34. Helen
HELEN
The past month has been a sprint I didn’t train for.
My days are a blur of invoices, emails, and late nights where my brain keeps running even after my body gives up.
It isn’t just the workload, though that’s enough.
It’s the constant vigilance that comes with living in the same house as Anna’s “ideas.”
My stepmother hasn’t done anything else, at least not as far as I know. And thank God she hasn’t gone after Olivia. Anna can be persuasive when she wants something, and Olivia…Olivia still believes in the version of family Anna pretends to be.
And then, like the universe has a sense of timing and humor—an invitation arrived.
The Game.
It landed in my studio last week. As usual, a dress came with it. It’s champagne in silk, one shoulder bared, the other draped in sheer folds that sweep diagonally across the body. The fabric gathers at the waist in a soft knot before releasing into a long, fluid skirt that parts high at the thigh.
I should be exhausted, but I’m keyed up. I’m about to step into the night expecting nothing less than a lavish Moroccan riad. But the truth is simpler. Put him anywhere—Red Fox or Liam—and I’ll follow.
I reach the door, then stop.
“Right.”
I pivot toward the bathroom instead, flipping open the cabinet and pulling out the blister pack. One tablet sits untouched in its slot.
“Seriously?” I grumble. My head hasn’t exactly been a model of organization lately.
I press it through the foil, swallow it dry, and slide the pack back into place. A quick glance in the mirror—mask secure, lip color intact—then I head out.
I wait at the usual pickup point, the mask holding fast to my cheekbones. Fabric brushes my legs as my heels tap against the sidewalk.
My ride arrives. Not a limo this time.
It’s a black Bugatti, sleek and obscene against the brownstones.
The driver’s window winds down. “Need a ride, lovely lady?”
“Liam!” I gasp.
He’s unmasked, and that alone scrambles me. Before I can second-guess it, I lean in and kiss him through the open window. Right there.
When I pull back, I squint at him. “And what did you say?”
His mouth quirks. “Hello?”
“Lovely lady?” I repeat, scandalized. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“My bad, Hellion,” he says. “Didn’t want to alarm the civilians.”
“This car already handled that,” I shoot back.
“Step back a little,” he says, lifting his chin toward me. “I’m about to be a gentleman.”
I give him enough space so he can step out. Then he comes around and opens the door for me.
“Thank you, sir.”
I slide into the seat. He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
The cabin is cool, brushed with the faintest hint of his scent, which I know now is cardamom and sandalwood. If he’s trying to make me feel nostalgic it works. If he’s trying to make me hot and bothered, it works too.
The door shuts. He circles the front and slips back behind the wheel.
I take off my mask and set it in my lap.
Instantly, I feel his eyes on me.
“What?” I ask.
“Hellion,” he says. “When was the last time you slept?”
I let out a laugh that’s half offence, half appreciation. “Way to make a lady feel special.”
“You know I don’t do bullshit.” He starts the engine, and the Bugatti purrs. “And that question came from a place of care.”
God. I hate how fast that disarms me.
“I’ve been working my ass off,” I admit.
“You always work your ass off. What’s different this time?”
I watch the light from the streetlamp spill across the hood. Maybe it’s because we’re both barefaced now. Maybe it’s the way night makes honesty feel easier.
“Anna,” I say.
“Your stepmother?”
I nod. “She spent money that wasn’t hers. I’ve been cleaning up the fallout.”
“I’m sorry. Are you okay now?”
“Yeah. I handled it.” I turn to him and point a finger lightly at his chest before this turns this into a pity assessment. “And Liam, just because my concealer failed doesn’t mean tonight becomes an intervention. Tonight is our night.”
His mouth curves, appreciative at first, then it changes to something intense. “Concealer be damned. You look stunning, Hellion,” he says.
He leans in and kisses me. It’s soft yet I shudder at the sensation.
His lips are like a damn antidote to whatever I just let spill out of me.
It’s so comforting I don’t even know how much I needed it.
My arm goes around his shoulders, drawing him in.
He keeps it right there, tempered in a way I’m not.
There’s a lot he could claim, God knows I’d let him, but I trust his pacing more than my own energy right now.
I settle back into the seat. “So,” I say, letting my smile show I’m back in control. “What’s the plan for the night?”
“A proper date.”
I angle my head. “Define proper.”
He pulls into the lane. “You eat, you breathe, and for a few hours, you let me take over.”
I smile. “Bring it on.”
Liam keeps driving.
“Hey,” he says. “I caught up with PetBed the other day. They showed me the latest proof. Those shots were incredible. Diego’s campaign is going to explode. Again. Did you use the new camera?”
A cold thread winds through me. That was the last job I shot with it.
“Yes,” I say. “I was shooting with the new camera. It was amazing.”
“Was?”
I look down at my hands.
He waits.
Then his hand slides over mine on the console, warm and firm.
“Why do I get the feeling I keep stepping on landmines tonight?” he quips.
A breath leaves me. “Liam…the camera’s gone. I’m so sorry.”
The what-the-hell-happened I anticipated never comes. The car slows. He signals and pulls into a quiet side street.
The car stops, and fully attentive now, he says, “Talk to me.”
I swallow. “Anna refinanced the house,” I sigh. “The funds my dad left? They’re gone. Just…gone. She said it was to cover fees, investments, rearrangements. I don’t even know what half of it was.”
His expression hardens, but he stays quiet.
“I had to cover the arrears or we’d risk default,” I continue. “So I sold what I could.”
“Your camera.”
“And her mink coat,” I add.
The corner of his mouth lifts in approval.
“She has no right, Liam,” I say, and my voice cracks in a way I hate. “That house is not hers.”
For some reason, next to him, I’m suddenly tired in places I didn’t know could ache.
He unclips his seatbelt and turns toward me fully. “Hey. Come here.”
I let myself fall into him. His hand moves to the back of my neck. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s not hers. That house holds your studio. Your work. Your life.”
I nod.
“And Olivia,” I whisper.
“Of course,” he says. “Your sister too.”
He holds me in silence for a few moments. The comfort returns, but only halfway.
“That means…” I force the words out. “I won’t be able to repay you.”
He pulls back to look at me properly. “You know that doesn’t matter to me.”
“It should.”
“It doesn’t.”
He caresses the inside of my wrist. “Let it go. Trust me on that. Your house staying intact is more important than any number.”
I breathe in. He makes it sound simple.
“And,” he adds, “you won’t lose it, because—”
“Liam.” I straighten. “That house is my problem to solve.”
His eyes flash. “I’m not going to throw two million dollars at you if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I blink. “You weren’t?”
“Do you want me to? Nothing’s off the table when it comes to you,” he says, completely serious. And completely unfair too, given how attractive he looks right now—worse than any other night or day.
“No. I want to sort out the problem myself.”
“In that case,” he says. “I’ll give you something more useful.”
“Oh?” I say cautiously.
“My expertise.”
I narrow my eyes. “That sounds expensive.”
“It is.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “Okay. What does that mean?”
“Everything is negotiable, Helena. Mortgages, terms, penalties, timelines,” he says it like fact, not opinion. Even my full name in his mouth makes this feel manageable. “I’ll help you renegotiate until the repayments work for you.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” He sounds cheerful now as if we’ve made it past the hard part. “And as you said, it sounded expensive. Yes, because I do require compensation.”
I blink. “What? You want a stake in our house?”
“I’m not that cruel. My compensation,” he says, turning the engine back on, “is paid forward.”
“And that would be?”
“You. Enjoying tonight. With me.”
The tension inside me drains out. “No calculators or accounting lectures?”
“Absolutely not.”
I smile freely.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Hunt.”
The city thins into bridges and open lanes as we head east. Soon highways give way to wider roads, and the houses begin to change. These are larger lots with gates and long driveways, a neighborhood that doesn’t need sidewalks because no one walks anywhere.
And then we turn in.
My breath stills.
The house is softly lit. Even in the dark, its stone and cedar cladding stand out. The sweeping arched window is unmistakable, and the twin chimneys jolt my memory like a photograph.
I don’t move when he cuts the engine.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I’m still staring. “This…this is your house?”
“Yes.” He steps out, then comes around to open my door. “You think this is a set?”
There are no other foxes swarming. No sign of a hidden maze or a gatekeeper. Just the roll of the shoreline beyond the property.
“There’s no game here tonight, Hellion,” he adds. “Just us.”
It’s not that.
Victor showed me this property, when he stole my day to show me “where we could end up.” He said the house would suit us. This exact one. He really is that fucking small.
I swallow it down. Victor and I are history, I’m not going to let him occupy my head and ruin the night with Liam.
I step out of the car.
“Come,” Liam says, his hand settling at the small of my back.
The house is enormous, defined by clean lines, walls of glass, and wide planks underfoot. I peer through the reflection of light and shadow. A terrace fans out below, descending toward the black sweep of water.
“Drink?” he asks.
“Please.”
He moves behind a bar tucked into the living space, pours something amber over a single clear cube, then hands it to me. He takes his neat.