Chapter Ten #3
“You’ve completely lost your mind,” she said, her voice lower now, though the anger in it had not faded. She looked at me as if she could not decide whether to scream or hit me again. “Do you realize what you just did?”
“I do.”
“That was not okay.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
Her eyes widened. “Then why would you—”
“Because you wouldn’t have come with me otherwise.”
That only made her angrier. She dragged a hand through her hair and turned fully toward me, frustration written across her face. “I swear to God, Hayden, if you don’t let me out of this car right now, I will call the police.”
I glanced at her before starting the engine. “Go ahead.”
Her brows drew together. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She reached for her bag at once, pulling out her phone with tense fingers. “Don’t test me.”
“I’m not.”
I shifted the car into motion and pulled out of the parking space as if there was nothing unusual about any of this.
“My dear little Flare, if you want to see me in handcuffs,” I added, my tone almost careless, “I could arrange that willingly. No need to involve the police.”
She stared at me. For a second, she said nothing.
Then she shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’ve said that already.”
“That doesn’t make it less true.”
Her phone stayed in her hand, but she did not dial. She only sat there, breathing hard, her gaze moving from me to the window as the car left the lot.
“Where are you taking me?”
The question came a few minutes into the drive, her voice tight despite the effort she made to keep it even. It was no longer only anger. There was something sharper beneath it now, something she hated showing.
Panic.
I heard it in the pause between her words, saw it in the way her fingers gripped her phone without dialing, in every glance she threw toward the window as if she could map the streets and take back control from the passenger seat.
I did not answer at once. I kept my eyes on the road, letting the silence stretch long enough to get under her skin before I finally spoke.
“You’ll see.”
Her head turned toward me. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
Her posture shifted as she turned toward me, eyes narrowed with anger.
“Where the hell are you taking me, Hayden?”
This time, I answered. “My place.”
Her reaction came fast. “No. Turn the car around.”
“No.”
“Hayden—”
“You’re not getting out until we talk.”
Her breath caught. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already did.”
Her hand moved to the door handle and pulled once, only to find it locked. The sound from earlier suddenly made sense to her, and the look she gave me could have cut through glass.
“This is insane,” she snapped. “You can’t take me to your apartment and expect me to sit there while you interrogate me like I owe you answers.”
“I don’t expect you to sit there sweetly.”
Her eyes flashed. “Then what exactly do you expect?”
I glanced at her before looking back at the road. “Honesty.”
A bitter laugh left her. “From me? Do you hear how ironic that sounds?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the one who lied, Hayden.”
“And you’re the one who disappeared.”
The words landed between us with the same old ache, the same wound still open beneath every argument we threw at each other. She turned toward the window, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the passing streets as if London might offer her an escape route.
“You should have left it that way. You should have stayed in whatever life you built without me.”
“I tried.”
The admission came out rough before I could turn it into something easier to swallow. Her head turned a little, but I kept my eyes on the road.
“Didn’t fucking work.”
The car slowed as I turned into the driveway, and for a moment neither of us spoke. The engine cut off, leaving the silence to settle around us with all the things we still had not said.
“We’re here,” I said.
She did not move. Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, as if stepping out of the car meant crossing into something she had no intention of accepting.
Then she turned her head, and when her eyes met mine, anger was still there, but it was no longer the only thing staring back at me.
There was fear too. And pain. I hated that I had put both there.
“Open the door,” she said, her voice cold.
I unlocked it.
She stepped out first, keeping as much distance from me as the narrow space allowed.
I led the way inside, and after a moment, she followed.
I heard it in the sharp sound of her heels behind me, in the way the door closed after us, cutting off the outside world and leaving us in a apartment where she had nowhere to hide behind colleagues, university walls, or polite excuses.
When I turned, she was still near the door, her posture straight, her face guarded, her eyes moving over the room as if she were measuring every exit.
Smart girl.
Always trying to find a way out of me.
“You can sit if you want,” I said.
“I’d rather stand.”
Her answer came fast, tense enough to tell me sitting down felt too close to settling in, and she had no intention of getting comfortable in my space.
Of course. I did not push it. Instead, I moved past her, took off my jacket, and placed it over the back of a chair.
Then I rolled my sleeves, using the motion to keep my hands busy, because having her here after everything did something ugly to my focus.
I turned back to face her. “You said you wanted to get this over with.”
Her chin lifted. “I do.”
“Good.”
Silence settled between us, thick with all the things neither of us wanted to be the first to say. So I chose for us.
“I want to understand something,” I said, keeping my gaze on her. “The man you were with last night, Daniel Whitmore, who the fuck is he to you?”
Her expression shifted at once. It was small, but I saw it. The slight tension in her jaw. The way she gathered herself before answering.
“He’s my colleague,” she said.
I made a quiet tsk under my breath, slow enough for her to hear the disapproval in it, then took a step closer. “That tells me what you call him at work,” I said. “It doesn’t tell me why he had his hands on you like he had the right.”
Her eyes flashed. “That is all you need to know.”
“No,” I said, my jaw tightening. “That is the bullshit answer you give when you want me to stop asking.”
“That doesn’t make it untrue.”
I watched her for a moment, letting the silence work between us. “You were comfortable with him,” I said. “He touched you without thinking twice, and you let him. That is not nothing, Edwina.”
Her eyes sharpened. “And you forced me into your car this morning,” she said, anger cutting through her voice now. “So if we’re discussing boundaries, you are the last man who gets to define them.”
Her answer hit exactly where she wanted it to, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then my mouth curved, though there was nothing amused in it.
“There’s my girl.”
Her face hardened. “Do not call me that.”