Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Reese
I return to the main house after my sister leaves and start getting myself ready for the fundraiser.
Hey, I wasn’t kidding about making my man drool tonight.
He can look, but he can’t touch—at least until after the shindig. Then all bets are off.
I step out of the shower and glance down at a message on my phone.
Speak of the handsome devil.
Griffin: Made it. Already miss you so much it hurts. So, wedding or baby first? You pick. I’m down for both. And tomorrow sounds perfect for either, belleza.
I laugh, pressing the towel tighter to my chest as I read it again. My smile is ridiculous—full-blown, face-splitting, hopelessly smitten.
Before I answer him, my eyes drift to the nightstand.
The envelope sits there. Crisp. Unassuming.
And containing a $150,000 check.
A new start and a real shot at everything Griffin and I want. Freedom. Stability. A future.
I press my palm over the envelope for just a second, sealing the promise in my heart.
For a beat, I consider telling him about the money, but I’d rather wait until I see him in person.
My phone beeps again.
Griffin: Well? Don’t keep me waiting, beautiful.
Maybe both if you hurry back home. The thought alone makes me grin. Knowing my man, that would be enough for him to dump Lauren on the side of the road.
Actually—not a bad idea.
I giggle and tap open the keyboard, ready to fire off a sassy reply, when there’s a knock at the door.
Through the peephole, I see Sabine’s face, her eyes wide and unsure.
Lovely .
I crack the door an inch. “Something wrong?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze flits behind her, then returns to mine. “You’ve got a visitor.”
“A what?” Who the hell would visit me here?
“A man. Says he’s here for you.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Reese, I don’t like him.”
My stomach flips like a fish out of water.
“He’s waiting in the sunroom. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Capri’s out with a client, and—well, I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Did you get a name?”
But I already know the answer.
Her expression is grim. “Vander Hale.”
“Shit.” I hiss through my teeth, gripping the doorframe.
“Damn it.” Her lips purse at my expression. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
I force air into my lungs as trembles reverberate through my body. “Can you stall him for five minutes? I need to—God, I need to get dressed.”
She nods. “I’ll do what I can. But he’s intense .”
“No kidding.”
I close the door and lean against it, chest rising and falling like I just sprinted a mile.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I whisper, pacing the small room.
Chowder lifts his head from the blanket pile on the bed, blinking slowly like he’s seen it all before.
“I left everything,” I mumble, more to myself than the cat. “The clothes, the jewelry. All the gifts. And he’s the one who cheated—over and over. So what the hell does he want?”
No answers come—just the sour taste of fear.
For a wild second, my brain scrambles for options. Grab Chowder, slip out the window, and make a run for the cabins. Call Griffin. Call the cops. Bolt the door and pretend I’m not here.
Ridiculous.
I suck in a deep, fortifying breath. I’m not sixteen anymore, hiding from my problems. I’m an adult. And I’m going to handle this like one.
I yank on the first pair of sweats I can find and pull a comb through my hair. My hands won’t stop shaking. This isn’t just nerves—this is the kind of dread that lives in your bones.
“Worst-case scenario,” I mutter, “he drags me back to New York and humiliates me in front of his country club crowd. As if I care what they think.”
I throw on a hoodie and take another deep breath.
You left him, Reese. You survived him. Now deal with him.
But my internal bravado is hollow. Every step I take toward the sunroom feels like walking to the executioner’s quarters, toward my demise. But there’s nowhere to run. I have to face my demons.
I square my shoulders as I reach the threshold and push open the door.
“Hello, Vander.” Shocking how strong my voice sounds, considering my insides are jelly.
He’s standing near the window, fingers absently spinning a coin—an old habit of his.
Every move, every breath, calculated. There’s nothing casual about Vander Hale. Brutally handsome, dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit that costs more than my car. Sharp jaw. Cold eyes. A man built entirely of straight lines and sharp edges. Not a single softness to him.
And that’s when it hits me. I always knew Griffin was different from Vander—but standing here, I see just how opposite they are. One is light, the other shadow. One gives me peace and the other strips it away.
He glances up. “There you are.”
“Why are you here?”
“Come now, Reese. You know exactly what I’m doing here.” He pockets the coin with a smooth motion. “I have a plane waiting on the tarmac. Pack your things. We’re leaving.”
“No.”
Vander smiles as if I’ve said something adorable. “You’ve had your fun. That’s enough now.”
I cross my arms, determined to hold my ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He tuts, taking two measured steps across the carpet, hands sliding into his pockets. “I get it, okay? There’s nothing like a young and beautiful plaything to spice up the day-to-day.”
“Griffin isn’t a plaything. He’s a good man.”
He gives a condescending tilt of his head, straightening a gilt-framed painting on the wall as if the room itself offends him. “A good man on a date with another woman as we speak. A woman he’ll likely fuck by the end of the night, because she’s paid him for the pleasure.”
My jaw clenches as I ball my fists at my side. God, how I hate this man. “He doesn’t do that anymore.”
“Oh, Reese.” He laughs, low and dangerous. “Please don’t tell me you’re so naive that you fell for his lines. He’s paid to spout them.”
“I’ve never paid him a dime.”
“But you planned to, didn’t you? Giving him money to help him out of this life?
” He inches closer, the gleam in his eyes sharper than the pressed crease in his trousers.
“Trust me, you’re not the first woman to make such an offer.
Hell, his date tonight has already proposed.
And she’s got far more than your pathetic little one-fifty in retirement funds. ”
Something inside me shatters.
How does he know all these details? How can he possibly know?
“Ah,” he murmurs. “The pieces are falling into place.” He buttons his jacket, every movement precise, practiced. “I wouldn’t be much of a financier if I didn’t pay attention to my investments. And you, Reese, were a five-year investment.”
“An investment you cheated on constantly.”
“And one I planned to give my last name.” He shrugs. “Until you ghosted me and shacked up at a brothel, screwing a prostitute.”
I inhale sharply. “You want to talk about screwing outside the relationship? I lost count of the women you fucked.”
“It’s the way it is. I always came home to you.”
No apology. No remorse. Not a speck. Just the expectation that if I wanted him, I had to accept infidelity as my lot in life.
“Reeking of another woman’s perfume.” I spit the words, and if he comes any closer, I swear I’ll spit at him.
His smirk widens, wicked and knowing, like he can taste the fury rolling off me.
He leans in, lips just a breath from my ear. “And what does your boy toy reek of when he returns to you? The sweat of an hour-long pounding, buried deep inside someone else?”
My hands curl tight, nails biting into my palms. “You shut your mouth.”
The more rattled I become, the more he revels in it. Vander loves talking down to people, loves reminding them they’re nothing. And right now, I’m his favorite target.
The man also knows how to push my buttons—how to weaponize every insecurity and turn it against me.
It’s as if he crawled into my head, saw my deep-seated fears about Griffin and his sordid sexual history, and yanked them into the open, waving them about like a flag.
“I don’t think so,” he says coolly. “You forget who you’re dealing with.”
He paces the carpet—those long, even strides that always meant trouble for the person standing opposite him. Each step deliberate, like a predator closing the gap.
Everything about Vander is measured. Precise. An eternal businessman. If you’re not the best option, he replaces you. It’s not personal. It’s transactional.
And God, how I loathe it.
How I loathe him.
What did I ever see in this man?
“What do you want?” I whisper.
“I told you. Pack your things. We’re leaving.”
“I have a fundraiser tonight. I have to be there for work. If you want to drag me back to New York and humiliate me publicly, you’ll have to wait a few hours.”
His eyes harden. “You’re hardly in a position to negotiate.” He looks down at himself, smoothing his jacket. “But if it’s a fundraiser you want to attend, I suppose this ten-thousand-dollar suit will suffice. Let’s get you dressed, shall we? Right now, you look like a scullery maid in that getup.”
He motions toward the door.
I just stare at him, incredulous. “You are not coming to my room.”
Vander steps closer, the air between us chilling. His hand clamps around my upper arm—not hard enough to bruise, but tight enough to spike my pulse.
“You want to bet?” he murmurs.
He pivots us slightly, angling my body out of view of the security camera tucked in the corner. Of course, he knows exactly where it is.
His voice drops into a lethal hiss.
“You’re going to play along, Reese. Smile for the cameras. Dance with me. Laugh, even. Because if you don’t…” His grip tightens. “People you care about might get hurt.”
I stare at him, my heart thudding so loud I can barely hear myself think.
His sneer is back, thin and controlled. “Now, let’s go get you looking like a lady again.”
I want to vomit.
Or throw open the door of this sleek black limo and hurl myself into oncoming traffic.
Anything to escape Vander’s clutches. But I’ll never be able to put enough distance between me and his vendetta.