Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Martine Lilian Huntington-Russell
Iwake to the pale morning light filtering through the heavy drapes, a soft golden glow that does nothing to ease the tension in my chest. Two days. It has been two days since Hayden left. Two days since I’ve heard anything.
I went from furious to hating him, to something worse, I miss him. And worse than that, I’m worried.
The staff won’t tell me anything. They don’t meet my eyes when I ask, just give me polite, empty reassurances that he’ll return soon.
I tried to press the footman for answers, but he was too polite, offering me tea instead to calm my nerves as if I should be content to sit and wait. As if I don’t already feel trapped here.
I watch the hours slip away while the rest of the world moves forward. I wish he would tell me where he goes, or at least why I can’t return to Eulogia. I miss classes so much.
It’s Monday.
And while I’d rather be in my Transgressive Women in Literature course, I have a meeting with the lawyer today. And I still have no idea how I’m going to get there.
Hayden fired the footman I had convinced to take me to the party. He was gone the next morning, never to be seen again.
The clock on the nightstand shows eight in the morning when the bedroom door swings open so suddenly that I jolt upright in bed.
Hayden stands in the doorway, backlit by the hall, looking as sharp and unreadable as ever. The sight of him sends a confusing jolt through my body—relief, irritation, something else I don’t want to name.
Before I can say anything, he tosses a bundle of clothes onto the bed. “Get up.”
I blink, still trying to catch up with the abruptness of his return. “You're back.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Where have you been?”
He ignores the question. “Get dressed.”
I stare at him, then at the clothes, then back at him. “Where are we going?”
His expression doesn’t change, but I know the answer before he even speaks.
He knows about the meeting.
I fold my arms, staying exactly where I am, and retort, “Good morning, Martine. Can you please put these clothes on? We have somewhere we need to be. Oh, and sorry for leaving for two days without so much as a nod, by the way."
Hayden exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. He looks tired, which is unsettling in its way. Hayden never looks anything but controlled.
“I’m not in the mood for your childlike defiance,” he sneers at me.
“Oh, well, excuse me,” I say, sliding out of bed but making no move to take the clothes. “I was under the impression that being locked in your house meant I got to at least know when you were coming and going.”
His jaw tenses. “You’re not locked in.”
I gesture vaguely around me. “Oh, right, my mistake. I just can’t leave. Totally different.”
He levels me with a flat look. “Martine.”
“Hayden,” I mirror his tone perfectly.
He stares at me for a moment, then shakes his head, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re a control freak,” I shoot back. “Where are we going?”
“Get dressed.”
I cross my arms tighter. “Tell me where we’re going.”
“No,” he says, voice dropping lower, sharper.
I raise an eyebrow. “And I’m not dressing until you tell me.”
Hayden stares at me like he’s considering throwing me over his shoulder just to end the argument. “You think I’m letting you go meet with the lawyer alone?”
I narrow my eyes. “So you are taking me.”
He sighs, clearly losing patience.
His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to strangle me. “Be downstairs in five minutes, Martine.”
I smirk despite myself. “I’m not even dressed yet.”
His nostrils flare, but instead of responding, he turns and walks out, muttering something under his breath.
I take that as a victory.
I dress in the outfit he threw at me, a mid-length sweater dress, soft against my skin, clearly chosen for warmth rather than appearance. I throw on a pair of heeled boots, slip on a little lip gloss, and straighten my hair, knowing it will irritate him that I’m taking my time.
I grab a Burberry trench coat and leave the room.
When I finally make it downstairs and out the front door, I stop short, my breath catching in my throat.
The car is obscene. Not just expensive. It’s iconic.
A Bugatti EB110 GT. Sleek and impossibly rare, its polished red curves gleam under the morning light like something sculpted rather than built.
It looks like it belongs in a museum, behind velvet ropes and bulletproof glass, yet here it is, purring with its owner taking it out for a casual ride.
And then there’s him.
Hayden is seated in perfection, effortless, composed, and infuriatingly untouched by the weight of reality.
He wears grey suit pants and a cream sweater, the soft fabric draping over him like a second skin, his muscles on display beneath it.
A cigarette held between his fingers, the lazy curl of smoke twisting upward, dissipating into the morning air.
He takes a slow drag, his expression unreadable, gaze fixed somewhere distant.
Then, he sees me.
His gaze locks on mine, heated, intense, searing through me like a brand. There’s something dark in his eyes, something resolute, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
Without breaking eye contact, he flicks the cigarette out onto the gravel and opens up his car door, the embers flaring for the briefest moment before dying out beneath the heel of his shoe.
I swallow hard and force my feet forward, the gravel crunching underneath my boots being the only sound between us.
No words are exchanged as he gets out of the car and opens my door for me.
The perfect gentleman. I slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool beneath my fingers.
The door shuts with a precise click, sealing me in.
The drive begins in silence, thick and weighted. The car hums beneath us, gliding effortlessly down the road, its engine a low rumble. The city is still waking, the streets stretching open before us.
I watch the trees blur past, my thoughts tangled in the quiet. There’s too much left unsaid between us, too many unspoken things pressing against my ribs.
Still, I don’t break the silence.
And neither does he.
When we pass Eulogia, the weight in my chest shifts, the Society’s tomb looms in the distance, untouched, unchanged, and just as imposing as ever.
I open my mouth to say something, anything that will convince him to let me return to classes, and instead, I’m met with a hand to my thigh. It squeezes almost too hard, a warning to keep my mouth shut.
We reach the city just before ten. The office building is sleek, made of glass and steel, the kind of place where everything feels calculated. Hayden doesn’t park in front. He pulls into the garage beneath, cutting the engine sharply.
I barely have time to step out before he’s gripping my upper arm and pulling me along with him, his pace brisk and controlled. I have to hurry to keep up.
When we step into the elevator, I glance at him.
“Are you ok?” I ask softly, unable to stop the worry that he’s upset with me.
He doesn’t respond. He only turns to me and tucks a strand of my hair that has fallen forward behind my ear.
He looks so angry with me, but his touch is soft.
His gaze meets my mouth, and I lick my lips.
I can’t help but think of what happened the last time we were together, and I know he can read it on my face.
Before he has a chance to do anything more, the elevator doors slide open, and his hand is back on my arm, pulling me forward.
The lawyer’s office is polished, expensive, and sterile. The receptionist barely has time to greet us before Hayden pushes past, throwing open the door to the lawyer’s office without waiting to be announced.
The lawyer, an older man with graying hair and an air of practiced patience, looks up from his desk. “Mr. Herron, Miss Huntington-Russell,” he greets, measured. “I—”
“You’re going to expedite the transfer of her assets,” Hayden cuts in, taking a seat across from him. “Now.”
Leave it to Hayden to cut right to the chase.
The lawyer blinks, then offers a tight smile. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. There are legal procedures,”
“Then simplify them,” Hayden says coolly. “Or I’ll find someone who can.”
I open my mouth to interject, but Hayden doesn’t give me the chance. “She is the legal heir. You know that. The only reason this is stalled is because her uncle contested it, and we both know his claim won’t hold.”
The lawyer adjusts his glasses. “The process takes time...”
“She doesn’t have time,” Hayden says sharply. “Secure her assets. Now.”
“Why don’t I have time?” I yelp, but am ignored.
The lawyer exhales, tapping his pen against the desk. “I’ll try to wrap this up quickly.”
Hayden leans forward, his voice lower now, more dangerous. “Don’t make me show you what happens if you can’t.”
A heavy silence stretches between them. The lawyer studies Hayden, his jaw tightening, looking visibly shaken. Then, finally, he nods.
“You have my word, Mr. Herron.”
Hayden leans back, satisfied. I stare at him, torn between appreciation and exasperation. He acted like I wasn’t even in the room.
Then, just as the lawyer reaches for a folder, Hayden speaks again. “And if we were married?”
The lawyer pauses mid-motion. His gaze flickers to me, then back to Hayden, calculating. “Legally?”
Hayden doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
The lawyer exhales, considering. “It would strengthen her position. A spouse’s claim like yours carries weight. Her uncle’s case would be even weaker, especially if you moved swiftly.”
I straighten, my pulse kicking up. “Hayden…”
He doesn’t look at me. “Fine. Draw up the paperwork. We’ll sign it this evening.”
The lawyer nods, already reaching for a legal pad. Hayden continues, voice cool, measured. “It will state that in the event of my death, she inherits the entirety of my estate. Effective immediately, she has full access to all of it: bank accounts, properties, and holdings. No restrictions.”