7. Dom
Dom
I rub my temples; I am so over arguing with her. If I thought it wouldn’t hurt her daughters, I’d blow a bullet into her head.
But it will and now Helena follows me from the kitchen to the living room. Her heels click against the marble floors, irritating my eardrums just as much as her voice.
“I’ve just offered you another one million dollars.” I stop and wait for her reaction. “Take it.”
“Three million dollars is insulting.” She spins to face me, her perfectly manicured nail jabbing my chest. “You’re worth billions.”
“Yes, I’m worth billions. And when you came into my life, you were worth nothing. Some would say that I’m a fool for offering you anything to leave here. Now take it or leave it. The next offer might be zero.”
“I want twenty-five million. A house on Hedges Avenue and…”
“Then you need to find a rich husband.” I step around her, heading for the living room. Maybe if I keep moving, she’ll tire herself out. “What I’ve offered you is fair to someone who is here with no rights.”
“Fair? You promised me the world, Dominic.”
“And I’m giving you an apartment in Brisbane, the Mercedes, all the jewelry—”
“Trinkets.” She throws her hands up. “That’s what you think I’m worth?”
I check my watch. “Three million works out to around twenty thousand for each day we were together.”
“Together?” Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “We were never together. What was I, Dominic?”
The front door opens. Amara steps inside, freezing when she spots us.
My chest tightens at the sight of her. If only I was making her French toast again while watching her lick maple syrup from her fingers...
“Is everything okay?” Her voice is sweet, just like she is.
“Fine!” Helena yells.
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss at Helena.
“I don’t care who hears me!” Helena’s voice rises higher. “You think you can just throw money at me and I’ll disappear?”
“You’re the one wanting more money. Now stop being fucking greedy.”
Amara’s eyes flicker between us. She takes a step back, like she’s about to flee.
“Greedy?” Helena’s face contorts. “You’re the one who—”
“Enough.” My voice drops low, dangerous. The tone that makes grown men shake. But Helena’s too far gone to notice.
I need to end this. Need to get Helena out of our lives. Because watching Amara edge toward the stairs, her face pale and uncertain, makes something primitive rise in my chest. Something that wants to protect her, shelter her.
Something that wants her.
But first, I need to deal with her mother.
Amara hovers at the top of the stairs, staring at us, a concerned expression on her face. I want to call out to her, tell her it’s nothing, but Helena’s tirade never ends.
“How can you throw away our life like this?” Helena’s voice drips with venom. “You think you can just buy me off? I deserve better!”
I turn to face her, irritation boiling over. “You’ll receive the official offer from my lawyer today. It’s a generous deal.”
“Fuck off!” she spits back, eyes blazing.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I grab her by the throat, my grip firm but controlled. “Watch your mouth,” I warn, my voice low and dangerous. “I could always have you disappear if you keep this up.”
She shrugs out of my hold like it’s nothing, fury igniting her movements as she storms across the room. “No court will let you get away with what you did,” she mutters under her breath.
I take a step forward, wanting to close the distance between us before she gets too far gone. “You’re making threats now?”
She whirls around, eyes wild. “I bet we are married, but you’ve destroyed the marriage certificate! You think you can just erase me?”
“Then contact Mexico.” My voice is steady; the coolness helps ground me in this storm.
Helena screams at me again, words laced with rage as she storms off for good this time. Those irritating heels of hers clicking loudly against the marble floor, each step echoing in my ears.
I feel eyes on me, and I glance up to see Amara still lingering on the staircase.
“Amara,” I start, but she shakes her head slightly and retreats further into shadow and vanishes completely from sight.
“You’ll regret this, Dom!” Helena yells. “I’ll take twenty-five million from you.”
Helena’s threats linger in the air like smoke.
“Try it, but you can’t spend money if you’re dead.”
Frustration bubbles over and she screams in response. But I don’t care what she says or where she goes now. The only thing that matters is protecting Amara from this mess—and from herself if it comes to that.
“I want you out of this house tomorrow,” I tell Helena when she stops screaming.
I don’t wait for more abuse; I turn on my heel, walk away until I reach my office. I slam the door, the heavy wood echoes in my ears, luckily drowning out Helena’s last shout.
She can scream all she wants; I need to focus on what really matters—Amara.
I settle into my leather chair, the familiar scent of rich hide and cedar grounding me.
My fingers tap over my desk as I recall every one of Helena’s threats. I need to make sure she knows who she is dealing with.
I open my laptop. The glow of the monitor lights up my face as I pull up the security footage.
My fingers dance over the keyboard, and I skip through the clips until I find what I’m looking for—the live feed from Amara’s room.
I hesitate, feeling a twinge of guilt. Watching her like this feels intrusive, but I like to watch her. She makes me feel something I shouldn’t feel.
The image flickers before me as I click to view the hidden camera feed. I have four hidden cameras in her room. She can’t escape me. Only her bathroom is the place I don’t intrude.
She stands with her back against the door, deep in concentration, or listening to Helena ranting.
Her hand lifts, and she turns the lock. I chuckle softly; that lock is just for show.
When she thinks she is safely inside, Amara walks to her dressing table, opens her drawer and retrieves a bag. She takes her laptop and settles onto her bed, one leg crossed over the other as she taps away on the keyboard.
I change the feed to the one above her head. The one hidden in the down light. The one I use when I want to watch her sleep.
A smile creeps across my lips as I scan her screen.
Pampered Princess glows back at me, vibrant pink letters illuminating the darkness of her room. And there’s that mask poking out from the bag beside her, teasing me.
I open my incognito browser, see she is online for chatting only, just how I like it.
I log in and type: It’s been a long time. Where have you been?
SweetBunny: Working out how to change my life.
Me: I can change it for you.
SweetBunny: Where do you live?
Is she thinking about running away if someone gives her the opportunity?
Me: London. Do you want to visit? I can send my plane to collect you.
SweetBunny: Wow. You’re rich.
Me: I have enough to look after you. Is that what you want? To be cared for SweetBunny.
SweetBunny: Where do you work?
Me: In finance. In the city. I have a beautiful apartment overlooking the Thames. Do you want to visit?
I can almost feel her hesitation through the screen. It gnaws at me, but curiosity grips me tighter. How desperate is she to leave Australia? Is she truly contemplating it?
She glances at the ceiling and then back at the screen with a smile on her face.
SweetBunny: Sounds amazing. But how do I know you’re not some creep?
I chuckle softly, a dark humor creeping into my thoughts. Who wouldn’t be suspicious of a stranger promising a new life? I’d probably think the same if I were Amara.
Me: You can trust me, bunny. I’m not like those other guys. I’ll give you the world—diamonds, money, whatever you desire.
SweetBunny: Diamonds? You’re serious?
Her excitement is clear, and I hate how much it stirs something inside me—a need to protect her from all that darkness swirling around her life.
She glances at the tennis bracelet I bought her for her eighteenth birthday. The one I track her every move with.
Me: Absolutely. Everything you want and more. Just say the word.
SweetBunny: But what if I just want someone to keep me safe? Can you give me that? A safe place to live?
That hits hard, like a punch to my gut.
A rush of panic washes over me as her words sink in.
Does she think about leaving so desperately that she’s willing to throw herself into the unknown?
Me: Safety is what I do best, SweetBunny. I’ll keep you safe; nothing will touch you again.
Her silence lingers too long, and doubt creeps in again—am I saying too much? Is this too far?
SweetBunny: And what if it all goes wrong?
I clench my jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Why can’t she see everything will be perfect with me?
Me: It won’t go wrong with me; trust me on that. Just imagine it—a new life without worries.
SweetBunny: Maybe…but it sounds too good to be true.
Her hesitance ignites something possessive in me—a desire to convince her I’m everything she needs and more.
Me: It’s not too good to be true if you let me show you.
Every part of me aches for her to take that leap.
SweetBunny: How do I know you’ll actually come through for me?
I stare at the screen, considering my next maneuver, aware of how much she hangs on my words.
Me: Get your passport. Go to the Gold Coast Airport on Sunday at four in the afternoon and I’ll be waiting.
Two minutes pass as she stares at the screen, surprise written across her face.
But then Helena bursts into Amara’s sanctuary like a storm crashing through a glass window.
“Amara!” she shrieks, voice thick with urgency. “I’m leaving tomorrow!”
Amara looks taken aback, but glances at her laptop before nodding slowly.
She presses a key to shut down the website and slides her hand across the comforter and nudges the mask off the bed and onto the floor.
My heart sinks watching SweetBunny’s name disappear from my incognito screen.
I lean closer to the security screen, tension knotting my stomach as Helena towers over Amara.
“You can stay here for a few weeks,” Helena continues, words rushed. “I’ll find an apartment big enough for the three of us.”
“Milly won’t come,” Amara tells her mother.
Helena closes in on her daughter’s bed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You know that I’ve always done what’s best for you,” she wails, voice breaking. “But this time…this time, I failed you. I’m so sorry.”
“You haven’t failed me. We’ll be fine soon. We don’t need a load of money. Take the three million,” Amara begs her mother.
“I deserve more, Amara,” Helena’s back straightens. “And I want to have enough to set you and Milly up. Continue your education and have a good life.”
“You wanted me to seduce Mateo Conti.” Amara’s voice sharpens. “That would not be me having a good life.”
“He’s rich, Amara. He’s powerful, and those types of men are the ones who will burn the world down for you.”
Amara shakes her head. “You’ve got Con totally wrong. He’s not interested in me. Probably not interested in any woman.”
Helena’s mouth opens.
I lean back in my chair, watching the screen intently. A roar of disbelief releases from Helena as she stands over Amara, hands on her hips.
“There’s no way Mateo Conti is gay!” she guffaws, shaking her head like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.
Amara shrugs, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I never said he was. But he wasn’t with a woman that night.”
Helena raises an eyebrow, skepticism etched on her face. “Who was he with then?”
Amara bites her lip, the corners of her mouth twitching as if she’s holding back a secret. “I didn’t recognize him.”
“Really? You won't spill?” Helena presses, but I can see Amara reveling in this brief moment of power.
“Some secrets have to be kept,” Amara replies, and I can’t help but chuckle under my breath at the fire in her voice.
Helena crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “You know how dangerous that man is, right? You tell anyone what you saw and he’ll hurt you.”
Amara stares at Helena.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes on the desk, breaking the momentary levity. I reach for it and glance at the screen as a grin spreads across my face.
I mute the conversation on the security feed, but I keep one eye on Amara and Helena.
“Mayor Anderson,” I answer smoothly. “Thank you for returning my call. We need a meeting.”