Chapter 4
Chapter Four
REBECCA
News about Marcus’s death has spread to my neighbors.
I woke up on Monday morning, three days after he died, to several condolence cards, and some kindly person left a casserole on the front step.
Considering I’ve hardly spoken to my neighbors, thanks to Marcus controlling who I could and could not engage with, their thoughtfulness and compassion bring more tears to my eyes.
I dash them away and place the casserole dish in the fridge—one less thing to think about, and a meal Isla actually likes.
Win-win. I need to hire a solicitor to defend me in court, but apart from the measly twenty pounds left in my purse from this week’s “housekeeping”, I’m as poor as the day I was born.
Marcus must have kept money somewhere in the house. I don’t know any of his pin numbers or have access to his bank accounts. If I’m to fight a potential custodial sentence, which will all but hand Isla over to Felicity and Preston, I need a solicitor. And solicitors cost money.
Once I’ve settled Isla in front of the TV, I beeline for Marcus’s office. I rarely come in here, and only ever when invited. Usually because Marcus wanted to engage in some kind of boss-slash-secretary fantasy, which always involved rough sex and pain.
As I close the door behind me, I shiver. It’s as though he’s in here, watching me. Any minute, he’s going to appear, shout, “Surprise, I’m still alive!” then punish me for trespassing in the way only Marcus could, with brutality and a side dose of glee at my suffering.
The first two desk drawers I try are stuffed with papers and stationery, no cash. It’s the third one where I hit the jackpot and grab for the thick wad of twenty-pound notes wrapped in a red elastic band. I quickly count the money: one thousand, two hundred and forty pounds. It’s a start.
The rest of the desk is empty. Systematically, I move around the office checking every single place I can think of. I don’t find anymore cash. What I have found is more money than I’ve ever had in my life, but with a child and no income, it won’t last long.
I need a job, stat.
But then… who takes care of Isla?
I sink into Marcus’s high-backed, leather chair and press my palms to my face.
It’s hopeless. I don’t have any skills, work experience, or further education.
Who will hire me, especially when unemployment is on the rise?
Only the other day, one of the news channels was saying the unemployment rate had skyrocketed.
If people with qualifications and experience can’t find a job, what hope do I have?
No. I can’t think like that. I’ve survived worse than the tough times that lie ahead. I survived Marcus. The last thing Isla needs is for me to fall apart.
I slot half the cash into my purse and put the rest in one of the kitchen drawers beneath a stack of takeout menus. In the living room, the cartoons I put on for Isla have finished, and the news is on. Isla’s pretending to feed her bear breakfast, but my eyes are glued to the TV.
It’s him. My savior.
The picture shows him in a tuxedo, and he’s smiling as he poses for the camera. Along the bottom, a ticker tape runs on a loop.
Tobias De Vil, youngest son of business titan Charles De Vil, survives gunshot wound to the chest. Recovering in a private hospital.
My shoulders slump. He made it. Thank God. The gratitude I owe that man for what he did is enormous. Not only did he save me from a bullet, he unwittingly saved me from Marcus. I need to thank him personally.
The broadcast shifts to a picture of a hospital. I catch the name Fullwood. A quick Google search brings up the address. It’s only a few miles from here.
No, don’t be silly. I can’t show up at a private hospital and expect them to let me in. He and I live in different worlds. They won’t just wave me through.
Actually, maybe they will if I explain who I am.
I run my hand over Isla’s soft hair. “How about we go out for some fresh air?”
She nods enthusiastically and brandishes Bear in the air.
“Yes, Bear can come, too.”
She springs off the couch and bolts for the coat cupboard.
Even though going out means pushing my way through the journalists who were still camped at the bottom of my driveway when I checked an hour ago, I can’t stay hidden away here for the rest of my life.
I slip on Isla’s shoes, then mine, and button up her coat.
A knock comes at the door before I can put mine on. Please don’t let this be Felicity.
“Stay there, pumpkin.” I leave Isla sitting on the bottom stair and answer the door, only opening it a crack. “Yes?”
“Mrs. La Salle?”
“Who wants to know?”
“My name is Benton Callaghan. I work for Mr. De Vil.”
Oh. “I just heard he’s okay. I’m so glad.”
“Yes, he was lucky. Mr. De Vil would like to see you. If you’re in agreement, I’m here to take you.”
“I-I… I was on my way to see him, actually.”
“Then, it’s perfect timing. Shall we?”
Get in a car with a stranger? I don’t think so.
I pause, considering the best way to tell him no. I’ve never been very good at saying that word. My mother used to say people pleasers get walked all over. It might be the one and only thing she was ever right about.
“I have my daughter.” I motion behind me, although he won’t be able to see her from his vantage point.
“I can secure a car seat if that’s concerning you.”
No, mister. What’s concerning me is being in an enclosed space with a gigantic man I’ve never met before.
I glance over at Marcus’s car. I was planning to take the bus to the hospital because he never let me drive his precious car, but Marcus isn’t here any longer. “I’ll follow you. Hang on. Let me grab the car keys.”
“No problem.”
My gaze flicks past him to the end of the drive. It takes me a second to realize the journalists are gone. Huh?
“Mrs. La Salle?”
I blink, my focus shifting from the space devoid of reporters to the stern-looking man in a dark gray suit. “Yes?”
“You were getting your keys, ma’am.”
“Where did they go?” I motion to the end of the driveway where the hoards were. “The photographers and journalists?”
“We took care of that, ma’am. They won’t be back.”
Took care of… how? I’m not sure I want to know.
I return inside the house, grab the keys, and scoop up Isla.
After locking the front door, I head to Marcus’s car.
Once I’ve secured Isla in her car seat, I climb into the driver’s side and indicate to Benton that I’m ready.
He gets into the imposing SUV and pulls out of the driveway and onto the road.
Due to typical London traffic, the drive to the hospital takes thirty minutes. I park up and walk over to where Benton’s waiting by the hospital entrance, settling Isla on my hip as we get in the lift and travel to the fourth floor.
Two different yet equally scary-looking men stand on either side of a doorway.
I presume that’s Tobias’s room. He has a lot of security.
It’s making me nervous. Another stark reminder that I don’t belong in this world.
It was hard enough stepping from my world into Marcus’s, but this…
this is an entirely differently level of existence.
“He’s waiting for you,” Benton says.
One of the men opens the door, and I enter. Inside, the décor is about as far from a standard hospital room as you could get. The walls are decorated in a floral paper, with several paintings dotted around. There’s a couch, two plush chairs, and opulent curtains frame the large picture window.
Tobias greets me with a friendly smile. “Hi.”
I duck my chin and squeeze Isla tighter, using her as my comfort blanket. “Hello.”
He motions to the couch. “Please, take a seat.” Once we’re situated, he turns his attention to Isla. “Hello, sweetheart. You must be Isla.”
I’m stunned. With everything that happened late on Friday night, and having survived a bullet and surgery, he remembers my daughter’s name.
Isla turns her face into my body and starts to suck her thumb. “She doesn’t talk, but thank you. I can’t believe you remembered her name.”
“I remember everything.”
His intense gaze is too much for me to hold. I dampen my lips and glance down. “I’m so sorry.”
“Your husband shot me, and you’re apologizing? You have impeccable manners.” He flashes a broad grin.
“But you were shot because of me.”
“No. Because of him.”
“Yes, but I brought that gun into your club.”
Tobias chuckles. “This could go on for a while. I’m not complaining. I enjoy a bit of banter.”
I look up and smile. “It’s all such a mess.”
“Meh. Messes have a way of working themselves out.” He pushes himself a little more upright, wincing as he does so. “How are you doing?”
Dreadful.
“I’m okay,” I say, voice small.
“My condolences for your loss.”
I huff a laugh. “It’s no loss, believe me.”
“No, I guess it isn’t.”
It suddenly occurs to me that this man has seen me naked. He’s seen my husband raping me. He’s seen the terrible scars I bear on the outside. The ones on the inside are a hundred times worse.
“How did he die?” I ask.
He glances at Isla, then back at me.
“It’s okay. She won’t follow the details. Just keep it brief.”
“My head of security took care of it.”
“Is he in trouble?” I can’t bear to think of anyone else suffering because of me. I’ve done enough damage.
“No.”
“He isn’t being charged?”
“No.”
“Lucky him,” I mutter.
“What do you mean?” Tobias’s eyes sharpen, the levity of earlier vanishing into thin air. “Have you been charged?”
I nod. “I attended court on Saturday. It was the gun, you see. Illegal firearm. I’m on bail pending my sentencing hearing in six weeks. My in-laws think it’ll be custodial.”
His lips flatten. “Your in-laws are wrong.”
“I don’t think so. My father-in-law is an MP. He knows about the law.” Tears fill my eyes, and my vision blurs. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem.”
Tobias leans forward slightly, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. Those eyes of his are mesmerizing. "Do you have a solicitor?"
"Not yet. I need to find one, but..." I trail off, not wanting to admit how dire my financial situation truly is.
"But?" he gently prompts.
I swallow hard. There's something about this man that makes me want to be honest, even when honesty is humiliating.
"I don't have any money. Marcus controlled everything—all the accounts, the finances.
I found some cash in his desk, but it's barely over a thousand pounds.
I don't have access to any of his accounts or his credit cards.
" The words tumble out in a rush. "I need to find work except I have no qualifications, no experience, and Isla needs me. I don't know what I'm going to do."
I'm mortified that I’ve just blurted all that out to a stranger. Tears threaten again.
Stop it, Rebecca. Haven’t you brought enough trouble to this man’s door?
Tobias's expression softens. "What did you do before you married?"
"I was a waitress in a bar. That's where we met." I force a bitter smile. "Not exactly a well-paid career for a single mother with a child to raise."
He's quiet for a moment, and I brace myself for pity or dismissal. Instead, he reaches for his mobile on the bedside table, wincing again as he moves. Before I can offer to help, he's typing something.
"What's your number?"
"I... what?"
"Your mobile number. I'd like to have it."
My heart flippity flops. "Why?"
"Because I'd like to help if you'll let me." He holds my gaze. "I have resources and connections. Arranging legal representation is the least I can do."
"I can't afford—"
"I'm not asking you to pay for anything." His tone is firm but kind. "Please, Rebecca. Let me do this for you and Isla."
The use of my first name sends warmth rushing through me.
There’s something about Tobias De Vil that’s reassuring, even though I can’t place the precise thing.
All I know is the lump of anxiety sitting in my stomach lessens.
I rattle off my number, watching as he enters it into his phone.
A moment later, my mobile buzzes in my pocket.
"There. Now you have mine." He sets his phone aside. "I'm being discharged in a few days. Call me next week once I'm out of here, and we can talk.”
"I don't understand why you'd help me. You don't even know me."
Something flickers across his face too quickly for me to identify. "Maybe that's exactly why." Before I can ask him what he means, he flashes another grin and adds, “I come from a family of fixers. I’m the one they send when they want it done with charm.” He winks.
There it is again. That way he has about him that’s soothing and, yes, funny. Isla shifts against me and reaches out one small hand toward Tobias. It’s not to touch him, more that universal gesture kids make when they're curious about someone.
He smiles at her, and it transforms his entire face. "Hello again, sweetheart."
A moment later, she turns back into my chest. Not before I catch the tiniest upturn of her lips, almost a smile.
My throat tightens. She never smiled for Marcus. Why would she? He terrified her.
"I should go," I say quietly, scooping Isla into my arms and settling her on my hip again. "Thank you. For everything. For... for that night, and for this."
“Don’t forget to call me. And try not to worry.”
Easier said than done. As Benton leads us back through the hospital corridors, Tobias's number burns in my pocket like a beacon of hope. A lifeline I'm almost afraid to grasp, because what if I pull on it and it snaps?
I buckle Isla back into her car seat and drive away from that impossibly fancy hospital with a comforting feeling in my chest. For the first time since I can remember, someone asked how I was doing… and actually wanted to hear the answer.