Trust: Betrayed

by Cristiane Serruya

  Sophia saw that Zahira, Ashley and Edward were at the door posing for photos. She breathed deep.

  “Go on. They’ll love you,” Tavish assured her.

  Alistair put her hand on the crook of his arm and covered it with his.

  Sophia bit her lip and raised her eyes to his.

  He tsked and bit his lip, drawing a smile from her. “Good. No one is going to resist you now.”

  8 p.m.

  The five hundred select guests for the opening of the gallery had each paid five hundred pounds, to be donated to the Sophia Leibowitz Foundation. Among them, beautiful and elegant young men and women well versed in art history explained the concepts of each artist and endeavored to interest prospective clients and the directors of foundations and museums. The event was turning into a huge success.

  “Sophia!” Warm hands rested on her shoulders.

  She angled her neck back with a smile, “Hello, Ethan!”

  His hands ran over her back to circle her waist and turned her to face him. “You look ravishing, darling.”

  “You don’t look too bad yourself,” she teased as she returned his kisses. “You know Edward Davidoff and Zahira Chanda, don’t you? And this is LO’s PR director, Ashley Carruthers.”

  “A pleasure to see you again, Ashford,” Edward stretched his hand.

  “Davidoff, Mrs. Chanda, Ms. Carruthers,” he greeted them and turned to Sophia. “I guess that after tonight you’re not afraid of the press anymore. So, Mrs. Chandra you can set up a date and location for our event.”

  Zahira only smiled at Ethan, knowing full well that Sophia didn’t want the ball.

  Aren’t you insistent, Ethan? “Why do we need a gala ball?”

  “It’s free marketing, darling. If MacCraig can benefit from it,” he motioned to the crowd mingling around, “Ashford Steel and Leibowitz Oil can too.”

  What? “Come again?”

  “Everyone likes to have a good excuse to throw a party. Better if you can couple beauty and youth with wealth and charity. You personify every quality to make our project a huge success, Sophia.” And spend more time at my side.

  “I hadn’t looked at it that way,” muttered Edward.

  Ashley tapped her finger on her red mouth. “Mr. Ashford makes a fair point, Sophia.”

  As always. He smiled charmingly at Ashley, “Ethan, my dear, please.” His attention wandered back to Sophia. “See, darling,” his hands made their way back to her shoulders and his azure eyes glowed with excitement, “your CEO and PR director agree with me. Say, November? We’ll raise even more awareness for the new branches in Asia. And funds, of course.”

  “I’ll think about it, Ethan,” she replied with a smile. And my answer will probably be no. She looked at Ashley asking for help.

  Ash discreetly winked, understanding. “I’ll take a look at her schedule, Mr. Ashford, and get back to you.”

  “Ashford.” Fuck off. Alistair’s arm snaked around Sophia’s waist and pulled her to him, as his free hand stretched to shake Ethan’s.

  “MacCraig. Congratulations on the exhibition.” Your best piece is in your arms right now. The moment you let go, I’ll have her back.

  Don’t you dare paw Sophia again. “The gallery’s guiding principle is to show what our most exciting artists are making nowadays. We aim to make art more accessible to the mainstream, without losing the exclusivity.” She is the one and only. Exclusively mine.

  Edward rolled his eyes at Sophia, who was struggling to control her laughter, as Ashley looked away with a huge smile on her lips.

  Exclusivity of Sophia, you mean. “Indeed. I heard you’ve created an art fund and that it’s already closed to new entrants. I’ll be interested if there’s a new one.” Interested in Sophia, I mean.

  You don’t fool me, Ashford. “Aye. It was a huge success. My brother,” he signaled to Tavish, who excused himself from a group of buyers and made his way to where they were, “is in charge of the gallery and the art fund. I’m sure he can explain it to you better.”

  Family business, huh? Ethan watched the younger and more handsome version of Alistair approach them, smile at Sophia before acknowledging the others. Your perdition is in your own home, MacCraig.

  “Ashford, my brother Tavish Uilleam.” He’ll be watching you too, Ashford.

  “Gentlemen, Ash, Zahira,” Sophia said to the group, “if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

  “Don’t wander too far, my love.” Alistair didn’t miss the chance and whirled her in his arms, planting a kiss on her mouth. She’s mine, see Ashford?

  She rolled her eyes at his smirk. “I’ll be right back.” Good God, Alistair Connor. What’s this show for?

  “Jesus,” Tavish’s murmur called Alistair’s attention away from Edward, Ashley, Zahira and Ethan as they talked of the LO and Ashford ball. His eyes were fixed on something Alistair couldn’t see.

  “What is it?” Alistair inquired.

  “Excuse us for a moment,” Tavish bit out harshly and lugged Alistair by the arm to the stairs. They climbed up a few steps before he faced Alistair and hissed, “Are you crazy? What is she doing here?”

  What? “Who? Doing what?”

  Tavish grabbed Alistair by the upper arm pointing to the end of the center room where a blonde woman was draped on the arm of a member of the House of Lords. As she strolled through the room, heads turned in her direction.

  Fuck. “That bitch.” His eyes searched the three main rooms for Sophia. “Where is Sophia? I can’t see her.”

  “She’s probably gone to the toilet. Go look for her. I’ll take care of this.”

  Alistair’s hand stopped Tavish as cold sweat trickled down his back. “Diplomacy, Tavish Uilleam. The gallery is full and I don’t want a scandal.” And that’s all she wants.

  “Don’t worry, Brother. Of course, I’ll be discreet.”

  You are anything but diplomatic where my past is concerned. “Wait.”

  Tavish paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at his brother, who was calmly descending with a smile on his face and a nonchalant pose.

  If anyone had looked at Alistair, no one would have guessed the dread coursing through his veins. He knew what Emma was capable of. Since that day in the restaurant at Berkshire, she’d been hounding him to get him back. In her bank account. In her bed.

  This is not a coincidence. “Call Leo. Look for Sophia. I’ll handle Emma.”

  “Ma’am,” the waiter handed Sophia a crystal flute filled with freezing cold Cristal Louis Roederer.

  “Thank y-”

  Sophia saw disaster open its jaws to receive her, as someone roughly bumped into her back. Her hands shot forward to balance herself.

  Her glass flew away, exploding against a sculpture of twisted iron forming a macabre rainbow made of sharp shards and splashed champagne.

  Sophia, her shawl and her purse fell on the mess of glass and golden liquid.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, controlling her need to cry, reeling with embarrassment.

  Two waiters immediately helped her from the mess.

  “Here. Let me help,” a velvet coated voice and a soft arm over Sophia’s shoulders guided her to the nearby bathroom.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, head lowered, not bothering to pick up her shawl or clutch. All she wanted was to be away from there. I’m not going to cry. I’m not.

  As she walked to the toilet, she brushed away the small pieces of glass from her wet dress. A piece caught in her palm and she flinched. She turned her hand up and pulled it out, biting her lip to stop the flow of tears. Idiot. Idiot.

  “Here, my dear.” The arm guided her inside the bathroom.

  “Thanks, you’re so kind,” she whispered, through the lump in her throat, as she entered the huge travertine marble room.

  When she looked at herself in the mirror, Sophia’s eyes rounded. Her dress was torn and stained, her knees were scrapped and bruised and one of her legs was cut, a shard protruding from it.

&n
bsp; God! Oh. My. God! She was so shocked with her appearance that she didn’t hear the lock on the bathroom door being turned.

  Tavish felt as if he was watching a humorless slapstick film.

  He opened his mouth to get Sophia’s attention from the other side of the huge room, but it happened too quickly for him to warn her. Emma approached Sophia from behind, waited for her to get her champagne glass and pushed her against a John Chamberlain sculpture.

  He cut through the chatter of people who didn’t seem to notice the accident, ordering the waiters to clean the mess.

  When he looked around for Sophia, she was already gone.

  Alistair’s head snapped up when he heard the noise of breaking glass, but he was too far away to see what had happened. Christ! Let it not be Sophia.

  He crossed the rooms, a fixed smile on his face, his eyes scanning the crowds for Sophia or Emma.

  But neither was anywhere to be seen.

  Their eyes locked in the mirror.

  Damn! What the hell does she want?

  Emma Miller was a gorgeous woman. Natural blonde hair cascaded down to frame a perfect face, where blue eyes with mascara painted lashes were blistering and plump lips were sneering. She was very tall and lean and her sexy and cruel nature screamed from inside the Hervé Leger short black bandage dress.

  “So. You’re the chosen one,” Emma tilted her head, raking her cold gaze over Sophia with spite. “Hmm. Alistair Connor used to have better taste.”

  Sophia put her hands on the sink to steady her jelly legs and lifted her chin, “And you are?” I’m not giving you this to gloat over.

  “Emma Miller, his sister-in-law.” Her hand traveled down her body, from her breast to her thigh. “He used to fuck us. Alistair, Heather and I had some great times together.”

  The thoughts were wiped clean from Sophia’s mind at the same time that bile rose in her throat.

  “Shocked, my dear? I have it all photographed and filmed when I want to reminisce. Maybe you’d like to join me?”

  Disgusting, repulsive, sick. Sophia bit back all the harsh retorts that came to her mind, deciding that silence was the best treatment for that woman. Her cuts were stinging from the champagne and her hands and legswere throbbing and hurting now that her blood had cooled down.

  Sophia raised an elegant eyebrow at the woman, dismissing her and, with her heart hammering hard in her chest, she turned and walked to the door on trembling legs.

  She pressed the handle down and pulled the door. And pushed.

  Sophia rounded, facing Emma. “Open the door.”

  Emma tut-tutted. “That’s the education your mother gave you?”

  Screw you, bitch. Sophia stiffened and pushed her shoulders back, narrowing her eyes at Emma. “Ever since I first saw you in Berkshire, I knew you were a debased woman.”

  “A whore, you mean,” Emma smiled amused at the formal way Sophia spoke.

  Whore, if you prefer. “What do you want?”

  “Me? Nothing. I just wanted to say hello,” she purred as she stepped closer, backing Sophia onto the wall, “and acquaint myself with the woman who had fucked up the head and the dick of the hottest man in the UK.”

  Not me. Sophia thinned her lips. You and your sister, dammit.

  “Alistair and I, we’ve been seeing each other,” Emma smiled when her half-lie made Sophia blink, surprised. “Oh! Don’t worry. I like real men. Not pussy whipped losers,” she snorted as she stepped closer. “I thought I’d taken away that nasty habit of his. But it seems that it’s back.”

  Wait. What? What is she talking about? What does she know? Sophia didn’t deign to answer.

  “He’s so fucked up now that he didn’t even let me give him a little blow job. For old times’ sake.” Emma stretched her hand and her fingers traced the jagged scars on Sophia’s left arm.

  Sophia pushed her back, hissing, “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

  “Oh! The little cat has claws.” A cruel smile opened slowly on Emma’s face as she examined Sophia’s arm carefully, clearly enjoying the situation. “He’ll tire of you, kitty-kitty. He’s a man with wild, hungry passions,” she ran her hands over her body and licked her lips in slow motion. “Wild like you couldn’t ever imagine; hungry in a way you will never be able to fulfill-”

  Before she could even think about what she was doing, Sophia’s hand flew at Emma’s face. She used the moment to push Emma away, freeing herself from the corner. “Give me the damn key!”

  “Oh! Now we’re having some fun,” Emma dabbed at the blood on her lip and licked it clean from her fingers.

  This is disgusting!

  She opened her purse and looked at Sophia with a dark grin and a strange gleam in her blue eyes, “Or what?”

  “GIVE ME!” Sophia screamed. Screw the press. Screw everything. I want out of here. “NOW!”

  Male, angry voices could be heard from the other side of the door and the handle shook.

  They heard as Alistair shouted for Emma to open the door and ordered someone to get a spare key and call the police.

  Yeah. Sophia smiled confidently and stepped closer to take the purse from the woman. “The key, bitch! Or I’ll press charges.”

  “Ah! Now we are talking, bitch,” she drawled and laughed, “I like how you say it!” Emma’s eyes flashed as she put her hand inside the purse and took out, not the key, but a beautiful mother-of-pearl butterfly knife. “You already have two scars.” With a flick of her wrist, she opened the blade. “How about I carve a few more?”

  Oh, damn. Damn! DAMN! Sophia’s adrenaline spiked. She put her hands up. “Okay, now. You don’t want to do this.”

  “I do, kitty-kitty. He’ll remember me every time he fucks you.”

  “You’ll be arrested.” She looked for something to defend herself with, but there was nothing in the modern luxury bathroom. Her eyes paused on a pair of tall, heavy Baccarat Spirale vases filled with purple Tulips on a table in the furthest corner. A few feet away.

  “Will not, kitty. I have his photos. Fucking,” she gloated and left the threat hanging in the air.

  Sophia considered her options. Three, four paces max. It’s all I have.

  “You need a prettier face, kitty,” Emma drawled as she got closer.

  Concentrate, Sophia. She tuned out the pounding on the door and Alistair’s shouted commands, blocking out everything but Emma’s movements and hers.

  She angled her body and moved cautiously back, flexing her right hand, preparing to grab the spiral end of the crystal vase. You can’t miss it, Sophia. You can’t.

  One.

  Emma followed, smirking, brandishing the knife.

  Two.

  She lost her balance when her hurt leg faltered and her heel caught in a small indentation between the marble slabs. The blade pierced Sophia’s dress and pricked her left arm.

  Sophia gasped in pain. Warm blood trickled down slowly.

  Focus. Don’t look down. She rightened herself and hauled in a gulp of air, struggling not to black out.

  Three.

  Sophia’s hand groped the wall for the table. Emma’s arm shot forward again. A gash opened on the Sophia’s left forearm and a piercing cry left her mouth.

  “You scream like a dying pig,” Emma smirked.

  Four.

  Sophia turned and snatched the vase.

  With a hard yank, her right arm sliced the air with the vase.

  Emma smiled darkly and flung the knife in the direction of Sophia’s navel as the vase slipped from Sophia’s hand and flew through the air.

  Both women cried out loud.

  Chapter 31

  Nerves wound tight and seething, Alistair paced the corridor outside the bathroom as they waited for the spare key. Sophia’s first scream robbed him of the last of his patience.

  “Get out of my way,” he shouted and crashed his shoulder against the door. It rattled, but didn’t give.

  “Wait,” Tavish’s hand stopped him from throwing himself against the door a second
time. “Let’s do it together. On three.”

  Alistair heaved when both women cried one last time, but paced away taking distance and giving his brother his back. “Ready?”

  Tavish nodded and counted, “One. Two. Three.”

  The brothers threw themselves against the door, flinging it off its hinges.

  Alistair looked around horrified.

  In the middle of the bathroom floor among water, purple tulips and the broken Baccarat vase, Emma was lying in a pool of blood that was gushing from her face.

  “Call an ambulance,” he shouted over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping the room. Fuck! Where is she? Breathe, Alistair Connor! It’s not the time for panic. “Sophia!” He stepped over Emma and his heart stopped for a second when he saw her.

  “Sophia!!” He fell on his knees in front of a very pale Sophia, sitting with back against the wall. His eyes and hands hovered over her bloodied dress and the knife stuck on her stomach not knowing exactly what to do. Fuck, fuck! “Mo gradh, don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” he said resolutely.

  “Cold,” she whispered through blue lips, a loud roar filling her ears. Her wide dark eyes roamed over him as he immediately took off his jacket. “I’m cold.”

  “Lay her down after you put your jacket on her,” Tavish ordered calmly, kneeling beside her with a first aid kit.

  “How?” He eyed pointedly at the blade protruding from between her fingers.

  “Right, Alistair Connor, keep her calm. Keep her warm. Lay her down, but be careful not to jolt her. I’ll put a dressing around the wound, and apply pressure. Any doubts?” Tavish didn’t even look at him and kept his voice soothingly calm. “Do it. Quickly and calmly. The shock will have lowered her blood pressure and body temperature.”

  Oh, Christ! Let it not be as bad as it looks. “All right,” he gently put his jacket over her and laid her down. Neither his hands, nor his face betrayed the guilt and shock he was feeling inside. I’ve brought this on her.

  “Let me,” Tavish took her fingers from her belly and put his handkerchief around the blade, pressing down firmly. He looked up at an ashen Edward on the threshold. “Give me your jacket too.”