by Mason, V. F.
It’s a deal.
Let’s meet.
Best,
Zach
P.S.: Nice try but no.
P.P.S.: Although I would have probably done it if I was abroad. You know how to intrigue a guy, I will tell you that.
Phoenix
Leaning on the bathroom sink, I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, inspecting it as if it’s under a microscope.
I look at my puffy red lips, slightly scratched from his scruffy neck, and several hickeys scattered on my collarbone and probably my navel too, if I lift my towel high enough to study it.
My hair is damp, the tips of it dripping into the sink with a tap, tap, tap sound that should annoy me, but I’m frozen in time. Standing in the middle of the bathroom, the image of last night plays in my mind like a colorful movie on a projector, and no matter how many times I blink or try to block it away, it still stays, reminding me of my betrayal.
His breath on my skin.
His hands gripping my hips as he pushed himself inside me.
The desire running through my veins despite the hate filling my heart for him. Each thrust that brought me to the brink of an orgasm that should never have happened with Zachary.
I gave my body, even if not myself, to him, and how pathetic and horrible is that?
The man who destroyed my life, yet I came apart in his arms and begged for more?
You are nothing but a bitch in heat.
My grip on the sink tightens, and I take a deep breath, ordering the self-loathing to go away and justify my actions with a normal human bodily reaction to the desire any handsome man could have inspired.
I used to love sex in my previous life, as I call it, never shying away from pleasure and giving in to my cravings, because shouldn’t we all do that?
Appreciate the beauty it provides, allowing us to fly high and enjoy the connection with another person, even if it’s for a brief amount of time.
My body was starved, and it lunged at the first food available, nothing but hormones controlling me in that moment.
At least that’s the only explanation I can give myself that makes it bearable to live with myself; otherwise, I’m going to drown in guilt.
Giving my red skin one last glance, I go scrub myself in the shower once again, frantic in my need to wash away traces of Zachary from me as much as I can, and then I step into the room, shivering.
Walking toward the closet, I open it up and turn on the light, only to mutter, “Oh,” when I find it full of women’s clothes from jeans and shirts, to dresses and jewelry.
My brows furrow at this. How did he have time to prepare it all if I just got out two days ago? But then I almost slap myself for such stupid thoughts.
When you possess the amount of wealth Zachary has had from the day he was born, his guest rooms probably always have a closetful of clothes in case anyone needs something. This kind of luxury won’t create a dent in his pockets.
Thankfully, most of them are in my size, and I’m not too proud to use this opportunity to wear something clean. The clothes I got from Sara could use some washing, and I’m not sure I want to walk in the hospital with my breasts on display from the tank top.
Besides, Zachary is right. I can’t be reckless and act out with a killer on the loose, contemplating ways to use me once again in his fucked-up plans.
The people who have nothing to lose are the most dangerous creatures on this earth. They don’t mind succumbing to madness in order to achieve what they crave, and it gives them their next fix.
Snatching a pair of jeans and a purple cashmere sweater along with black boots, I quickly put it all on, not minding my wet hair as I let it fall down my back to dry naturally.
Then I pick up both the phones. I still intend to give Zachary’s back to him, but right now it’s my only connection with the world. I dash into the hallway, my boots thumping on the marble as I stroll to the stairs and go down to the first floor, ready to bolt to the main door and get the hell out of here before I stumble on Zachary.
I’ll have to face him at some point; however, I prefer to prolong the inevitable rather than ruin my mood first thing in the morning. Besides, he agreed to my meeting with Rafe. So this must not endanger anyone.
Before I can execute my brilliant plan, I hear a loud throat clearing behind me, and I groan inwardly, stilling my movements as I’m busted.
“Ms. Phoenix, is it?”
I frown at the female voice and spin around to see a middle-aged woman wearing a black maid’s uniform along with a white apron around her waist, smiling at me, although it doesn’t reach her silver eyes as she scans me from head to toe, probably coming to her own conclusions for me slipping out like this.
Although, only God knows how Zach treats his one-night stands really; maybe he never brings them home, or they manage to leave before staff sees them?
This would explain the disdain flashing on her face before she covers it up with indifference. “Mr. King told me to inform you about breakfast once you woke up.”
Did he now?
Does he expect me to act all right with what we did last night and eat freaking breakfast, waiting for him to show up and do whatever else he thinks of?
Mustering a smile for her, I reply, “Thank you so much. But I have to go, so I can’t stay.”
She shakes her head and motions toward the kitchen located right at the end of the hallway. “Mr. Zachary also wanted to let you know you can go out only with James, and he’ll come in—” She glances at her wristwatch before bringing her attention back to me. “—thirty minutes.”
“I don’t need Zach’s permission to do anything.”
At that, her mouth twitches, and some of the hostility she sent off die down, replacing it with genuine interest. “I think he’d argue with that.”
Huffing in frustration, I hook my hair behind my ear. “Look—” But I don’t have the chance to finish my sentence as a vision in pink runs from the kitchen, her tiny feet, wrapped in ballerina flats, slapping against the floor as she puffs heavily and then stops by the maid’s leg, wrapping her hands around it and hiding her face.
But then she peeks from the side, and I gasp when her dark curly hair sways with her movement, showcasing the silky ponytail on the top of her head while her brown eyes widen in surprise and curiosity.
Her pale skin and bubbly nature are stuck inside some kind of white and pink ballerina costume with the tutu hanging on her waist.
My heart squeezes inside my chest so tightly for a second it becomes hard to breathe, but then it’s pangs painfully, wanting to avoid this encounter. But at the same time, I can’t tear my gaze away from her, memorizing her every feature while completely falling in love with her on the spot.
She is… perfect.
From the tip of her hair to her tiny feet and the small smile she gives me, but then she hides again behind the knee, giggling, and the sound of it echoes in the space, warming me from the inside out in a way I thought was no longer possible.
“Hi,” she says, her tiny and melodic voice so soft I could listen to it for hours.
“Hi,” I reply through my clogged throat. I’m assaulted with so many emotions at once that I don’t even know how to form a coherent thought.
My God, why do I have such strong reaction to this child?
Or maybe because she is the first little girl I’ve seen after losing mine?
She looks up at the maid, and when the older woman nods, the little girl squeals, dashing toward me and stopping when the tips of her shoes touch mine.
“My name is Emmaline. What’s your name?” Her being so perfect and uttering her name for me stabs a knife into my soul, reminding me of my dreams that will never come true.
She is straining her neck back so hard to meet my gaze, so I follow my instincts, even though I know it’s stupid, and kneel in front of her so our eyes are on the same level. “Phoenix.”
Her mouth forms an O. “Like the bird from the cartoons?” I’m not sure what
bird she is referring to, but I nod, and she smiles brightly at me, showing her baby teeth to me. “You are pretty. Are you Daddy’s friend?”
“You could say that,” I reply and don’t miss the shake of the maid’s head as if she’s afraid I’m going to badmouth Zach in front of his child. I might be angry and hate him, but I’d never stoop so low. Involving other people and destroying everything in his wake, that’s Zachary’s style, not mine.
She extends her hand to me and murmurs while leaning closer, “Nice to meet you. I’m going to be a famous ballerina someday.” On the last part, she drops her voice to almost a whisper as if she’s sharing some special secret with me, and with her scent surrounding me, and her gazing at me like that, I can’t help but wonder.
Would my and Sebastian’s daughter have been such a bubbly child who dreamed big at such a young age? Would she have my hair and my eyes, or be blonde with blue-eyed like my ex-husband?
Would looking at her hurt so much, because she would have been so perfect that I would have wondered if she is real?
How come life was so kind to Zachary and gave him this little angel, while it was so cruel to me and took away mine?
Taking her small hand into mine, I squeeze it lightly and blink in surprise when something inside me breaks, not wanting to let go of her and just hide her away from the world.
I shake my head, giving her one last smile, and reply, “Nice to meet you, darling. You are very pretty, and I’m sure you will be if you want to.” With this, I let go, almost forcibly pushing myself to do so, then get up and step back, wondering if I’ve gone insane.
Maybe I should stay away from Zach’s child until I get some therapy and work on the pain stuck inside me from losing my Emmaline; otherwise, I might confuse my emotions for something else.
Or dump all the love I have stored away for my child on Zach’s, living in my makeshift reality.
“Miss Phoenix, breakfast,” the maid reminds me.
I open my mouth to refuse, but Emmaline exclaims, “We have pancakes today! You have to try them. They are the best. Patience”—she points with her thumb at the lady—“she cooks them.” She puts her splayed hand on the corner of her mouth, whispering so loudly probably everyone nearby can hear her. “But don’t tell her that.”
“Okay, enough with these shenanigans, young lady. Let’s go back to the kitchen and eat before we need to leave for your class.”
Emmaline slaps herself on the forehead and sighs heavily. “So many things to do.” I barely hold back the laughter wanting to erupt at this, especially that half of her words are swallowed and not as clear. “Let’s go,” she says, tugging on my hand, and before I know it, I’m dragged into the kitchen where memories of last night instantly assault me.
Especially when I glance at the empty kitchen counter, my moans and groans echoing in my mind, but luckily Patience chooses this moment to speak up. “Tea or coffee?”
“Green tea, please.” I sit at the small round table in the right corner as Emmaline climbs up on her chair opposite me, diving into her plate full of pancakes and speaking with her mouth full.
“They are delicious.”
“Emmaline, first swallow and then talk.” Patience places the steaming cup in front of me, and my stomach chooses this moment to growl loudly, which makes Emmaline giggle, pointing at me.
“You are hungry!”
“Would you like me to cook something for you, Miss—”
“Please, just call me Phoenix.” Patience smiles and nods. “And no. Pancakes are enough, thank you. I haven’t had these in almost four years.” I pick up a fork and an empty plate, snatching a few pancakes from the bowl in the middle. “So yay!”
Patience’s brows furrow at this, and then she pats my back unexpectedly, my fork pausing midway to my mouth. “That’s awful, child.” She slides the strawberry syrup my way. “Make it sweeter. What else haven’t you had in a while? I can cook it tonight.”
I do a double-take at this sudden change of demeanor, not really knowing how to read it, since I never had a parental figure act nice to me.
Sebastian’s parents were never outright rude toward me or rejected our union, but I could feel their silent resentment that their brilliant son married a woman with no good connections.
“I don’t think I’m going to stay here, so no need. But thank you, really.” I almost groan when the first taste hits my tongue, the pancake melting in my mouth, and adding syrup, I’m in sweetness heaven.
Patience grabs her own cup of coffee, judging by the smell disturbing my nostrils, and sits next to me, but not before giving Emmaline a napkin, as her face is smeared in the chocolate she pours generously over her pancakes. The little girl sits silently watching us but not speaking, just as Patience asked her.
“But Mr. King said you are staying. That’s why we prepared your room with all the clothes.” I almost spit my food back on the plate at this information, because it implies he decided yesterday, even before the whole fiasco with Rafe happened. The arrogance of this man has to be seen to be believed! “Besides, where will you go, Phoenix? Lydia said it might take time before you sue the state and then get your money back.”
I start to cough on my food, quickly drinking my tea to wash it away, and sigh in relief that it’s not blazing hot.
Patience slaps my back a few times, trying to help, but I raise my hand for her to stop, still shocked she knows who I am.
If one would look from a distance at all the situations happening to me, one might think the Kings love me or something. They handle my case, get me out of prison, bring me to their house, and then feed me.
What in the freaking hell is this?
Even with all the accusations off my back, shouldn’t they have resentment toward me still? Like not being able to look at the person, because it reminds them of the one they lost?
Clearly, all this bothers only me, and none of them have such issues, Zachary especially, since he fucked me in this same kitchen last night!
“I can’t stay here regardless.” I finally find my voice but then glance at Emmaline, who gasps, quickly chews, and swallows before shouting, “You can’t leave! Daddy said you will come to my ballet practice.”
“He did?” I ask dumbfounded, surely thinking the child is mistaken, because what in the hell is that supposed to mean? Does he want to rub the salt deeper into the wound or what?
“Yep, you and him.” She goes back to eating her pancakes, and I turn my head to Patience, who shrugs, dipping a cookie into her coffee before munching it.
Apparently, whatever the man says goes, not that I doubted it in the first place, and there’s no point arguing with his staff about it.
A phone between us rings. Patience presses on it and reads a message flashing on the display before announcing, “James is here.”
I quickly finish my food and get up. “Thank you for the pancakes.” I hesitate for a second before coming closer to Emmaline and squeezing her cheek lightly before patting her on the head. “Have a good day, baby girl.”
She mumbles, “Thank you.” And the familiar ache builds up in my chest again, but I don’t let myself dwell on that.
With one last pat, I get the hell out of the kitchen as if thousands of dogs are chasing me and I will myself to keep my emotions locked up far, far away, so they won’t ever come to the surface.
Or at least until we catch the son of a bitch who destroyed my life.
Zachary
The iron gates screech loudly as the guards nod at me, and I wave at them, revving my sports car before flying through the gates onto the long, narrow driveway leading to the huge, horizontal, brick building spread across the massive landscape located on the outskirts of the city.
The unique and gorgeous architecture includes several statues in arches that lure you inside yet try to inspire fear at the same time, as if you’re entering dangerous territory where you might not know what you will face.
The two-leveled structure has a lot of balconies, and m
ost of the windows are made from stained glass, reminding me of cathedrals.
However, the trickiest feature of this Victorian-style house, which reeks of luxury and power, is the maze-like garden that reminds me of a hunting ground; that’s how many swirls and turns there are.
If you are not smart enough, the beast roaming inside will trap you with no way to escape, and you’ll die among the beauty of endless roses and orchids, or whatever fucking other flowers the owner planted in his garden.
The alcoves give a false sense of security, aiming for a more mysterious allure along with romanticism, but it doesn’t fool me.
The owner makes a statement not to fuck with him with this garden alone, or else he will find a use for you.
Thankfully, I’m not scared of him, nor do I give a fuck about his rules.
Generally, I prefer not to cross paths with him, for the man is unpredictable and acts like he is the king of this fucking world. While it might be true to some extent, no one rules over me.
It doesn’t help that our net worth is about the same and sometimes we have to do business together; therefore, for both our sakes, we do our best not to see each other unless it’s absolutely necessarily.
But with the current situation, he is the only one who can help me, so I don’t follow our usual status quo and come to his fucking dungeon.
Parking the car by the marble stairs leading to the massive wooden double doors, I get out of the car, leaving the engine running, since I don’t plan to stay long. I see a man standing at the top of the stairs, holding a tray in his hand.
Coming closer, I realize it’s a butler who must be in his sixties. I come to the conclusion due to his clothes and the fucking gloves he’s wearing.
The wrinkles on his face deepen as he greets me with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, yet oddly the man emotes nothing but kindness.
Such a contrast to his boss, who probably doesn’t even know what this word means.
“Mr. King. It’s a pleasure to see you. Mr. Scott is waiting for you in his office.”
My mouth curves in a half smile at such formalities. The last time a butler welcomed me was when my grandfather on Mother’s side was alive and invited me to spend the summer at his house.