst. A man who was as scarred as I am—except his scars were visible. A man who has been to hell and lived to tell the tale.
And he’d come to me, on the brink of death, as if fate had hand-delivered him.
Even now I wonder why he was sent to me. Why is he here? What job has he been tasked with doing?
I’m a logical thinker, someone who needs evidence and hard facts before forming opinions. I’ve never been one for fate and destiny and spirits, yet when he pulled me from that pool, I felt something, saw something I’m still having a hard time assessing.
My analytical brain is arguing that he was there by my father’s design—that somehow, my father knew my intentions. That he’d tapped into my brain, seen what I was about to do, and that’s why the Beast was there. And why he now stalks my every move.
Yet, it doesn’t sit right. It isn’t possible that my father knew what I intended to do. That’s beyond the realm of science. Beyond the capabilities of man, even one such as my father.
A shopper brushes past me, and the Hellhound swings his arm out, bringing me out of my stupor. He’s so close I can smell his spicy cologne, feel the energy radiating from him.
He makes me nervous—though not because of the brutal scars.
I’ve grown used to those. I see them every night when I lie awake, remembering being held by him after he’d pulled me from the water.
The beautifully beastly man who changed my life.
Who intervened when I thought no one would.
Who decided my time wasn’t up—that I had more to give to this unfair world.
Strangely, I’m not repulsed by his scars. What I see now is how others respond to him—the faces of the shoppers as they pass. They catch a glimpse, grimace, move aside, or look down. They want to unsee him.
But I see him. Or at least, I think I do.
And every so often, there’ll be that one person who doesn’t look away from him, doesn’t scowl at his face, the people like me who don’t view him like he’s just stepped out of a horror film. And I wonder what they see. Like me, do they want to know how he became the beast he is?
Selecting another dress from the rail, I fling it over my arm and then head to the dressing rooms. The Beast clears my path, his eyes sweeping the shop for danger. He’s dressed in all black: combats and a tight tee that only accentuates his buff physique.
I reach the cubicles and note the heavy curtains, which hang across each section. I make my way to the furthest one at the end. Normally, it’s Willa who shops with me, and she’s quite happy to wait at the front of the row, but he follows me, checking the empty cubicles as we walk past them.
Reaching the last one, I step inside and then turn to face the Hellhound, contemplating just how much I can push him.
It’s nothing personal—although I’m still harbouring some anger with him.
I don’t know whether he saved me or condemned me.
I guess only time will tell. But whoever he is, I’m a bitch to everyone on my security detail; Willa and Bastian are just used to it.
They know I don’t mean half of the things I say.
That it’s purely the backlash of the lonely existence I endure.
Willa laughs my sniping off, and Bastian ignores me.
But the Beast? I haven’t tested him yet. Now seems like the perfect opportunity.
“Are you joining me?” I ask, gesturing with my head for him to step inside. “You gonna watch whilst I undress, just to make sure no one attacks me in the dressing room or leaps out from under the curtain?”
I flick my tongue over my teeth, smirking as he stands, arms folded, his eyes as dark as thunder clouds. This could go one of two ways: He could ignore me, like Bastian, or he could laugh in my face and make it into a big joke. But he doesn’t strike me as a comedian.
When he lowers his gaze, the air shifts.
“Do you want me to?” He doesn’t smile, doesn’t hint that this is a joke. He sounds deadly serious, and I can’t ignore the heat that flares over my skin. From any other guy, this would sound leery, but there’s nothing creepy about the way he’s looking at me.
Just as I’m about to come up with a witty comeback, he says, “You think this is all one big joke, don’t you?” There’s no mistaking the deliberate tone of his words.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“You think I’m just here for show, the freak to scare off the real bad guys.
But when I do a job, I do it properly, and right now, my job is to protect you.
That means I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, no matter how spoiled or entitled you are.
Now, I can wait out here, or I can come in there. It makes no fucking difference to me.”
Spoiled and entitled? I should be reeling, but I’m too shocked that he bit back. Of all the bodyguards I’ve had, not one of them has ever stood up to me. They’ve always been too scared of my father. Not of me. No one is afraid of me.
With a hefty tug, I pull the curtain closed, banishing him from my sight.
He’s annoyed me, but I’m also intrigued.
The heat doesn’t leave my skin as I sit in the cubicle, not trying anything on. Just sitting on the small bench, imagining what would’ve happened if I’d let him come in with me.