Elle
For once in my entire life, I wish Rin was around. I eye my outfit, one that should be sporty but modest given that I’m meeting my boyfriend’s father.
My pretend boyfriend’s father.
My pretend boyfriend’s murderous father.
So, why does my outfit matter? Why should I care what sort of impression I make? I’m not sticking around. I don’t give a damn if I make Gant proud by being the perfect piece of eye candy on his arm, or if his family views me as nothing but a money-hungry wet hole he’s temporarily obsessed with.
And I damn sure don’t care about impressing Bart because I secretly hope he’d surprise me and like me for his son. So that maybe I could delay my plan…
And it's not because I’d hope Gant’s only living parent would approve of us. That he would give me a crumb of affirmation that’s not related to malice and money endeavours so that I could pretend for a bit longer.
‘Thank you,’ he said, wrapping his arms around me this morning. ‘For coming today. For showing up for me.’
I don’t care about that, about him either. I just want to look nice, for myself.
What I do care about is getting this folder to Bart Auclair and that money transfer into my bank account before midnight.
I eye the dark green folder embossed with its golden letters and quickly readjust it in my purse so that the corner isn’t peaking out before I sling the bag over my shoulder. Should I carry it on my shoulder? Or clutch it daintily in my hand? Was my bag too big? Too goofy looking with my pleated skirt?
Damn, if only I were in Beaulieu’s dorm, I could ask Aria or Stassi. They’d probably been to hundreds of cricket events. They’d know if my beach waves made sense or if my outfit was too tennis adjacent, to try hard. Gant had shoved his card into my palm, laid his head and laptop onto my lap and begged me to order whatever the fuck I wanted, and I’d finally relented.
But everything I showed him he liked because I liked it. I could’ve shown him a top with actual crickets on it and so long as it stretched tight over my tits, he’d like it too. The reason he dresses so well is because he has a personal stylist who fills his closet with his favourite shades of blacks, whites, and grays in a variety of patterns, textures, and fabrics I couldn’t pronounce. He has a perfect outfit for every occasion without a clue or care as to how it got there.
His closet is organized with little brushed plaques of suggested occasions, right down to brunch. Needless to say, he was zero help as he helped himself to my pussy as I scrolled.
Rin. If only I could’ve called her, but Gant was slinking behind me in the mirror before we left. I hope he isn’t slinking around the ladies’ bathroom door in the lobby waiting for me to finish my bout of diarrhoea because I’ve been in the bathroom for no less than ten minutes at this point. I’d begged him to go start his game. Promised him I’d be right behind him, but every time I reach for the door handle, my stomach rolls over at my new reality once I put the folder in Bart’s hands.
He would’ve burst in by now, ignoring any shouts of the other ladies drifting in and out, but I’d heard the horsemen’s voices. Hale and Zedd’s, and other voices that could only belong to the wealthy who’d lured him away. Voices that are so smooth and low, so unbothered by life’s trivial affairs because they don’t apply to them.
I open the folder and look at the letter Rin typed up. For me.
A letter to Bart detailing my demands and a summary of what’s inside the folder. It hadn’t been there when I first found her in Bart’s room. She must have typed it last night. She helped me, and I can’t say it’s solely because she doesn’t want me to flub my talk with Bart. In her own way, I think she’s craving a friend too. She’s all alone here, with her family in South Korea and her mother dead. What could be so wrong at home that it’s okay for her sisters to visit but not her? What could be so horrible that she’d rather sleep on a hospital futon, or in Bart’s closet, or beneath the bed to hide from Gant and Heldina?
I close the folder, swallow the bitter spit in my mouth, and finally wrench the bathroom door open.
This is it. Now or never.
Goodbye Gant.
The lobby is massive, with triple-height ceilings and pretty chandeliers perfectly aligned with the elegant graphic designs on the tiles. Tiles I would never see under my feet again. I knew this wasn’t my home and that I was on borrowed time until I got my revenge.
Yes, I knew my reunion with Gant was temporary because I was going to walk away the winner. This is winning, so why do I feel like crying every second? I’d barely held my tears back when Gant showered me, fed me brunch, and helped me into the final outfit he’d ever see me in, in his penthouse. Why can’t I be strong and confident like Rin would be, gliding down the massive hallway to the indoor cricket pitch, ready to burn everything to hell?
I throw back my shoulders as an icy chill climbs my spine as I see the men, decked out in their cricket gear, already on the field. Even if I hadn’t seen Gant’s jersey, I’d know which one he was because he’s the only player who turns at the sound of the door closing behind me, though I doubt he’d seen me. The others are locked in, especially Hale, who’s batting.
The resounding crack of Hale’s bat hitting a red Kookaburra ball, the same ball he used to make Bae’s dog chase after me, makes my shoulders shoot up to my ears. I ease along the mini rows of bleachers I’d darted behind and will myself not to look at Gant.
I can’t.
A feminine cheer from the sidelines echoes around the room as I spot Aria bouncing on her seat, arms raised. Her curly hair is like a massive cloud today, and it blocks out half of Stassi’s face that she’s already hiding in her phone, completely uninterested that her father is trying to catch the ball to stop Hale’s runs. Or so I think.
I don’t know jack shit about cricket. It’s one of those sports like squash, badminton, and lacrosse that I vaguely know of mostly through rich, poised male models, but the rules or logic is lost on me.
Aria clearly gets it, though, because she cheers louder for Hale, who’s in the same colour as she is, a mint green, while Stassi matches her brother and father in cerulean blue.
I’ve never met Alistair Beaumont, but I don’t need to. He’s an older, slightly shorter, thinner version of Zedd with a massive dusting of salt through his formerly blonde hair. He jumps for the ball that’s about to bounce out of bounds, given the lines on the floor.
His bare fingertips reach toward it, his arm shooting so high over his head that his shirt rides up, revealing his prominent ribs. He almost reaches it, almost catches it to throw it back in bounds, but he misses it by a nail and crashes, hard. Aria’s cheers turn into a cry she quickly muffles with her hands. That gets Stassi’s attention because she drops her phone and shoots onto the field, kneeling beside Zedd, who’s helping their father up.
He’s bleeding on his elbow, but he’s trying to smile away the pain. Except his teeth are bloody too, like he’s bit his tongue or shattered a veneer.
The two batters, Hale and Gant, pause their running, the score forgotten at the sight of blood.
“Are you okay, old man?” Just like with Alistair, I don’t need confirmation of who Bart Auclair is. He’s taller than Gant by a few centimetres, his black hair and eyes identical. I’d thought Gant had haunting features, but his mother must have softened them because Bart’s all harsh angles, sunken cheeks and a sharpness that makes him look wickedly ethereal. Otherworldly . Or is it just my thundering heart and buzzing mind that’s exaggerating the phantom that’s come to life as I shrink behind the bleachers?
“Just a bruise,” Alistair says as Stassi gingerly inspects his elbow.
“You should’ve let it go out of bounds, Daddy,” she chastises as a woman wearing a jersey dress with the word “STAFF” scrawled across the back swoops in with a medical kit.
“That would defeat the whole purpose of playing princess.”
“But do you have to play so hard?” she asks, her eyes narrowing at Hale. “It’s just a friendly game.”
“No, it isn’t,” Hale says, and Aria bites her lip to stop from grinning.
“It’s backyard cricket,” Stassi snaps. “With half as many players, and half of them are old.”
“I know she’s not talking about me,” a slim, dark-skinned woman says. She has small doll-like features like Aria. Full pouty lips. Large, almond eyes, and a button nose. Out of all the parents, she seems like the youngest, though something tells me it’s just an illusion.
“You didn’t have to hit it so hard.”
“Stas,” Alistair says, tugging her down onto the bench beside him as the staff member wraps his elbow. “For us, it’s just a game. For Hale, it's a way of life. Of course, he takes it seriously.”
What? I freeze at that, and so does the pitch because it takes a second for everyone to reanimate.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hale asks.
Alistair shrugs. “Just that you’ve been playing like your life depends on it. Zedd tells me you’ve played competitively for years.”
“I’ve been trained to win. Not to consider my opponents.”
“By any means necessary,” Stassi mutters.
Hale wrinkles his brow, his eyes boring into her. “Isn’t that the point of any game? To win?”
“When you literally can’t afford to lose,” Alistair says smugly. “Stassi, I’m fine, and Hale’s right: this isn’t just a friendly little game. We put a bet on it, and Hale’s just trying to recover what he put down. If I knew it’d be this intense, though, I would’ve told Bart to lower the charge.”
Bart shrugs as Hale’s face grows redder by the second. “I thought five thousand was fairly friendly. Just enough to get everyone excited over the losers’ covering dinner.”
Dinner?! For five thousand?
“I’m not upset about the money,” Hale snaps. “You’re just upset that you lost. To me.”
Another long pause.
“And you’re going to lose to me, again .” He’s talking to Alistair, but his eyes fly to Stassi’s at the last word before he turns to Bart. “Thanks for inviting me to your turf. I’ll see you on mine tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Bart says, a twinkle in his coal-black eyes as he holds a smirk at bay.
It’s hard to believe that he and Alistair are friends. Not because they don’t run in the same social circles, but because Bart feels more youthful.
“His turf? As in Pierrot’s?” Delphine says, and I can’t stop my eye roll as I spot her. “As in Pierrot's, the strip clubs?”
“And as in the clowns,” Alistair says. “I bet he doesn’t even know its origin in France.”
Aria’s mother says something in French, and that laughter I can only classify as rich ha ha ha’s resounds before tapering off elegantly because, clearly, everyone understands what she said except me.
But it’s only the parents who laugh. Aria gives her mother an annoyed look before averting her eyes.
“It’s what his mother dresses herself up as,” Delphine says. “I ran into her at Beaulieu on the first day of school. I could hear her coming before I even saw her with all those tacky gold bangles.”
“I think her bangles are pretty,” Aria says. “They show off her culture. Maybe that’s why you don’t like them.”
“ Aria, ” her mother chastises.
“What?” Aria asks innocently. “I’m just saying I know you don’t take fashion inspirations from
ethnic minorities, Delphine.”
“Neither does your own mother,” Delphine cuts back sweetly. “I do adore the new line, Marselise. I ordered the Elodie handbag from Milan already. It’s very sleek and classic. Unlike those gaudy monstrosities they tote around.”
Marselise smiles.
“There’s a time and place for everything,” Bart says. “We can all use a clown in our lives. Alistair, that was you back in school.”
I find that damn near impossible to believe.
“Hale’s great entertainment, and I need to unwind after months of back-to-back business deals. That’s why I hired him to throw me a private event at the penthouse, although old habits die hard because I’ve still mixed in a bit of business.”
“What’s the party for?” Aria asks.
“A few things. A celebration for Gant and me finally closing on an old business deal and to honour Marisol. Her second death anniversary passed a month ago, and now that I’m finally home and surrounded by her friends and family, it’s time I did something big to mark her honour.” He touches Delphine’s shoulder, and she averts her watery eyes to the pitch.
Gant, however, remains frozen in place, including his blank expression. Still, my heart flutters at the sight of him. I wouldn’t see him again until Beaulieu.
No more late night dinners or early morning breakfasts over the sunrise.
No more dance classes that end in him begging to lick my slit.
No more steamy showers and cosy cuddles after he’s soaked his cock in me and sucked my soul through my clit.
No more bubble.
“What are you doing in her honour?” Stassi asks, her eyes flitting to Gant unsurely.
“Alistair didn’t tell you?” Bart asks, eyebrows raised. “Marisol was a jewel collector. She left many gems in her vault to Gant. He’s decided to put some into a collection in her honour.”
“Beaumont Diamonds are very excited to work with you, Gant,” Alistair says. “We’ve already come up with various designs I’m sure Marisol herself would approve of. Her gems are absolutely divine and deserve the best settings to show them off.”
“You’ve already seen them?” Gant asks, his voice calm and even, but I know something’s bubbling beneath the surface.
“Bart bought them by months ago,” Alistair says tightly. “Before taking them to a competitor.”
“It’s not personal, Ally,” Bart says. “Marisol deserves the very best.”
“Who’s better than the Beaumonts?” Alistair asks.
“I guess that remains to be seen,” Bart says. “It’s precisely why I left you five pieces to set for the party. We’ll compare which collection is more fitting tomorrow night.”
Alistair clenches his jaw, but behind his head, Zedd’s trying to hide his confusion, especially from Stas, who’s trying to communicate with him telepathically.
“And speaking of the party, Hale’s been great, arranging everything in less than forty-eight hours.”
“Because that’s his turf.” Alistair’s eyes fly to Gant. “I hope you recognize that, Gant.”
“Speaking of his turf, is Eloisa still working for him at the club?” Zedd asks, and Stassi looks at him in warning.
“Is that where I finally have to meet her?” Bart asks, seemingly relaxed at the revelation. “I thought she’d be here by now.”
“She works at that club?” Delphine asks. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Stassi asks, her brows wrinkling.
“That she loves fast money, and she loves getting it from men.”
Gant’s gaze darkens as my heart accelerates. “What are you talking about?”
“Gant,” Delphine says, her voice softening. “Look, I wasn’t going to bring this up, especially not today, but if I don’t speak up, I’ll be doing Marisol a disservice.”
“Like you did in the past?” he asks.
“Exactly. I didn’t say anything then, but I think I should now.” She looks around at everyone. “ extorted Silas, my husband, for money.”
Gasp echo around the pitch, but Aria shakes her head. “I don’t believe — ”
“I have the bank transfer to prove it. Our accountant pointed it out to me,” she snorts. “It really was a blow because I’d just given her money myself for her silence.”
“Her silence for what?” Gant asks, and I feel the intensity of his gaze from here.
“She tried to seduce then blackmail him.”
My gasp is covered by Stassi and Aria’s.
That’s not true! I shake my head as if anyone can see me defending myself. You know it isn’t, Gant! You know that… Right? You trust me, right?
The folder digs into my hip.
Why should he? You’re about to betray him.
“I didn’t want you to find out, Gant. So I offered her more to go away. I thought she had until Bart mentioned meeting her. She’s no good for you. A whore who even came on to my Sylo.”
“Lies,” Aria hisses, but it’s Zedd who intervenes.
“She asked him for private lessons at Beaulieu. Gant was so angry that he kidnapped his own cousin.”
Why the fuck is Zedd instigating this all? Is it because of his father?
“Is that true?” Bart asks lowly.
“Partly true. I tortured him for a full day in a nest of spiders, your son bred for me.” He juts his chin to Aria’s mother, who recoils, her dark eyes boring into Aria.
“ étienne has some problems,” she says finally. “We’re working on it now, which is why he’s out of town visiting his mother.”
“Out of town?” Bart asks, and Marselise’s lip twitches.
“That’s what I just said, Bart.”
“You know, I can be a little hard of hearing, Seli.”
“You did that to your own cousin?” Alistair says, horrified, to Gant before turning to Bart. “Do you see? Do you see what sort of influence this girl has over him?”
“Gant’s an adult now. He can have or not have whoever he wants romantically. If he’s chosen a greedy whore to represent him, then so be it so long as it’s casual. I just hope he hasn’t fallen too deeply in my footsteps. I learned my lesson the hard way.”
The pitch quiets at that. He hadn’t said Marisol’s name, but it’s obvious who he’s speaking about. Yet, his opinion of his wife doesn’t match him wanting to have a party and jewellery line in her honour.
Stassi and Aria seem to be thinking along the same lines because they exchange a long look, brows arched. Delphine says nothing, her lips pressing into a thin line as she holds her tongue. I bet everyone held their tongue in Bart’s presence.
“But I thought his obsession would’ve waned by now. He’s only interested in the girl because she’s linked to his mother.”
“How?” Delphine asks.
“Sylo didn’t tell you?” Bart asks, but it’s like he already knows, as Delphine’s expression falls. “Eloisa Ginhart leaked Marisol’s sex tape.”
Delphine covers her mouth, and Alistair looks downright revolted. “And you…you’re dating her?” he asks Gant. “Why?”
“Because it was exciting to torture her.”
I already knew that, yet hearing him say it so casually, not just in front of his horsemen but in front of their parents and his father, speaks volumes. But what’s even louder is their silence because no one seems to take issue with his blunt words.
“You haven’t finished with that yet?” Bart asks.
“No,” he says simply. “Not until she meets you.”
Bart motions with his head for Gant to follow him. I sink lower as they approach the bleachers, stopping short by a meter.
“And why is it so important that I meet her?” Bart asks, his voice low so the others don’t overhear.
“It would be therapeutic, don’t you think? To meet the girl that leaked your wife’s sex tape and caused her to rush out onto the dark street to her death. The girl who humiliated our family.”
My blood runs cold, my breath seizing as I clutch the metal bleachers tighter.
“The girl who thought her fiery cunt was fire enough to make me fall in love.”
Tears blur my vision as something stabs my heart. My ribs. Because my chest is caving in on itself.
“It would be therapeutic…” Bart smiles cruelly. “But then what?”
Then what? What have you been planning while I’ve been planning?
“And then my obsession will finally be over because she’ll become your new obsession, just like Jarett was. You turned him into a dog. It won’t be too hard to turn her into your bitch, your little pet, or whatever your heart desires.”
“You’re giving me a gift?” Bart asks, his eyes glimmering.
“I’m giving you my world. The woman that destroyed it for us both when she leaked that email. I want you to do what I couldn’t. I shattered her, then I glued her back together.”
“All for this moment?”
“Irrevocably break her like you broke Jarett in the most unfathomable ways. I don’t ever want to see her whole again.”