Chapter three
Canary Wharf, London
Violet
Harrison picks up my duffel bag effortlessly, then turns and walks away.
I follow behind him, unsure of where we are headed.
The corridor disappears around a corner, and the hidden space comes into view.
I’m left facing two doors similar in style to the boardroom, whatever that is.
The way he spoke about it made my skin crawl.
A business asset—maybe it’s a vault where they all hide their gold bars.
It wouldn’t surprise me; this whole place screams obscene wealth.
The door to the left has a small plaque with the name Waite engraved on it.
The other door has a matching one with my brother Connor’s name.
Harrison pulls a card from his pocket and swipes it across a small black pad, the same as the one at the elevator.
He steps forward to a white rectangular box with a red light, similar to that of a shop assistant’s scanner, and looks directly into it. The door clicks open audibly.
“You have an eye scanner to get into your apartment?” I say, astounded. He glances over his shoulder as he pushes open the door.
“We all take our security very seriously. When you work in the industry we do, you make more enemies than friends.” He holds the door wide, signaling for me to pass. “Does anyone know you’re here? Or were coming here?”
“No. I haven’t even told anyone I’ve left America.”
He nods, then follows me into the room, closing the door behind him. He drops my bag at his feet.
“Welcome to my humble home,” he says, flashing me a smile.
A smile that made me go weak at the knees in my teens is having the same effect now.
“Make yourself at home. Your room is down here, third door on the right.”
He strides off, and I run behind him. Without warning, he stops, causing me to crash into him, my breasts connecting with his back.
Hastily, he spins to face me, placing his hands on my arms.
“Fuck, you’re still the clumsy dolly you always were,” he says, chuckling under his breath. I bristle at the comment. Rude bastard.
His hand takes one of mine, our fingers interlocking. We stare at each other for a moment. “My room,” I prompt, and he startles. It’s as if he wasn’t even here with me, though he is looking directly into my eyes. “You were showing me to my room,” I remind him.
“So I was,” he says. “Sorry, got a bit lost myself there. It’s through here.”
Not letting go of my fingers, he tugs me over to another dark heavy door sitting slightly ajar.
As we step through, he flicks a switch on the wall, and a soft light coats the space.
He lets go of me, then walks over to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the River Thames.
“Your home is beautiful, Harry,” I say honestly as my eyes scan the bedroom, absorbing the luxurious surroundings.
It is an exquisite combination of modern and comfortable.
A king-sized bed with a navy velvet headboard sits to one side on a raised platform.
Pale pink silk sheets fall over the edge.
The furniture is mirrored and polished to a high shine.
Artwork on the walls compliments the navy and pink color scheme.
A large navy rug sprawls across the dark wood floor between a matching velvet sofa and the bed.
“The view is the best part,” he replies, continuing to look out of the window. “Up here, we are tucked away, looking down on the chaos below.” His lips thin into a sad smile.
Night has fallen since I arrived. On the fifty-seventh floor, we look out into the darkness and down on the city’s twinkling lights. I walk over to join him.
“I agree, the view is the best part,” I say, but I’m not looking at the city.
Harrison was my teen crush, my older brother’s friend who was off limits.
He was different from the other boys, rarely teasing cruelly and occasionally standing up for me in front of them.
That day, when I’d given him my virginity, I’d hoped we would become something more.
But as soon as he realized what he’d done, he fled my room, and we haven’t spoken since. Until today.
The following morning, my brothers and him packed up and returned to London to continue their lives.
I’d left for Glasgow within days, broken-hearted by his rejection.
Sometimes I wonder if I’d have fallen for Aiden’s charm if I hadn’t been so devastated by Harry’s dismissal.
Aiden’s appearance at my apartment had been a welcome distraction from my misery—an offer of attention when the man I truly loved didn’t want me after having a taste.
Sometimes I still wonder what I did wrong, why he chose to run.
“You must be so proud of yourself,” I say to Harry, and he turns to face me.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, look where you’ve ended up.” I wave my hands, signaling at our surroundings. “If this isn’t success, I don’t know what is. And you’ve done it all yourself.”
“No, I had your brothers’ and family’s support. I’d never have landed here without you all. I’m forever grateful.”
“My father saw your promise. That’s why he stepped in all those years ago. He knew you deserved a chance at a positive future. You’ve taken it.”
“Why are you back, Violet?” he asks sharply, startling me. “You ran off all those years ago, and no one heard from you. Then you pop up unannounced claiming you’ve wasted years.”
“I had nowhere else to go,” I answer truthfully, and he rolls his eyes.
“What do you want? Money? An apartment? Russell and Connor aren’t going to be overjoyed to see you, but I think you know that. As for your parents, I’ve no idea how they’ll react. I’ve hardly heard your name mentioned in a decade.”
“I know they hate me for leaving.” My voice is meek as I drop my eyes from his, speaking to my feet.
“No, Violet, they hate you for running halfway across the globe. They are disappointed in you for throwing away your future. Never mind the fact you’ve been shacked up with a married man.”
I blink up at him, stunned by his knowledge. “You knew,” I whisper angrily. “You knew he was married.”
“Of course I fucking did. Everyone did.”
“Except me.”
His eyebrows draw together as he looks at me, his gaze pinning me to the spot, furious. It’s clear he doesn’t believe me.
“Except you, what? I thought you had more respect for yourself,” he snaps, then rubs at his forehead with his hand.
“I didn’t know he was married. He never told me. I was kept away from everyone. Our life was private. That’s why I’m here—I only found out a few days ago because of a news broadcast.”
“You expect me to believe that you’ve been with Aiden Marley for thirteen years and the fact he had a wife never cropped up. Pull the other one—don’t start lying to cover your ass. Your brothers are even less likely to accept your bullshit than me.”
“It’s the truth,” I cry, throwing my hands in the air.
“I was sitting in my living room in my apartment three days ago when he walked across my TV screen with his wife and kids. That’s the fact of it.”
I glare at him for disbelieving me. “Now I see the red flags that I’ve been ignoring since the beginning, but until that moment, I had no idea.”
“You’re serious,” he says, his tone softening in obvious surprise.
I nod curtly, taking a deep breath to try and control my nerves, which have skyrocketed with the unexpected argument.
“Shit, I’m sorry. We all thought you knew. When you didn’t return anyone’s calls or contact us, we assumed you didn’t want to speak to us.”
“What calls?” I ask, confused.
“For months we tried to contact you. The phone you had was disconnected but we called Aiden’s office daily. He refused to speak to anyone. Denied you were there. But we knew—your father had a man on the inside. He saw you the day you arrived.”
“He never told me,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know. He said my father couldn’t know about us because of their business relationship.”
Harry snorts loudly. “Aiden Marley is a salesman. He’d been chasing your father’s business for years but was only ever thrown scraps. He is a wealth of information though, so your father kept him on his side. Marley got lucky with one contract that launched his career,
and he’s been treading water ever since. I bet you never saw his bank statements. The man is in debt up to his eyeballs. Him purchasing that baseball team won’t be legit. It’ll be a cover for something darker.”
“How do you know so much?”
“I’ve been keeping tabs on the bastard for years. He owes one of our clients money. A shit load of money. His clock is counting down. His name is getting closer to the top of the list.”
“What list?”
“The list that no one wants to be on.” His voice is low and ominous.
“I’ll go and get your bag,” he says, changing the subject.
“You have a shower, then meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready. I’ll cook us something for dinner.”
With that, he leaves my room, returning seconds later with my bag.
“I’ll see you in a bit.” He retreats from my space, closing the door softly behind him.
I lift the bag onto the bed and rummage around in the contents.
Simple black leggings and an oversized t-shirt will need to do.
Tomorrow, I will need to go shopping and refresh my wardrobe.
After laying out what I’m going to wear, I wander through to the bathroom.
It’s pristine white without a hint of color.
There is a huge shower at the back of the room—jets point in all directions. It looks like a Tardis.
My clothes lie in a pile where I stripped in the center of the bathroom.
Two decadent white towels sit poised on the side, waiting for me later.
The water scalds my skin as I let it run over my body, washing away the previous few days of dirt and grime.
The shampoo I found in the cupboard smells of vanilla and is calming as I massage my scalp.
After an eternity of letting my worries flow away with the water, I step out of the cubicle and wrap myself in one of the soft towels. I make my way back through to the bedroom area, sitting down at the dressing table.
My reflection is unrecognizable. Sunken eyes and protruding cheekbones are far from how I usually look.
But between the sickness and the stress, these past weeks have been difficult.
With a glance down at my still-flat stomach, I sigh softly before the tears fall.