Chapter seventeen
The Chase Family Home, Kensington
Violet
My childhood bedroom is the same as when I left it at the age of eighteen.
Over the past fourteen years my mother has changed nothing.
The posters of the boybands I loved so dearly still hang on the walls, and everything else is either pink or white.
After a heartbreaking speech from my parents, I’ve locked myself in here away from my family.
My father spoke in a tone he uses when truly disgusted with the person he is talking to.
My mother cried as she sat next to him, every so often taking a white linen handkerchief from her pocket to dab her eyes.
“Fourteen years, Violet, with no word from you. Do you know what your selfishness has done to this family? To your mother?” he growled.
“Father. Sir. I…” There were no words that could justify my actions all those years ago. I walked away, that much is true. Aiden Marley turned my head, and I ran after him like a puppy, begging him to love me.
“I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses.”
His eyes started at my face then ran down my body to my toes.
His face screwed up as if smelling something unpleasant.
“Then you appear back here with no warning. Pregnant, no less, with a married man’s baby. The man you walked away from your career and your home for. The man whose cheap slut you’ve been for over a decade.”
His fist slammed down on the dining table next to us, making me jump. We hadn’t yet moved to sit down. Standing felt safer—I could run if I needed to.
“Your brothers then report that you absconded again only days after your return, but not before playing the tart for another man who has always been prohibited.”
His furious eyes focused on mine again. He leaned forward, invading my space.
“But my darling daughter, the most devastating details were finding out you have been working in a strip club after running yet again.”
He grabbed the tops of my arms roughly in his hands, pulling me toward him and lifting me off the ground so we were nose to nose.
“Your return should be a happy occasion. It is anything fucking but,” he snarled.
“I feel nothing but shame when I look at you.”
So now, at the age of thirty-two, I am sitting on my childhood bed with my knees pulled up to my nose, rocking to the sound of pop music from my teen years. Life could not be any more fucked up if I tried. A quiet knock at the door interrupts my pity party.
“Go away,” I shout, but the knock sounds again, louder this time. “I said go away.”
“Violet, it’s your mother. Open the door, please,” she calls, her voice wavering with emotion.
Sighing, I uncurl myself from my wretched position and climb out of the bed, then walk over to unbolt the door.
She opens it immediately, sliding in, then closing and relocking it behind her.
Her arms wrap around me, and she pulls me close, holding me like she did when I was a small child.
“My darling girl,” she whispers fiercely against my ear.
“Oh, how I have missed you. I’m so happy you’re home.”
I pull back and stare at her. She blinks then smiles kindly.
Her face has changed considerably with the years, but her dark hair, now gray, sits in the same simple style in waves to her shoulders.
She’s wearing a plain cotton dress, like she always has, with a round neckline and hem to her knees.
It’s my mother, but she’s aged, like all of us.
“Mother, I’m sorry,” I say, dropping my eyes from hers.
“Darling, I don’t want your apologies. All I want is my daughter here with me. These years without you have been empty.” She takes my hand, leads me to the bed, and we sit down together. “I want to learn all about my grown-up girl,” she says with a smile. “Tell me everything.”
Time passes unchecked. I tell her every detail I can remember of my life since leaving.
It feels good to unload, to explain how I felt meeting Aiden as a young woman and what made me go to Chicago in the first place.
How I thought they wouldn’t want to speak to me.
All the wasted time in between. She listens silently, squeezing my hand to encourage me to continue when I stop.
“I enjoyed working at the strip club,” I say honestly. “It was freeing.”
“That is understandable, though I don’t like the idea of you selling yourself for men to enjoy.”
Her voice is calm—there is no judgment. My father is a hard man, but my mother is his opposite, a soft soul in a terrifying world.
With her, I’ve always felt safe and loved.
Over the years, I had considered attempting to contact her, but the fear of my father was too great.
I assumed it would never be allowed. The risk of losing her again was one I wasn’t willing to take.
“Harrison wasn’t too impressed when he found me either.”
She laughs, taking me by surprise. “I can imagine he wouldn’t be. Is it true, Violet, about you and him?” I look at her warily. “You won’t be in trouble with me if it is. I would rather know if the information your father was given is correct.”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully. There is no point in lying.
“Since when?” Her gaze locks on me. She is silently warning me not to tell an untruth in the way only a mother can.
“We’ve been apart for fourteen years, Mother,” I reply dismissively. “It was a single night. Too many emotions passed between us, and we became carried away with each other. It meant nothing.”
“That’s the only time you’ve been with him?” she questions as her eyes narrow.
“Mother, I don’t want to have this conversation with you. There is no Harrison and me. There never can be.” I divert my focus to my fingers on my lap, unable to continue lying and look her in the eye.
“He took a risk telling your father and brothers where you were and that he was the reason you ran.”
“What?” I stammer.
“Before he left to bring you back. He called your father, told him he’d seduced you then disregarded the incident the following morning. He promised to have you home with us. Harrison assumed full responsibility for your disappearance.”
She places a finger under my chin, encouraging my eyes to lift to hers.
“Violet, be honest with me. Is there more between you both than a single night?”
“It can’t happen,” I whisper.
“That doesn’t answer my question. I need to understand why after one night with him you ran.”
“Because he withdrew again.”
“Again?” she prompts. I wince, knowing I’ve said too much.
“We happened once before, that final summer before I left for Glasgow. I hadn’t spoken to him since then, until he found me outside his apartment in June.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. This isn’t a discussion I ever wanted or expected to have with my mother.
“I’ve always felt safe with him,” I tell her, unsure if that explains anything. “Growing up, I thought he cared.”
“He always looked at you as if you were the most beautiful girl in the world,” she tells me and my jaw drops.
“Since you were both teenagers, that boy has been crazy about you. It didn’t matter how many times your father warned him off, his eyes still followed you around. He searched for you in every room. I always wondered if anything had ever happened.”
“Will my father ever forgive me for leaving?” I ask her.
“The answer is yes; he will come to terms with what has happened. Your father is a proud man. Your leaving was difficult for him to accept.”
"And Harry? Will he forgive him?”
She swallows, then looks at me directly before answering the question. “Your father and your brothers had a meeting with Harrison to discuss his behavior.”
“Discuss his behavior?”
“You and I both know this family isn’t a normal one. There is the family, then those who work for the family. Harrison is the latter and has rules he is expected to follow in return for his position.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that he has broken the code. That he had a debt to pay, and your father is the one who executed the penalty.”
“Did he hurt him?” I wail, my hand holding hers tighter. “Did he kill him?”
She shakes her head, a sad smile on her lips.
“No,” she says, “he didn’t kill him. Most likely he will be roughed up, perhaps a broken bone or two. Harrison is too valuable for your father to dispose of, but he had to pay for what he’d done. Entering into a relationship with the head of the family’s daughter without permission is a…”
She pauses. I see her considering what to say.
“It’s something that other men would lose their lives for. Harrison is lucky that at the moment, he appears indispensable.”
“Indispensable? In what way?”
“He has connections. In the city, his work is unmatched. The law firm is gaining clients from esteemed companies and individuals due to his reputation alone. At this point in time, Harrison Waite is an asset your father will not be willing to sacrifice.”
I sit and listen to her; all the while terror builds in my belly. My father will hurt him because of me. I’ve seen and heard the type of pain my father can inflict on someone. I’ve felt it. It stays with you long after it ends.
“What does the law firm have to do with my father?”
I ask, confused. The little research I did before returning to London had shown no apparent connection between him and the business.
Not that I should be surprised there is.
The thought he would allow my brothers' autonomy within their careers is laughable.
He would never allow them the freedom to expand beyond his control.
There must always be a benefit with every action for Edward Chase.
“Darling, enough talking for one day. Your father has always supported his children. You know that,” she says, squeezing my fingers in reassurance.
“None of this is your concern. You rest. Have you seen a doctor recently?”
I shake my head. “That is something we will need to arrange. Whoever the father is,” she nods to my stomach, “this baby is still my grandchild, and I plan to support you both from now on. I love you, my child.”
She leans forward and places a kiss on my forehead.
“Now, sleep and rest. It will all seem better in the morning. Your father will be home. The situation will have a line drawn under it, and we can all move on.”
I watch her stand and leave my room before climbing under the duvet.
Sleep doesn’t come. At three in the morning, I’m lying staring at the ceiling. My mind races as I think about what torture my father and brothers could have inflicted on Harry.
***
When I was around the age of twelve, I had risen from my bed in the middle of the night needing a glass of water. On my way to our kitchen, I heard a whimpering noise coming from the living room.
As I peered around the old wooden door, a man came into view.
He was tied to a chair, his wrists and ankles secured with cable ties.
My brothers stood in the corner watching on as my father plus two other men stood around the prisoner.
“You see, my boys,” he said. “Sometimes in business, we must play hardball. Sometimes, punishment is needed to ensure the right people stay in power. This man here was a member of our family. A key person within our delicate organization, but he has broken our trust by liaising with our enemies,
providing them with information on our inner workings.”
He placed his heavy boot on the man’s foot and pressed down, and the man squealed in pain. It was then I saw the knife already lodged in his ankle.
“It is important that everyone, both comrades and enemies, know who is in charge. This man’s death will act as a warning to others who are tempted to usurp the chain of command.”
My father had then taken a knife from his pocket and dragged it across the man’s throat.
We all watched as he bled out, though they never knew I was there.
From then on, my father, the man meant to protect me, became a terrifying individual.
Someone I didn’t know. A dangerous man to be aware of at all times.
***
My mind returns to my current situation.
To Harrison and what could have happened or was happening to him tonight, what sort of justice my father and brothers have chosen to inflict.
My chest strains as I think of him, knowing the risks he’s taken to be near me and to protect me.
All I know is I have to see him. Being away from him permanently isn’t an option.
The following morning, I descend the stairs to the smell of frying bacon.
My mother is in the kitchen wearing the same apron she had when I left years ago.
It was a present I gave her for her birthday when I was thirteen, a pink gingham contraption that ties at the waist with the words Best Mum in the World across the chest.
“Good morning, darling,” she says as I enter the room.
My father is sitting at the table drinking his morning coffee while reading the newspaper.
He glances in my direction then returns to his task.
“Father,” I say sweetly. The words stick in my throat. He grunts. “Please, may I have my phone?”
“No.”
“I want to speak to my friend, Samantha. Tell her I’m all right.”
“No.”
“She said if I didn’t contact her, she would call the police after I was taken from the club.”
He looks at me, his eyebrows drawing together skeptically.
“For all she knows, the men who took me home weren’t who they said they were.”
I’m careful not to use Harrison’s name. “I need to tell her I’m safe. You wouldn’t want the police at the door.”
Without a word, he stands and pulls my phone from his pocket, then passes it to me.
“I want to see all communication you make with anyone,” he barks. “And you are not to leave this house. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any funny business and you will be locked in your room until that.”
He signals to my belly. “Is born and we decide what to do with you both.”
My skin prickles at his derogatory tone.
My temper threatens to flare. I push my anger down, not wanting to upset him.
I won’t be able to do what I want to do if he’s watching me.
“Yes, sir,” I say again. He was always sir when distributing orders to us. Father was a term rarely used, and anything more endearing was unheard of in our home.
“To ensure you behave and don’t run away again,” he says as he lifts an eyebrow, “You will remain in this house for the foreseeable future. You will not be left on your own until I am happy that your behavior has been amended. But I doubt you would be stupid enough to flee once more.”
He picks up his phone and presses a few buttons.
My handset beeps in my hand. A photo of Harrison pops onto my screen.
He is tied to a chair. Blood runs from his mouth, and there’s a deep cut across his cheek.
I scream, dropping the phone on the floor.
When I pick it up again, a large crack covers the glass, but there is no hiding the broken man below.
“That was his warning, and it is also yours,” he says with a smirk. “Next time, I’ll make sure his pretty face is permanently disfigured. Stay away from him.” I stare, unblinking at the image in my hand, tears welling in my eyes. My father leaves, then I feel my mother’s arms around me as I cry.