Chapter Four
Madison
I don't move my stuff into the main house. Instead, I wait for Jack to leave and then quickly get dressed before slipping off the property the same way I've been getting onto it—through the broken fence panel on the back side of the property.
I should probably tell him about that, but it serves my purposes to keep it a secret for now. Within five minutes of leaving the property, I'm in my car, heading toward my company. Unlike the last couple of days, however, my mind isn't on stalking my father.
It's on Jack Whitlock. The man is…well, he's something.
Did he really remember me all this time because he liked me all those years ago? Why didn't he say something?
Do I even need to ask? When we met, I was still six weeks shy of my eighteenth birthday. And Jack may be a lot of things, but he isn't a creep. He never would have acted on anything because of my age. Even had I stuck around after my birthday, I doubt he would have made a move. I was too young for him.
I guess he doesn't feel the same way about the decade separating us now.
Which begs the question…how do I feel about it?
Ha. I don't need to ask that question, either. In seven years, I've never forgotten Jack. I've spent more time than I'd like to admit stalking him online, just to see what he's been doing. Or who he's been doing, more likely. In all that time, there hasn't ever been a single photo of him with anyone. He never got married. He's never been linked to anyone. He's always just been…alone.
Because of me?
God, I hope not. As much as the thought of him with anyone else bothers me…the thought of him spending seven years completely alone because of me bothers me more. He deserved happiness. And I've been through enough in my life to know that loneliness can be…honestly, it's one of the worst things in the world.
It's soul crushing in a way little else is.
And it's something people my size understand a little too well. Dating when you're plus size is hard. We're a fetish or a last resort to a lot of men. Or completely undatable to others.
Too many of my friends back in Los Angeles coupled up with the first person willing just so they wouldn't be alone because that's a real fear at our size…being alone forever. Male or female, it's the same story. We choose partners out of fear just so we aren't alone. That's sad to me.
We deserve to choose someone who sees us and loves us, and we deserve to be chosen for the same reasons.
But loneliness is consuming in a way little else is. Anyone who believes people should have to endure years of it to be worthy of love doesn't understand love at all. Love isn't selfish. It isn't cruel. It's far more profound and complicated than that.
Jack deserved happiness, even if it couldn't have been with me.
So did you , a little voice whispers.
It isn't wrong. But I never really let myself get close to anyone. Sure, I have friends in Los Angeles. But I had to lie to everyone to keep my identity hidden. And I never dated because…well, partly because of Jack. Some part of me felt like it was wrong to even try to date someone else when I spent so much time cyberstalking another man. That would have been selfish and cruel, and I couldn't be either of those things.
I wanted to choose, not out of fear but because I was seen.
Jack's the only one who has ever made me feel that way. The night he told me I was beautiful, for the first time, I felt seen. I wasn't the poor little rich girl who lost her mom. I wasn't the youngest millionaire in Silver Spoon Falls. I wasn't a future CEO and business-owner. I wasn't Gerald Laurent's kid. I was just Madison.
For that moment, I was just a girl being seen for me .
That's why I chose his pool house. I think part of me hoped that, if he found me out there, he wouldn't rat me out because he'd see me again, and he'd understand why I'm so righteously furious at being erased. And that is what my father is trying to do—erase me.
Sure, he hung up the posters. He said all the right things. But he never looked for me. He never wanted to find me. He swept right in and took over the company as if it were his. And now he wants to have me declared dead so it'll be his in truth. So I'm erased from the equation entirely.
To him, I'm just a temporary problem to solve, something standing between him and what he felt like he deserved. And I refuse to go quietly. I refuse to fade in silence. If he wants me out of the way, I intend to be a roadblock, taking up every inch of space I'm allowed to possess. I'm not a frightened little seventeen-year-old girl anymore, not sure how to use my voice to advocate for myself or to protect myself. I'll tell the whole damn world what he was planning to do and why I ran, and I'll keep saying it over and over until they hear me.
He doesn't get to erase me from my own company because I'm inconvenient. He doesn't get to undo my mom's will because he didn't get his way. Screw that. He owes her more than that. And he owes it to me too.
I picked Jack's house because, on some level, I wanted to see him again. I needed to know if all the years I spent crushing on him were just a fantasy I created to keep the loneliness at bay or if I'm drawn to him for a reason.
I guess I have my answer now, don't I?
He feels the same spark, the same pull. And he felt it back then, too. We were just…in the wrong place at the wrong time in life then. Those six weeks between right and wrong might as well have been six years standing between us.
In a way, I guess they were. We couldn't be right for each other back then. But…maybe we're exactly right now. And maybe we're exactly where we need to be now.
My father gets absolutely no credit for that, though. Hell will freeze over before I believe there's any sort of silver lining to what he did. There isn't. Whatever this is between Jack and I exists solely outside of what he did.
I pull up in the back of the parking lot, wedging the Taurus into a spot between a Ford and a Volvo, and then kill the engine. Bellange Parfum is still splashed across the entrance to the red brick building in elegant letters, though I doubt it will be for much longer if my father gets his way. I'm sure he'll tear down my mom's family name and replace it with his own—Laurent.
That doesn't even feel like my name anymore. Until last night with Jack, I hadn't used it in seven years. I've been Madison Bell since the day I disappeared. As far as the world knows, my mom died, my father is a deadbeat, and I skipped town to escape my sad little life. It's close to the truth without being too close. I'm just a face in an endless sea of faces telling a similar story.
I settle back in the seat to watch the building, certain my father will arrive soon—late, as usual. Growling and shouting at my employees, also as usual.
God, I never thought I'd hate another human being the way I hate him. I guess that's what happens when you spend most of a year living in your car, afraid you're going to be killed, though. You grow stronger. You learn you can face anything. And the monsters you were once so afraid of? Well, fear hardens. It turns bitter and corrosive.
I want to put it down and let it go. But not yet. Not until I'm sure he won't ever get what he wants. That's what it'll take to ensure I sleep at night. If that means I'm even a tiny bit like him, then I guess I'll have to accept that label. But I have to do this, if not for myself, then for my mom.
He made her life just as miserable as he made mine. While she was dying, he was cheating. While she was sick, he was looking for ways to take her company. And while I was grieving, he was gloating.
Money doesn't make people selfish. It makes them the worst possible versions of themselves. Just look around. Even in this town, where people can have anything and dreams come true every single day, there are awful people.
The happier the story, the darker the shadows. I learned that out in the world, too. People always want what others have, and success always comes with a price. No one who "made it" ever did it without tears and sweat and sleepless nights. They fought through things, lost things, or ran from things to get where they were going. And people like my dad were waiting in the shadows the whole time, waiting to trip them up and take what wasn't theirs to take.
Those people rarely win, though. Because the world sees them for who they are. You can't paint a frog and call it a prince. Eventually, it croaks. It's what frogs do.
Not even fifteen minutes after I park, my father pulls up in his luxury SUV, parking in his designated spot right beside the doors. He hops out, dressed in an expensive designer suit, his hair carefully gelled. The fake smile on his face is an almost permanent fixture. People think he's handsome. With dark hair only just beginning to gray and his severe features, I suppose maybe he is. He's fit and healthy. Women have always flirted with him, which is honestly disgusting. But there's this…darkness in his aura. It really sucks the life out of him.
"Now, it's my turn," I murmur, reaching for the burner phone on the passenger seat. I dial his number, watching as he pats his pockets, searching for his phone.
"Laurent," he snaps once he's got it to his ear.
His voice makes my skin crawl.
"Daddy," I say in a sing-song voice like I did when I was a little girl, back before I realized he was a psycho. I idolized him when I was little, thought he hung the moon. And then I grew up and realized he was only nice to me because he wanted something from me. He needed me to pick him over my mom if she ever left him. I was his insurance policy, his guarantee that she never served him divorce papers the way he deserved.
Watching the color drain from his face is ridiculously satisfying.
"W-who is this?" he growls, his voice shaking.
"It's me, your favorite girl. Don't you remember me?"
"This isn't funny. My daughter is dead."
"Are you sure about that? Really, really sure? I don't feel dead."
"Who is this?" he snaps again, wheeling in a circle.
"I already told you. It's your favorite girl."
His cold blue eyes scan the parking lot so I duck down to ensure he can't see me, though I highly doubt he can from here with four rows of cars between us.
"Madison, is that you?" he hisses into the phone. "If so, this isn't funny. Stop it right this instant and come home."
"Hey, Daddy? I don't feel like your favorite girl. Maybe you're right and I am dead." I pause. "I think I got run off the road. I can't remember. It feels like a long time ago. Do you remember, Daddy?"
He wheels around again, searching the parking lot. I can't tell if the look on his face is guilt or anger, but it's definitely something. He knows I know what he intended to do to me. Good.
"Boo!" I yell into the phone.
He jumps, practically dropping his phone.
I laugh softly, hanging up on him.
Maybe I'm not so bad at this being a ghost thing. He looks properly terrified right now.
Satisfaction thrums through me. My job here is done. I hope he spends every waking minute of the next week squirming and looking over his shoulder the same damn way I did seven years ago.
I watch him for several long minutes as he paces around, muttering to himself. He calls someone, shouting into the phone. I strain to hear what he's saying but can't make anything out. If I had to guess, I'd say he's probably talking to whoever he hired to run me off the road back then.
I take a quick photo so I have a screenshot with the time in case I need it later, and then I wait for him to stomp inside the building.
Once he's inside, I wait for a few more minutes to give myself a safety net, and then pull out, heading back toward Jack's.
I'm not even halfway there when my actual phone rings.
I glance at the screen, surprised to see Jack's number flashing across the display.
"How did you get my number?" I ask, hitting the button on the dash to answer.
"Now, why would I go and tell all my secrets?"
"Jack," I growl.
"You left it on the island this morning," he says, laughing. "You really need a passcode, baby. Any motherfucker could just pick it up, program in their info, call and harass you…"
"Oh. You mean like you're doing right now?" I smile despite myself. Jack Whitlock is a menace to society. He may also be a menace to my heart.
"This isn't harassment. This is me keeping up with the important shit, Madison."
Yeah, he's definitely going to be a menace to my heart.
"How is the move from the pool house going?"
"I've been busy."
"Doing what?"
"Haunting my father."
"Fucking hell," he growls. "You left the property?"
"Was I being held hostage?"
"What? No. But you told me the prick wants you dead. I'm not exactly thrilled about the thought of you being anywhere near him on your own."
"It's fine, Jack. He didn't even see me."
"What did you do?"
"Why do you sound so suspicious?"
"Why are you avoiding the question?"
"Who says I'm avoiding it?"
"Madison," he growls.
Dear Baby Jesus, I do not want him to make that sound while his face is buried between my legs. Promise.
"I called him from a burner phone to torture him a little," I confess. "I wanted to get his reaction."
"And did you get what you wanted?"
"Yes. No." I huff, scowling at the road ahead of me. "I don't know. Maybe. He looked spooked and then called someone as soon as we hung up. I think it was whoever he hired to try to kill me. I took a timestamped photo."
"Smart girl. We'll be able to use it to connect the call with his phone records."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," I mumble, pulling up along the curb where I've been parking my car. Eventually, I'll have to go to Sheriff Armstrong and tell him everything. When I do, I want as much evidence as I can get my hands on. What I've collected over the last seven years is enough to bury my father, but none of it has anything to do with what he tried to do to me. It's all financial crimes and shady dealings at my company, things I'm sure he never thought anyone would ever find out about. He really should have looked for me, though. Leaving me out there on my own was just asking for trouble. And I'm more than happy to deliver. "I'd really like to bring them both down so I can sleep at night if I'm going to be sticking around."
"You're sticking around, huh?"
"Who said that? You're hearing things."
Jack's deep laugh rumbles through the car. "Get your gorgeous ass back to the pool house and pack your shit before I come home and pack it for you, Madison. I mean it."
"You have companies to run."
"My companies run themselves. I spend my time terrorizing my employees and making people a shit ton of money because I'm bored out of my mind. Believe me, if I come home to pack your shit, these assholes will probably send you a fruit basket."
"You told your employees about me?" I squeak. "Jack, I'm hiding! You can't do that!"
"Slow your roll, baby girl. I didn't tell anyone anything. I'm just saying…a day without me here annoying the fuck out of them would be a vacation for them. So do you want me to come pack your shit and get you pregnant or not?"
"Annoy your employees, not your hostage. Bye!" I hang up on him so fast I'm honestly impressed with myself. I'm also smiling like a crazy person.
Leave it to Jack Whitlock to make coming home to face my father feel less like returning to the trenches and a lot more like…well, like building something brand new.