“Do you want me to tell you the good news or the bad news first?” Silas Sinclair, my family’s Head of Security, asks.
I grip my phone tighter as I walk into The Lacara’s lobby, beyond irritated by his endless games. It is my hypothesis that Silas’s propensity to provide information in the most roundabout way possible stems, quite simply, from boredom. The man is so whipped by his wife that there’s no room left for the kind of excitement that used to fill it. “Good,” I tell him sharply.
“I found Hannah.”
I pause mid-step, cold anticipation running down my spine. Ares blacklisted her after everything she did to him and his wife, Raven. The move ended her acting career prematurely and devastated her, but it isn’t enough. She hasn’t paid enough.
“Hannah, Raven’s sister,” he clarifies, as though I could forget who she is for even a single second. I’m not a forgiving man — I don’t forget the names of those who hurt the ones I love. “The woman you asked me to find?”
Irritating. He truly is a fucking pain to deal with. Technically, Silas is only tasked with our security — both personal and cyber, but what he can’t do himself, he has the right connections for. He’s fucking annoying, but he’s reliable, and though I’d never admit it, he knows how to get a job done like no other.
“The bad news?”
He sighs. “She disappeared again shortly before we could apprehend her. It’s obvious she’s enjoying the kind of protection only money can buy. Raven’s father swore that they aren’t helping her, and truthfully, I can’t find any proof that he’s lying. Not yet, anyway.”
I grit my teeth as I walk to the elevators, a hint of fury rushing down my spine. That fucking bitch. I have no idea how she continues to evade us, but it won’t last long.
“I’ll ask Xavier for help,” I murmur. “I’m done fucking around. I’ll be damned if I let her roam around like she’s on an extended luxury holiday while my sister-in-law works herself to the bone to undo the damage she left behind.”
Silas begins to reply, but his words fade away as my ears tune into the sound of a familiar voice nearby. Faye. Her laughter gets louder with each step I take toward her, and for a moment, I can’t quite comprehend finding her here. “I’m going to have to call you back,” I murmur, pure frost coursing through my veins as I watch a man I know all too well wrap his hand around my fiancée’s waist.
My stomach drops when she smiles up at him. Fuck. She’s never once smiled at me that way, and she looks breathtaking. She’s hardly recognizable when she looks so… happy. What is going on here? The elevator doors open, and realization dawns. My fiancée is headed up to a room with another man.
“Eric?” I shout as I walk up to them, calculating my next moves. He looks over his shoulder and smiles when he recognizes me, but my attention is on the tiny, beautiful brunette he’s holding.
Faye has her back turned to me, but I notice the way she freezes at the sound of my voice. The fact that Eric doesn’t look wary can only mean he doesn’t know about us, as expected. If I’d addressed her, she’d have had an opportunity to spin a tale that would excuse the circumstances I’ve found her in. Fuck that.
“Dion,” Eric says, his tone conveying his enthusiasm. “I didn’t realize you were back.”
He offers me his hand, and I shake it, my grip far tighter than it needed to be. He winces and flexes his hand the moment I let go.
I watch as Eric reaches for Faye, who has yet to turn around, her gaze seemingly stuck on the elevator that has once again closed. The clues are damning, but somehow, a small part of me still hopes I’m wrong. With only a few months until our wedding, she can’t seriously be doing this. My timid little fiancée wouldn’t, would she?
“Honey, this is one of my clients, Dion Windsor,” Eric says, pulling her closer.
I chuckle despite the white-hot anger flooding through my body, unable to help myself. Why the fuck is one of my family’s lawyers introducing me to my own fiancée like that?
Eric turns her toward me, confusion flitting through his eyes at her reluctance, and I take my time to study her. My gaze roams over her body, taking in the way her short skirt and that silky blouse highlight her curves — all for Eric, no doubt. Her long dark hair falls to her waist in big waves that only seem to accentuate her gorgeous face, and all of a sudden, I’m hit with a desperate need to find out what those strands would feel like between my fingers. This is why I’ve grown increasingly fearful throughout the last few years — she’s becoming harder to ignore, to resist.
Faye seems to just get more and more beautiful each time I see her, but her beauty has never hit me quite as hard as it does today. Perhaps it’s the way that sexy full bottom lip of hers trembles, or the way she’s attempting to defy the inevitable by refusing to look me in the eye. Fuck, maybe it’s simply that sweet coconut scent of hers. Whatever it is has me spellbound.
“Faye,” I murmur, her name a fucking treat on my lips. Her breath hitches, and I smile humorlessly. “What are you doing here?”
My gaze lowers to Eric’s hand on her waist, and my own hands slowly curl into fists. For a moment, I wonder what it’ll sound like if I break every single finger he’s laid on what’s mine, but then Faye raises those deep blue eyes of hers, and every drop of anger drains away.
With each passing second, more of her blues are drowned out by the force of her panic, but despite that, she doesn’t look away. Even as a tear spills from her stunning eyes, she faces me head-on, defiance warring with her obvious fear. She’s mesmerizing. I’ve seen her countless times throughout the years, but she’s never looked at me with even a fraction of the emotions she’s showing me right now. Her smiles have always been cold and distant, our conversations polite, nothing between us ever straying beyond what’s appropriate. The woman standing in front of me right now is not the girl she’s had me convinced she was.
“Eric,” I murmur. “How exactly do you know Faye?”
I need to know how far she’s taken this. Faye doesn’t owe me a single thing until we’re married, but I need to know. Is this just a casual fling, or is she about to walk down the aisle wishing I was him?
“She’s my girlfriend,” he says, his voice soft, perturbed, as though he’s finally realized something is wrong.
My stomach twists painfully, yet I don’t look away. Neither does she. I watch as guilt dances in her eyes, her breathing coming quicker as she succumbs to the panic that is so obviously seizing her.
“Faye, what’s wrong?” Eric asks, his tone caring, concerned. He brushes her hair out of her face, unaware that his actions propel her further toward a panic attack.
She gasps for air, and a tear runs down her cheek. Fuck. This situation should have been a relief — an escape, a reason to keep her at bay even once we’re married. So why do I find myself reaching for her, angling my body so I’m standing between the two of them? Why do I find myself cupping her face, my touch more tender than I thought myself capable of?
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, my voice soft and carefully controlled. I gently slide a hand into her hair before tipping her head up to face me. She’s so fucking tiny, and she’s never looked more breakable.
Her gaze lands on mine, but she struggles to focus on me, to regain control over her body. “Breathe for me, sweetheart,” I plead, my guilt eating at me. I’m already infecting her — I’m the reason she’s in this state. I should’ve handled this situation with more care, but I let my anger and indignation take over. “You’re fine, Faye,” I whisper, as though I can wish it into existence.
Her breathing becomes less labored, her body relaxing against me as she finally manages to focus. “Dion,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
I hold her just like that, one hand in her hair and the other cupping her cheek, my eyes on hers as she finally breathes in deeply.
Eric attempts to reach for her, and I pull her closer, unwilling to let her go — unable to. “Faye,” I say, my tone brooking no argument. “Are you going to tell him, or should I?”
