Chapter 56
Lucy - Three Years Later
It’s a strange kind of torment, living in the same city as of the person who has my heart in a vice.
I see him almost every day—his face flashing across TV screens, his name on headlines.
And sometimes, I walk through Westminster, lingering just a little too long, waiting for the fleeting glimpse of a passing car, wondering whether he’s inside. So close, yet untouchable.
And today is no different. I’m standing in a queue, waiting for another tour of The Houses of Parliament. Any minute now, a black, bullet proof Mercedes will appear, and behind the black, tinted windows will be Owen.
Sitting there on the phone, or talking with his assistant, planning, plotting.
He did what he said he would do.
Be the change.
The hard drive evidence did exactly what we thought it would, but it took time.
Sources had to be checked, evidence checked, double checked, hell, even triple checked.
The government as we knew it fell.
Most of the cabinet were arrested for whatever charge they were guilty of; every political party was impacted.
And Owen used that chaos to officially launch his independent party.
He recruited the best politicians, he recruited new ones from all backgrounds, who like him, had been through the system and seen how broken it was.
No one really has the experience to be a politician, you learn on the job. You are put in positions where you know nothing about what you’re supposed to be doing, but the difference with this party is that they have lived and experienced the system.
They know what works, and what doesn’t.
And with that experience comes the different thinking, the willingness to change it.
Three years, and the court cases are still going on. The evidence is still being scanned through, people are still being charged. Something this big is done by the book, and just like Roman said, it’s taking years.
Owen is steering the ship now, and he’s steering it with confidence, honour and transparency.
The first thing he did was pass a manifesto that no one saw coming, including me. One that forced every political party to agree on key, national initiatives. A radical, unprecedented move.
The NHS overhaul. The rebuilding of the country’s crumbling infrastructure.
The deep, systemic changes that usually take decades and countless elections to even begin.
Every political party signed on to the objectives and approach, ensuring that no matter who held power, the outcomes would remain the same.
The details—the taxes, the funding, the policies wrapped around it—would shift with each government.
But the path itself was locked in place.
Because four years isn’t enough to fix something so fundamentally broken.
Four years isn’t enough to reverse decades of neglect.
But four years is enough to change the way we approach it.
And for that, I couldn’t be prouder.
The gates to the side of the queue open at the same time as my phone buzzes with a BBC news alert. Breaking story. I glance down at the screen, and my fingers tighten around my phone in a vice-like grip. The headline steals the breath from my lungs.
King abdicates his throne.
But it’s not “The King.”
No, King William has only just taken the throne, so that means…I look up at the Mercedes that is pulling into the courtyard area, and I stare at it.
It slowly drives past where I’m standing, as I stare at the blacked-out window. It usually drives straight past, and I wonder if he sees me. I wonder if he senses me in the vicinity. Can he feel the prickle on his skin like I get when I know he’s close?
The car stops, the window pulls down, and I’m met with the beautifully handsome face of Owen King. Glasses on, five o’clock shadow, hair dishevelled.
“Hello, Cookie,” he says, grinning at me. “Want to come for a drive?”
I stare, stupid for minute, everyone in the queue gasping at the fact that the ex-Prime Minister has stopped in front of us and is addressing me.
“That depends,” I say, tilting my head. “Will you keep the glasses on?”
He grins, and I grin back.
I jump over the barrier as the door opens.
“Get in, Cookie.”
I don’t think, I don’t hesitate, I move. I could get shot, for all I know.
The door barely shuts before I’m in his arms, my body reacting before my mind can catch up. His scent engulfs me, familiar, intoxicating, grounding, home. Suddenly, I’m straddling him, his fingers threading through my hair, gripping me like he’ll never let go again.
“You quit!”
His chest rises and falls beneath me, his breath warm against my cheek. “I quit.”
I pull back just enough to search his face, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Why?”
“Because I did what I set out to do.”
“I don’t understand.”
His thumb brushes my cheek, and it’s only then that I realise—I’m crying. Silent tears slip down my cheeks, carrying every moment we lost.
“Cookie.” His voice is gentle. “I never wanted to be Prime Minister. Nothing I did was ever about sitting on top. That was never the goal.”
“Then what was?”
“You.” His hands tighten at my waist. “Just you.”
“Don’t lie,” I whisper, a shaky smile tugging at my lips.
He exhales a quiet laugh. “Okay, change. But the day you walked away? Everything that followed? All I ever wanted was for you to be by my side. And I hated that you couldn’t be.
” His hands cradle my face, eyes burning into mine.
“But now you can. Nothing stands in our way. I’m yours, if you’ll have me. ”
His pinkie extends between us. A silent vow, our silent promise.
I swallow hard, my chest tightening, everything narrows. To this, us. I hook my pinkie around his, my grip trembling.
“You’re my past, present and future, Owen King.”
Then I kiss him. Desperate. Messy. Wet with tears, and dare I say, snot. But perfect. Everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I never let myself hope for, or have.
“Now you get it, Cookie,” he says grinning.
“Nothing insignificant.”
His smirk is cocky, his eyes tired behind his glasses. “God, I’m unemployed. What do ex-Prime Ministers do nowadays?”
“Apparently, there’s a trend where they spend some time in prison.”
“Been there, done that.” He grins, kissing me again.
I hesitate, then whisper, “I sold Apex Security.”
He nods like he already knew. Of course he knew.
“You weren’t the only one watching, Cookie.”
“Did you always know?”
His smirk deepens. “The third Thursday of every month outside Parliament. Monday night outside the apartment.”
I bite my lip, his eyes drop to the move. “And Sunday night at the gym.”
“I always knew you had stalking tendencies. Took my security detail six months to figure it out. That’s one of the reasons Apex Security won the contract.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t need handouts.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t. The team was impressed with you.” He tilts his head. “But I already knew they would be. So, who’s running Apex now?”
I grin, trailing my fingers up his chest, over his jaw, threading into his hair. “Ah, an old friend.”
His lips ghost over mine, teasing. “Is that so? I’m surprised you talked him into it.”
“I’m very persuasive.”
I stare at him, drinking him in. Every new wrinkle. Every familiar line. Every inch of him I’ve missed. I memorise him all over again, just in case I wake and it’s all a dream.
“What next?” I whisper, brushing my lips over his again.
He exhales content, his arms tightening. “We go home, Cookie.”
“And then?”
“Then…who knows? It’s nice to not have a plan for once.”
“Isn’t it?”
His gaze darkens, his voice dropping. “Can you promise me something?”
“Anything.”
His thumb brushes my lip, his forehead pressing against mine.
“You walk with me this time.”
Tears sting my eyes again, but this time, they’re different. Lighter.
“Always.”
The End