Chapter Four
Autumn
“The photoshoot was amazing. The club is gorgeous, so fancy and sexy.” Viviana laughs on the other side of the phone.
“Can’t wait to see them!” She chuckles. Viviana has been so supportive, kind, understanding, and protective.
She kept texting me during the shoot to make sure Flynn and Kaden were behaving.
I told her I barely saw Flynn. He was there to open, and then when it was done, I’m guessing he stayed in his office.
“I’ll send you some later tonight.” I’m already opening my computer, excited to work on them as soon as possible.
We say our goodbyes and end the call. I take a deep breath, but chills run down my spine.
Flynn is imposing, and the way he spoke to me today was different from the times he did at the Callaghans’ estate. There was the ghost of a smile on his face when he said he was going to the charity gala.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my bag.
You are mine. – Unknown Number.
I freeze. My entire body locks up, hands shaking so hard I almost drop the phone. I can’t breathe. My heart pounds against my ribs like it wants out. How did he find me? I was careful. I rented this place under a fake name. My phone is new. Nothing links me to my old life. How did he…
Your flower belongs to me.
Another message. My knees give out, and I collapse onto the chair. My hand clenches so hard around the phone that I hear the plastic crack.
No. No. My flower? The words crawl over my skin like something rotten. He knows. Is that what he’s after? My virginity? Is that why he kept every man away from me? Why they all ghosted me? Because he wants to be my first? Because he is sick enough to want a virgin?
My stomach twists, bile rising in my throat. I press my trembling hand to my mouth, fighting not to be sick.
Oh God. If this is what he’s after, then I will show him.
Tears sting, but I force them back, shaking my head. I can’t keep being afraid, moving from city to city, leaving pieces of myself behind. I like what I’m building here. My dream job. Viviana, who feels like a sister. My own apartment, filled with books and candles and the smell of coffee.
No. I’m not leaving again.
I wipe my palms on my jeans, though they keep sweating, and pull in a shaky breath. My heart still races, but under the fear, something harder takes root.
I’m done running.
“Is this your first time?” Audrea asks with a soft, gentle smile. I just nod. My legs are shaking so much I feel ridiculous.
“It might hurt, sting a little.”
“No problem, just do it.” I grip the fabric under me and clamp my eyes shut.
The pull comes. White heat shoots through me, and a tear leaks out, but I don’t open my eyes.
I’d seen it online, the Brazilian wax. And why not? Well, now I know why not. This hurts like hell, but I wanted it. I want to feel powerful, beautiful, smooth. Or maybe I’m just making excuses, trying to scrape together courage for tonight. If I prepare my body, maybe my mind will follow.
Another pull. “Oh my fucking hell.” I gasp, fighting the urge to kick her.
“It’s done.” She rubs something cooling into my skin. I glance down, pass my hand over my legs and centre.
“Damn, this is smooth,” I murmur. She laughs.
“Nelly is waiting for you for the manicure and pedicure.” She hands me a cream to help with the redness.
“Gel?” Nelly asks as I sit, and I nod.
“Almond-shaped, and—” I scan the display. “Burgundy.”
She smirks. “On the toes too?”
“Yes.” My chin tilts up. Confidence unfurls in me like a flame.
She gets to work. Warm soak, clipping, filing. My toes are wrapped in burgundy, lush and perfect against my skin.
“Special occasion?” she asks without looking up.
“Yes. Very special.” I smile. My plan runs over and over in my mind. The stalker thinks he controls me, dictates who can touch me. This time he won’t. My body, my decision.
“Toes done, let’s do your hands.” She pulls a small table forward.
My hands tremble slightly as I give them to her.
The nails aren’t too long but are longer than I’m used to.
She shapes them with care, the polish gleaming rich and dark.
They look classy, elegant, like something I’d never imagined on myself.
My thoughts drift to the dress. Second-hand, but perfect.
Long, with a slit that climbs to my thigh.
It cinches my waist, with the V-neck low but not too much.
I’ll wear a strapless bra; the dress straps are too thin for anything else.
Deep wine, almost the same shade as my nails.
Black heels. Not quite the right match, but who cares?
“Done,” Nelly says, and I stare at my hands.
“Oh, these are gorgeous!” I squeal, looking at them like they’re diamonds.
Hair is next. Angie greets me with her usual big smile. “Same as always?”
I nod. She mixes the chocolate dye with a touch of red, stirs until it gleams thick and dark. The brush slides cold against my scalp. Section by section, she paints, folds foil, smooths it into place. The smell of chemicals clings to the air, strong and familiar.
When the timer dings, she rinses it all out, the warm water rushing over my head, fingers massaging my scalp. She trims the ends with careful snips. Then comes the blow-dry, hot air and round brush tugging until my hair falls sleek, glossy, alive with red glints under the light.
I run my fingers through it, my reflection catching me by surprise. My skin still tingles from the wax, my nails gleam, my hair glows.
Perfect.
Walking home my hands are ice-cold, and I keep rubbing them down my jeans. I can do this. I will do this. I repeat it in my head, over and over.
My apartment smells of vanilla and lavender. It’s supposed to be calming, soothing, but nothing works. I face the mirror. The dress clings like a second skin; no one would guess it’s cheap and second-hand. At least I hope no one notices.
It even hurts to swallow. My knuckles ache with how cold my hands are.
One last look in the mirror. “I can do this.” I whisper it aloud. Turning to the side, I glance at my backside. Oh, hell. My ass looks amazing. I slap it lightly and chuckle, nerves breaking through in the sound.
“Let’s do it.”
I pull on my long winter coat, covering almost the entire dress, and head to the car. The drive is filled with music. Safe and Sound by Capital Cities plays, and I sing along, a little shaky at first, then louder, feeling like I got my control back for the first time in years.
I’ve always been careful, always thinking ahead, never reckless. It’s time to change that.
The valet opens my door. “Good evening, Miss.”
“Good evening,” I reply, handing him the keys.
The mansion looms ahead, lit in gold. Gothic architecture and mid-century décor, with reds and golds glimmering everywhere. The place is crowded with the city’s wealthy: hotel owners, businessmen, faces I recognise and others I don’t.
My eyes catch his. Flynn Brady.
He’s at the bar, Kaden to his left. A tailored black suit, black shirt, black tie, shoes polished to glass. A tattoo peeks at his neck when he moves. The suit shapes his massive frame, broad shoulders tapering to a hard V. My chest tightens.
He nods when our eyes meet. I nod back, heart skipping, palms clammy inside my coat pockets.
Well. Let’s do this.
I slip the coat off slowly. One of the staff takes it at once. When I look back, Flynn’s glass is frozen halfway to his lips. His eyes have widened, his jaw tight as though it locked without warning. A muscle ticks at the corner of his mouth.
Heat surges to my cheeks. My body buzzes with nerves, but my back stays straight. For once, he’s the one who looks caught off guard.
“Miss Autumn.”
An older man places his hand on my lower back, and I whip around so fast I almost jump. It’s only the school director. I let out a shaky breath as he apologises and points to some patrons.
I pull my camera from my not-so-sexy bag and start shooting.
Moving carefully, I feel eyes on me. Men nodding, one even winking. I roll my eyes. I need to take these pictures quickly if I want to keep my plan together.
“Miss Autumn, you look beautiful.” Another man says, his hand resting boldly on my hip. I’m about to ask him politely to move when a massive figure steps in behind him.
“Hands off the lady.” The voice is low, gravelled, threatening enough to cut the air in half. “Or I’ll break each of your fingers with my bare hands.”
The man stiffens. I can see his throat bob as he swallows, frozen.
My eyes rise and meet Flynn’s. He isn’t even looking at the man he just threatened. His gaze is locked on me. Not my body. My eyes.
“I apologise,” the man blurts and flees.
Flynn steps forward. The space shrinks. The heat from him presses into me before he even speaks.
“Good evening.” His tone is smooth velvet, but the way it coils down my spine makes me shiver.
“Did you just threaten that guy?” I whisper.
His chest lifts on a dark chuckle. “I did.” He shrugs, his hands sliding into his pockets. Shoulders rolling wide, neck taut, a vein pulsing at his throat.
“Flynn, what if he’s someone important?” I lean in, keeping my voice low, not wanting anyone else to hear.
The right corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t worry, trouble. No one here is more important than me.”
My brows shoot up. Bold words, considering there’s a senator across the room and the police chief’s son nearby.
“That dress.” His eyes drag down and back up. “Doesn’t look like something you would wear.”
He leans closer, and his breath warms the sensitive skin at my neck. His masculine, expensive scent, laced with smoke and leather, envelops me. My legs twitch, the urge to press them together shocking me.
“Well, tonight is special.” I turn my face, and suddenly our mouths are inches apart. My gaze drops to his lips, then slowly climbs back to his eyes. His pupils flare wide, swallowing the green. My own lips part, and I bite the bottom one gently, teasing.
“Autumn.” It’s not a word; it’s a groan, rough and broken at the edges. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I smile and step back, giving him air he doesn’t want. “Working.” I spin away, trying to hide the grin tugging at my mouth.
The high-society couples pose for each picture. They’re kinder than usual tonight. Normally I’m invisible, a shadow with a camera, but now men smile, women stare. Maybe I should dress like this more often for these gatherings.
Two hours slip by. Alcohol flows, music swells, laughter echoes. I finally have enough pictures for the school and plenty for the Senator to flaunt.
I turn, scanning for Flynn. He’s nowhere.
Shit. Don’t tell me he left.
I stride to the bar, order a whisky, and throw it back in one gulp. Fire sears my throat, and I cough, chest clenching.
“It burns, doesn’t it, trouble?” The words land hot at my ear, his voice right behind me. I freeze, not daring to turn.
“Trouble?” My voice comes out thinner than I want. I don’t face him, but I feel him there, a shadow at my back, radiating heat.
“You shouldn’t be drinking while working.” He ignores my question, the reprimand almost gentle.
I drag in a breath and finally turn. His nearness crowds me instantly. Broad shoulders, chest filling the space, the faint lift of his jaw as our eyes lock.
“I’m not working. Not anymore.”
I do what I’ve seen in videos: let my eyes drop to his mouth, then lift to his eyes. His green is darker up close, deep like a forest just before night.
“Autumn, you’re playing a dangerous game.” His voice grinds low. He leans closer, and one finger ghosts along my cheek. My skin flares hot, my breath stutters.
“You look like someone who enjoys playing games.” I manage a smirk, though my heart pounds so hard it rattles my ribs. I turn slightly, ready to slip away, but his hand clamps around my arm.
I freeze. A jolt runs through me, my pulse leaping, breath catching.
“What do you want, Autumn?” His grip is firm but not bruising, tugging me closer as he steps forward. His suit jacket brushes against my bare skin, the fabric cool where my nerves burn.
“I think you know what I want.” I whisper. My fingertip traces the line of his jacket, trying for boldness while my mind screams panic. What if he pushes me away? What if I’m not his type?
He leans down, lips grazing the shell of my ear. His hand slides from my arm to my waist, covering me completely, fingers spanning from my stomach to the small of my back. His warmth brands me through the thin fabric.
“Say it.” The command rumbles out of him. His tone rough.
My cheeks burn. My breaths come short, uneven, each one sharper than the last. My whole body feels stretched thin between fear and need. I’m drowning under the weight of him, but then the memory of those texts cuts through. Years of running, of being controlled by a stranger.
My lungs burn. I close my eyes, force the air out, and let the words fall.
“You.” My voice trembles.