Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2)

by Melanie Martins

  Today, Carice and I are signing on a new client, a friend of Leonor, Allison. The poor woman is around my age, but unlike me, she seems to be devoid of any confidence or self-respect, and despite all the money her husband possesses, she is the quietest, most discreet and humble woman I’ve ever met. Her clothes are so modest and simple that I’d have never imagined her husband is the owner of two big factories in the region and a member of Dutch nobility. After hearing her entire story, Carice finishes preparing a report with the main points for the divorce.

  “What is this?” Allison asks.

  “This is your statement,” I say, giving her the papers and a pen. “Read it, and afterward, just sign below. We will give it to the prosecutor and use it for the press.”

  Allison starts reading it carefully. “Um…” she mumbles, hesitating. “It states that my husband raped me.”

  Based on the entire story she just told us, I’m surprised she’s even inquiring about it. “Yes…” I answer. Seeing her hesitating, I take a chair and sit beside her. Leaning closer to her, I say in a low voice, “Allison, you are safe now. You don’t need to be afraid or ashamed to say what he has done to you.”

  “But…” She looks down, thinking something through. “I’m not really sure about this.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, confused. Before she can reply, I add, “Look, the defense will use your hesitation against you, so you can’t vacillate. When the defense attorney asks you if your husband raped you, you have to be strong and say, ‘Yes, he did,’” I explain. “It’s hard to recognize it. I totally understand that. But I’m here to help.” I lay my hand on top of hers. And as I see her looking down at her lap, her mind ruminating over everything she’s been through, I can’t help but feel my heart tightening. Every woman who comes here reminds me of how I was nineteen years ago. I was just as naive, but above all, I was deeply in love with a man I held too high in esteem. A man I was also too emotionally and financially dependent on. A man who, without me even noticing, saw me only as his mere possession.

  Allison takes a deep breath, her face just as tormented, and finally looking at me, she says, “I’m just not really sure if he did what you are saying he did.”

  I try hard not to roll my eyes—I’ve heard this so many times. “If you are not sure, it’s because it was rape,” I assert. “You were just not aware of it at the moment it happened.”

  “I just want a divorce, a settlement is okay…”

  “No.” My tone comes off a bit more aggressive than I intended. “A settlement is not okay. The law must be enforced, and he must be sentenced.” I’m tired of laws that are just written for the sake of being on the books. It’s time to apply them properly.

  “But the kids…” Her voice remains barely audible, and she tucks some hair behind her ear, while her body tenses up in her seat. “I don’t want him to go to jail.”

  I try my best not to huff at her comment. After everything he did to her, she’s still worried about him? Instead, I just say, “Allison, you are doing what is right.”

  Then I hear a knock on my office door and order the person to come in.

  “Tess, there is someone here… Someone, um, you aren’t really expecting,” my assistant announces with some uneasiness.

  “We will talk later,” I say to Allison, who takes her purse and makes her way out. As Carice does the same, I stand up and go back to sit in the chair behind my desk. Before I can ask who, my assistant opens the door wide and invites him in. I recline back with a sly smile, and, crossing my arms over my chest, a quick huff escapes me. “Roy,” I mutter as he enters. “Well, when I thought I had seen everything from you, you still manage to surprise me.”

  Carice closes the door behind her, leaving us alone.

  “Tess…” he greets under his breath as he takes a few steps in my direction, his face already unsmiling. Roy seems to be quite uncomfortable to be here alone with me in the office of my nonprofit, which only makes my amusement grow. “I apologize for the unexpected visit, but we need to talk.”

  I gesture for him to have a seat, but instead Roy starts pacing around my office like a tormented and unsteady child. Then he stops in front of my bookshelves, observing a frame of Petra and me—it’s a picture we took on the twenty-fourth of December last year, before our heated argument.

  “That is the last time I saw her alive,” I tell him as I walk over in his direction. Standing beside him, I take a closer look at the photograph. I smile seeing my daughter glowing, happy, her arms wrapped around my neck and her cheek touching mine. I can’t help but feel a squeeze in my chest each time I look at us.

  “It’s a beautiful selfie,” Roy says, sounding unexpectedly honest and warm.

  I study his face attentively and then ask, “What’s going on, Roy? What brought you here?”

  He lets out a sigh, his eyes still pinned on the frame before they look up to meet mine. “I want the best for our daughter, just as you do.” Oh dear. I instantly roll my eyes. He’s got something up his sleeve. “Petra is awake,” he announces.

  “What?” I reach for my mouth immediately, covering my gape. My mind is so astonished by his announcement that I can barely breathe. I close my eyes and let the first tears of joy course down my cheeks. Those three words are the ones I have hoped to hear the most. Oh, my little angel… What a miracle. Then I draw in a breath and quickly wipe the tears, trying to regain my composure. “When?” I ask, barely containing all the emotions. “When did she wake up?”

  “Around two weeks ago.”

  I let out another gasp, my eyes and mouth wide open as a wave of shock overtakes me. “And why am I only finding out about it now?” I bark instantly. “Why didn’t Dr. Nel inform me?” This time, I’m the one pacing around, digesting all this news. “It was her duty to do so!”

  “Petra asked her not to,” he informs me. “Dr. Nel just respected her choice.”

  Before I can fall on the ground, mercifully there is a sofa behind me to sit on. “I can’t believe it,” I mumble, my mouth remaining wide open to breathe, and I try to drag some precious air into my lungs. “But why would Petra do that?”

  Roy walks slowly in my direction, sitting in the armchair beside me. He leans forward, supporting his elbows on his knees, his hands entwined. “Tess…” he says gently. “Because she doesn’t want to see you, or to even talk to you.” His words squeeze my heart so much that I can barely breathe.

  “She knows you asked Alex to leave her again.” He pauses for a beat, his eyes darting down for a second. “As I said, I want the best for our daughter, just as you do. And that is why I came here… to ask you in person to accept the fact that they want to be with each other.”

  I can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of his request. “How dare you, huh?” I glare at him in disgust. “How dare you!” And I leap off of the sofa. “We had an agreement. A deal is a deal! He’s nothing but a—”

  “They are engaged.” From absurdity to atrocity… I sit again to avoid dying in between. “And before you curse him once more, she is the one who proposed.”

  “She is sick.” That’s all I manage to say. “Petra needs therapy.”

  “She is undergoing therapy, but she loves—”

  “This is not love, Roy,” I snap back. “He is manipulating her. Grooming her.” I take a much-needed breath before standing up again. I walk a few steps and stand in front of the glass wall, looking absently at the gray sky. After calming down, I turn to face him, and with a steadier tone, I say, “Your friend is a predator. A dangerous pervert hidden behind good looks and a gentle smile.”

  “I know him very well, I don’t share the same—”

  “Look,” I cut him off. “Letting our daughter be alone with that man for one week in Aspen was already a huge mistake and miscalculation on your part.”

  “But they love each other, for God’s sake,” he interposes.

  “Stop it!” I say louder. “What a disgraceful and immoral man you have become…” I shake
my head once more. “He’s luring our daughter into becoming someone we do not want her to become.” I hope Roy will now finally understand me. “Do you really think he will tame his domineering nature once they are married? Once she has his surname?”

  Roy looks at me with squinted eyes. “Is that the reason you never wanted to take mine?”

  “We are not here to talk about that,” I snarl back. “Do you want to wake up one day and learn our daughter is… dead? Choked by that man?” I reach for my mouth, containing the urge to cry at the simple thought of it.

  “Oh, Tess,” Roy stands up, walking toward me. “We all know it was an accident, and it was twenty years ago.”

  “Accident or not, make sure he keeps his promise and goes to Singapore,” I tell him, my tone threatening. “You know what’s at stake.”

  And Roy does know what’s at stake—maintaining an immaculate reputation in New York has always been a priority for him and his business. It takes a lifetime to build a reputation, and one story to destroy it, I remember him saying every time there was a scandal about his peers on the news.

  He drops his gaze, exhaling loudly. “Petra will never forgive me if I let him go. She’ll be devastated.”

  “One day she will. When she’s cured, she’ll forgive us and thank us for doing the right thing.” Roy seems uncertain, so I proceed, “Our job as parents is not to say yes to her every wish. But to make sure she is safe. I prefer her to be mad at me and alive than happy and dead the next day.” His expression remains just as thoughtful, probably assessing my words. “She will meet someone else—trust me. Someone of her age. We are doing the right thing.”

  My office falls into a twitchy silence as I observe Roy, his face severe, looking out the wall of glass at the horizon ahead. “What an ugly day to be in Rotterdam.”

  Chapter 17

  Manhattan, September 17, 2020

  Alexander Van Dieren

  Roy has been out for the past two days. Not that I’m bothered at not seeing him, but when your best friend tells you he’s taking two days off without any reason, you kinda expect some sort of explanation once he comes back.

  I look again at the text message he sent me earlier today: Meet me at midday at The Knick, at 2 East 62nd Street. We need to talk. And I keep wondering why he’s chosen this place to meet up. After all, I’ve never been to that club before. Despite my dad being an active member, he never brought me there, but I guess there is a first time for everything. As my chauffeur drops me off right in front of Two East Sixty-second Street, I look at the clubhouse architecture—it seems like an average Neo-Georgian building in Manhattan. After pressing the doorbell, I see a gray-haired majordomo come and open the front door.

  Before I can even introduce myself, he bows his head slightly and says, “Good afternoon, Mr. Van Dieren.” Wow. My brows lift instantly, and I’m left quite astounded at how quickly he recognized me. “Mr. Van Gatt is waiting for you. Follow me, please.”

  “Um, thanks,” I reply as I enter the hallway. Taking in my surroundings, I must admit the entrance is pretty elegant, with its white walls, chess tile marble floor, and white marble staircase covered with red carpet. We go up to the next floor. There, I follow the majordomo, who crosses the hallway and stops right in front of a closed wooden double door, which he knocks on three times.

  “Come in,” we hear from the other side.

  “May I take your jacket, sir?” he asks me before leaving.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him.

  Then he opens the door, inviting me in. “Please.”

  “Thank you.” Stepping into the room, I’m left speechless as I take in its immensity. It’s actually a two-floor wood-paneled room linked by a staircase—upstairs I can see walls covered with books, while on the current floor, where Roy is standing afar by the window, lies a typical lounge with a bar, sofas, a low table in the center, and a fireplace, surrounded by gilded gold frames of classic portraits hanging on the walls.

  “Would you like a glass?” Roy’s question brings my attention back to him.

  “No, thanks. I no longer drink before lunch.”

  “Oh, that’s wise,” he replies, his tone contained as he walks in my direction. “Have you been here before?”

  “No,” I admit, my eyes still taking in the surroundings.

  Stopping in the center of the room, Roy says, “Only your father and I have the key to this room.” His face carries some sort of nostalgia as he starts pacing around and observing the portraits on the walls. “This room means a lot to me.” He pauses for a beat, a trace of a smile settling on his lips. “It’s here that Hendrik gave me the opportunity of a lifetime.” And I know exactly what he means by that. “It’s here that I became a portfolio manager for your family office.” I can see a twinkle in his eye as he recalls such memories. “Boy, I was young and tenacious. Driven by nothing more than hunger to win.” Roy lets out a quick chuckle, looking pensively at the floor, and then at me. “Proving to your dad that the boy from Rouveen he helped get an education could manage billions was all I wanted.”

  “And yet, just two years later, you resigned,” I tease him.

  “You know why I did it.”

  “You did the right thing. My offer was better,” I remind him. “And my dad was disgraced and fired once Mom found out about his bastard, so I saved you from a big mess.”

  Blowing out a deep, long breath, Roy starts shaking his head. “I’m still astounded that your family managed to vote him out.”

  “Mom can be very convincing,” I tell him, keeping it short.

  “I have nothing but the utmost respect for your dad. The fact that he had to leave the country and never return, well, that was quite unexpected, but I guess he had his reasons.”

  “Why am I here, Roy?” I ask, cutting through the bullshit. “To talk about my dad’s fate?”

  “No,” he says, and it’s exactly the answer I expected. As Roy stands in front of me, just inches from my face, he adds, “We are here to talk about yours.”

  Looking him in the eye, I warn, “I’m not Hendrik. And I’m not leaving.”

  “Even your dad knew when it was time to leave.”

  “I’m not resigning,” I insist.

  Roy draws in a breath, his eyes drifting down for a moment, before he says, “If you don’t resign, Tess will press charges against us and everything we’ve worked so hard for will be gone. That is not an option for me.” And he turns his back on me, slowly pacing toward the sofa.

  “We have to be found guilty first.”

  “Enough!” he shouts, spinning around, his glare now censoring me. “It takes a lifetime to build a reputation, but only one goddamn story to destroy it.” We keep staring at each other, and the same tension as when we play chess becomes palpable. “Guilty or not, I won’t risk it. Even if you’re engaged.” I let out a rush of air, irritated with his obsession to maintain a perfect reputation. “It’s my daughter’s heritage we are talking about. Have you thought about her? What will she think about us once she finds out?”

  “I’m sure Petra will understand and forgive us.”

  Head shaking, he chuckles again. “You’re so delusional. She can’t even cope with the killing of a bear, but you think she will with that of a girl?”

  The reality hits me hard, and I remember how mad she was just for the sake of an animal. But I know deep down Petra will forgive me if she ever learns the truth. Or at least I want to believe she will. “Accidents do happen. It was not intentional.”

  “And yet we hid the body like it was.”

  His concerns are clear and understandable. If Tess unleashes the story to the media, Gatt-Dieren Capital will go down in history not as a reputable hedge fund firm founded by two Dutch social-capitalists, but as a disgraced company started by two murderers of a young virgin at a depraved party. And Petra will ultimately inherit such a reputation. Her health is already so fragile that I can’t imagine how she’ll cope with the media bashing her as the daughter of a killer an
d all the investigations that will ensue. At least it’s a good thing we’ve never made our relationship official to anyone except our families and close relatives. “You spoke to Tess, didn’t you?” I ask him.

  “I did,” he replies calmly as he takes a file laying on the low table. “She’s ready to move forward with the case and a story in the media if you don’t leave Petra alone.”

  Roy walks back in my direction and hands me the file. As I open it, my eyes land on a photograph of Petra hugging a college boy in the hallway of Roy’s penthouse. I knew his place was fully equipped with surveillance cameras, but I never knew Roy actually checked the footage. “You have been spying on her?” I ask, although not that surprised now to find out he has. And I close the file just as fast, giving it back to him.

  “His name is Matthew Bradford,” he informs me. Opening the file again, he takes out another photograph. This time it’s in the dining room where they are having lunch. Matthew is smiling with a twinkle in his eyes while Petra is laughing at him. “They have been friends since last year. And from what I know, he also went to her birthday dinner at Emma’s.”

  “What’s your point?”

  Roy starts pacing around, engrossed in thought. “Matthew is from a good family. He’s currently studying economics, he doesn’t smoke, drink, or do drugs…” He pauses, looking downward and then up at me. “This boy deserves a chance with her.”

  “You are fucking insane, aren’t you?” I shout. “Forget this bullshit!” Now I’m the one who starts pacing around the room—an attempt to keep my rage from consuming me. Looking back at him, I snap, “Petra made her choice. It’s her fucking damn choice. She loves me. This boy is just a friend. Forget this nonsense.”

  Roy, with his face just as serene, walks over and, standing behind me, puts a hand on my shoulder. “Alex,” he utters quietly. “I went to Rotterdam personally. I tried to reason with her. Believe me, I even told her it was Petra who proposed…” He sounds defeated, like a beaten dog. “As hard as it is, this relationship has got to end.” And before I can punch him with all the anger boiling in me, Roy casually goes back to sit in his armchair. Once comfortably seated, he says, “You’ll have to do as you promised and go to Singapore.”