Chapter Thirty-One
Allegra
The taxi navigated through the bustling streets of Barcelona, the city’s blend of Modernist architecture and ancient stone passing by in a blur outside the window, Gaudí’s distinctive spires rising in the distance.
I sat in the back seat, my fingers absentmindedly flipping through the conference brochure. Under normal circumstances, I would have been thrilled at the opportunity. Now, it felt like an escape. A distraction from the ache that had taken up permanent residence in my chest since Cooper had ended things.
As we pulled up to the hotel, a grand building of old-world luxury, I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the days ahead. Professional. Focused. That’s what I needed to be now. Allegra Prescott, respected physical therapist, here to share her expertise and learn from her peers. Not Allegra, the woman with a broken heart and a father who was one of the most dangerous men in Europe.
The lobby was a hive of activity, fellow conference attendees milling about with name badges and itineraries in hand. I made my way to the check-in desk, plastering on a smile that felt foreign on my face .
“Welcome to Hotel Arts Barcelona, Miss Prescott,” the receptionist said, handing me my room key. “You’re in room 412. The conference welcome reception begins at seven o’clock in the Marina Ballroom.”
I nodded my thanks and headed for the elevators, my rolling suitcase trailing behind me. As the doors closed, leaving me alone for the first time since I’d left Paris, I felt my carefully constructed walls begin to crumble.
Cooper.
His name echoed in my mind, bringing with it a flood of memories. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The feel of his hand in mine. The passion in his kiss. And then, the cold fury in his gaze as he told me it was over.
I blinked back tears as the elevator dinged, announcing my floor. Not here, I told myself sternly. Not now.
My room was spacious and elegant, with a view of the city that would have taken my breath away under different circumstances. Now, it just seemed empty. Lonely.
I unpacked methodically, hanging up the professional outfits I’d brought for the conference presentations. As I placed my toiletries in the bathroom, my eyes caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked tired, the shadows under my eyes a testament to the sleepless nights I’d endured since leaving Cooper’s safehouse. But more than that, I looked...different. Older, somehow. As if the events of the past weeks had aged me in ways that went beyond the physical.
I shook my head, turning away from my reflection. There was no time for self-pity. I had a conference to attend, a presentation to give. I had to focus on that, on the career I’d worked so hard to build. It was all I had left now.
The welcome reception was in full swing when I arrived at the ballroom. Colleagues from across Europe mingled, the air filled with the melody of different languages and the clink of champagne glasses. I grabbed a flute from a passing waiter, more for something to do with my hands than any desire to drink.
“Allegra Prescott?” a voice called out. I turned to see Emilie Sinclair, a respected researcher from Brussels whose work I’d long admired. “I’m so glad you could make it. I’m looking forward to your presentation on post-operative rehabilitation techniques.”
I smiled, slipping into the role of the confident professional. “Thank you, Emilie. I’m excited to share my findings.”
As we fell into a discussion about recent advancements in our field, I felt some of the tension begin to ease from my shoulders. This was familiar territory. Safe. A world where I knew who I was and what I was capable of.
But even as I engaged in conversation, a part of my mind couldn’t help but wander. What would Cooper think of all this? Would he be proud of me, presenting my research at such a prestigious conference?
The evening wore on, a blur of introductions, small talk, and shop talk. I found myself gravitating towards the familiar faces from previous conferences, grateful for the easy camaraderie that came with shared professional interests .
As the reception began to wind down, I excused myself, blaming jet lag and the need to prepare for tomorrow’s sessions. In truth, the constant socializing had drained me, each smile and laugh feeling like a betrayal of the turmoil inside me.
Back in my room, I kicked off my heels and sank onto the plush bed. The silence was a relief after the noise of the reception, but it also left me alone with my thoughts. Thoughts that inevitably turned to Cooper.
I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over his name in my contacts. What would I even say if I called? Sorry my father shot you? Sorry I didn’t tell you about my complicated family history? Sorry I fell in love with you when I should have known better?
With a frustrated sigh, I tossed the phone aside. It didn’t matter what I wanted to say. Cooper had made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with me. And maybe he was right. Maybe we were better off apart, each in our own worlds where we couldn’t hurt each other anymore.
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t true. Being apart from Cooper hurt more than any physical wound ever could. It was a constant ache, a hollow feeling in my chest that nothing seemed to fill.
I forced myself to focus on the conference schedule for the next day, reviewing my notes for the sessions I planned to attend. But even as I immersed myself in the familiar language of my profession, a part of my mind remained fixed on Cooper. On what might have been, if things had been different.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, the sun streaming through the gaps in the curtains I’d forgotten to close. I groaned, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I’d tossed and turned most of the night, my dreams a confusing mix of conference presentations and Cooper’s accusing eyes.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water wash away some of the lingering fatigue. As I dried off and began to get ready, I caught sight of myself in the mirror again. Today, I looked more like myself. Professional. Composed. Ready to face the world.
If only I felt that way on the inside.
The conference center was already bustling when I arrived, attendees filing into various session rooms. I checked my schedule and made my way to a talk on innovative approaches to sports injury rehabilitation. As I settled into my seat, notebook at the ready, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Allegra? Allegra Prescott?”
I turned to see a vaguely familiar face. It took me a moment to place him—Marc Metzger, a physical therapist I’d met at a conference in Berlin a few years back.
“Marc,” I said, mustering a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too,” he replied, settling into the seat next to me. “I heard you’re presenting tomorrow. Looking forward to it. How have you been?”
As we chatted quietly before the session began, I found myself relaxing slightly. This was normal. This was my world. For a moment, I could almost forget about Cooper, about my father, about the chaos that had become my life.
The day passed in a whirlwind of sessions, networking, and information overload. By the time the last presentation ended, my head was spinning with new techniques to try, research to follow up on, and connections to maintain.
As I made my way back to my hotel room, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I’d contributed to discussions, asked insightful questions, even set up a potential collaboration with a researcher from Stockholm. This was why I’d come here. To learn, to grow, to be the best physical therapist I could be.
But as I entered my empty hotel room, the silence seemed to mock me. What did any of it matter, really? The man I loved had accused me of betraying him. My father was a dangerous criminal who’d used me as a pawn in his games. And here I was, pretending that research methodologies and rehabilitation protocols were the most important things in the world.
I sank onto the bed, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of everything I’d been trying so hard to ignore. Tears I’d been holding back for days finally broke free, and I let myself cry. For Cooper, for the life we might have had. For the innocence I’d lost when I realized just how dark my father’s world really was. For the person I used to be, before all of this began.
When the tears finally subsided, I felt...not better, exactly, but lighter somehow. As if I’d released a pressure that had been building inside me for weeks.
I got up, splashed some cold water on my face, and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and puffy, my hair a mess. But beneath the signs of my breakdown, I saw a glimmer of the strength that had gotten me this far. The resilience that had helped me build a life for myself, away from my father’s influence .
“You can do this, Allegra,” I told my reflection. “One day at a time.”
The next morning, I woke feeling more centered than I had in weeks. As I got ready for my presentation, I focused on the familiar routine. Shower, makeup, hair. The crisp feel of my blouse, the comforting weight of my favorite blazer. Each element of my appearance was another piece of armor, preparing me to face the world.
My presentation was scheduled for the early afternoon. As I set up my materials in the conference room, I took a deep breath, channeling the confidence that had always come naturally in my professional life. This, at least, was something I knew I could do well.
As the room filled with attendees, I felt a flutter of nerves in my stomach. But when I stepped up to the podium and began to speak, everything else fell away.
The response was overwhelmingly positive. Questions were thoughtful and engaged, and several people approached me afterwards to discuss potential applications of my methods. As I packed up my materials, I felt a surge of pride. This was who I was, who I’d worked so hard to become. No matter what else was going on in my life, I still had this.
The rest of the conference passed in a similar fashion. Days filled with learning and professional growth, evenings spent alternating between networking events and quiet reflection in my room. By the time the closing ceremony rolled around, I felt both exhausted and invigorated.
As I listened to the final keynote speech, my mind drifted to what awaited me back in Paris. The clinic, my patients, the routine of my normal life. And Cooper. Always Cooper, no matter how hard I tried to push him from my thoughts.
Would things be different when I got back? Had time and distance given him a new perspective, as it had for me? Or would he still look at me with that cold, distant gaze that broke my heart all over again?
Lost in these thoughts, I almost missed the end of the speech. As applause filled the auditorium, I shook myself back to the present. One last networking reception, and then I could head back to my room to pack for tomorrow’s early flight.
The reception was held in the hotel’s rooftop bar, offering stunning views of Barcelona at night. I nursed a glass of wine, making polite conversation with colleagues and trying not to check my watch too obviously. After nearly a week of constant socializing, I was ready for some solitude.
Finally, I made my excuses and headed for the elevators. As I waited, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the notifications I’d been ignoring all day. A missed call from Joanna. A reminder about an upcoming doctor’s appointment. And...nothing from Cooper. Not that I’d really expected anything, but the disappointment stung nonetheless.
The elevator arrived with a soft ding, and I stepped inside, grateful to be alone. As the doors began to close, a hand shot out, stopping them. A man stepped in, nodding politely as he pressed the button for the parking garage.
Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. He was tall, well-dressed, with a bearing that spoke of confidence and authority. As the elevator descended, I felt a prickle of unease. Something wasn’t right. As I had recently learned—my instincts were usually correct.
Just as I was about to press the button to open the doors so I could flee, the man turned to me.
“Miss Rousseau,” he said, his accent distinctly Eastern European. “Allow me to introduce myself—I’m Viktor Petrov. I believe we have some business to discuss.”
My heart began to race as recognition dawned. I’d never met him in person, but I’d heard Cooper mention him and remembered Ashlynn’s warning.
Before I could react, I felt a sharp prick in my neck. As darkness began to close in around me, the last thing I saw was Viktor’s cold smile.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice seeming to come from very far away. “Mr. Moreau and I just need to have a little chat. And you, my dear, are going to help make that happen.”
Then, nothing.
I drifted in and out of consciousness, the drugs in my system making time blur. During one lucid moment, I heard voices outside my prison.
“My daughter wasn’t part of our agreement, Viktor.” My father’s voice, cold with barely controlled rage.
“Come now, Laurent. Since when are you squeamish about leverage?”
“There are rules, even in our world. Lines we don’t cross.”
Viktor’s laugh was harsh. “Rules? You shot Cooper Moreau in front of her. Used your own daughter as bait. Don’t pretend to take the moral high ground now.”
“That was business. This…” A pause. “Is absolutely not acceptable. You’re threatening to sell my daughter to traffickers.” The temperature in my father’s voice dropped another ten degrees. “That’s not business, Viktor. That’s professional…suicide.”
“Are you threatening me, old friend?”
“Consider it a professional courtesy. A warning. Release her, and we can discuss alternate arrangements.”
“She’s too valuable as leverage. Unless...” Viktor’s voice turned calculating.
“Perhaps we could come to some arrangement? A partnership?”
“No.” My father’s voice was final. “You’ve made your choice, Viktor. Remember that in the days to come.”
Footsteps echoed away, leaving me to wonder if I’d imagined the entire exchange.