3. Millie
Millie
Ashallow breath escaped Millie’s mouth as she glanced in her rearview mirror for the umpteenth time during her agonising drive to her parents’ house.
It took fifteen minutes to pack as much as she could and escape her apartment. The only delay was throwing up the contents of her stomach and struggling to lock her front door because she couldn’t stop shaking.
Her mobile rang through the car’s console. She didn’t recognise the number. What if it was her mum saying there was a problem with the cruise?
She debated her options as the ringing ended.
Her heart palpitations tested her resilience, but she focused on breathing exercises.
Her phone rang again. She answered it, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Hello?”
“Forget everything you saw, you nosey little bitch.” His rasp made her stomach threaten to unload the water she’d sipped on her drive. It must be Hugo.
Her voice wavered as she held her hand to her throat as she remembered his slicing motion. “I don’t know what—"
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he snarled. “Where are you?”
“Leave me alone.” Millie’s chest hurt as she sucked in sharp breaths.
“Maybe your mum will appreciate a visitor after I watch her weeping at your funeral, Millie Haven.”
Her blood turned to ice as she hit the end button, missing a couple of times as her fingers shook.
She pulled onto the street and parked a short walk from her parents’ house. Her lips trembled as she squinted, her vision fuzzy with panic. She scanned the tree-lined street, waiting for movement or anything unusual.
Her parents’ driveway was empty. Hugo would be outside her apartment, not here.
She checked her phone again, scrolling to the paparazzi images she’d studied on the train.
Her stomach baulked as she stared at the picture that had made her gasp so loudly that people had gawked at her.
Hugo, his dad, the Deputy Prime Minister, and his mum, a woman labelled as a Commissioner for the Metropolitan Police, stood in front of Westminster Cathedral for a carol service.
But it was the tall man with dirty blond hair standing to the side in a black suit with an earpiece that made her want to vomit again. He may be called Strike now, but the man on bodyguard duty for Hugo and his family was her first love, first kiss, and the man she’d lost her virginity to.
She glanced at the house he’d grown up in. He was Caleb before he disappeared to join the army and destroyed her life. It didn’t matter who he was now.
The photo proved he was her enemy.
The person he protected wanted her dead in the most brutal way.
A light was on in his parents’ house, and a four-by-four sat outside. They must be home. Her mum had said his parents were moving soon.
“Fuck off,” Millie cried as her phone rang again with the same mystery number. She put it on silent as she stared at it.
Her life had changed in three hours, and her only option was to fly to Sweden, where her brother Dexter lived.
She had nowhere else.
Millie eased herself out of her car. There was no movement in the suburban street. Everyone was probably watching late-night television or in bed. She needed to find her passport. She’d forgotten it after her parents had picked her up when she’d last returned from visiting Dexter.
Millie pulled the hood on her jumper up.
She listened for noises that seemed out of place, but the only sounds were cars in other parts of the neighbourhood and the wind rustling through the trees. Light pooled from the street lights, highlighting patches of grass and daffodils.
Her gaze flicked left and right as her key scratched the lock.
At the sound of little stones crunching, she turned. A black cat ran across the driveway and onto her front lawn. Benji, her childhood family dog, would have lost its shit if a cat was on its lawn.
Millie pushed into the house and used the light from her phone to sneak up the stairs. Her mum said she’d left the passport in Millie’s memory shoebox for safekeeping.
The photo on the wall of her brother, his wife, and their perfect family distracted her. The kids had grown up since her last visit.
Seeing Dexter and his family was lovely initially, but after two weeks, she’d wanted to return to the safety of her flat, where she didn’t need to speak to anyone or be told, “Here are five ways to improve your life, Pixie.”
Dexter meant well, but even from Sweden, “the good child” managed to communicate his disapproval of her life.
Millie crept into her room and closed the blinds. It was a museum of her teenage years.
She risked turning on her bedroom lamp. Her trembling fingers skittered across old diaries and notebooks in her bedside cabinet as she searched for the shoebox.
Holding up a diary, she froze at the scrawled words on the front: Millie and Caleb forever. She was kidding herself when she fell in love with her older, cooler best friend, believing they’d be forever.
She gritted her teeth as she shoved the diary back in the drawer.
A photo of Caleb’s smiling face slipped out. She’d saved the photo as a reminder to keep friends at a distance.
Turmoil captured her belly. He was the guy who’d made her heart flutter. He was so cute, with his off-centre smile and little beauty spot near his ear.
She hissed as she stalked around her room, searching drawers and her wardrobe for the shoebox.
A moment of inspiration hit her, and she bent down.
The glittery shoebox sat under the bed. It contained a treasure trove of teenage memories she wanted hidden.
She stood, popping it on the bed, and checked her phone for flights. The next one to Sweden would leave in under four hours. If she left right now, she’d have time to get to the airport.
At the sound of a squeaking door, she froze.
A body pressed against her, and a hand covered her mouth. Her phone careened out of her grip, slamming into the corner of her bed frame before hitting the floor.
“Don’t fucking move,” a deep voice growled.
She bit the hand against her mouth.
“Fuck!” Their hand dropped, but fingers still gripped her hip, digging into her flesh.
“Get off me,” she screamed, kicking back to escape her captor’s clutch.
“Millie?”
No. No way. It can’t be.
A familiar scent punched her chest as she gasped.
He spun her around, his hands gripping her shoulders, and that was when she came face-to-face with the man she hoped never to see again.
His big blue eyes fixed on hers, and all the words she’d been ready to scream escaped her.
Caleb was back.