Yet here he was, feeling like a man on the very edge.
Was he more nervous about seeing his father? He shouldn’t be. He was a grown man. The other was an old fool. Anderson told him his father’s vision had started failing in recent years.
No more than he deserves, Sylvain thought cruelly.
The plane touched down. Sylvain got into the waiting vehicle.
He would arrive unannounced. After all, as the eldest son, he had full right to the castle. His father had shunned it; now, apparently, in his retirement, he had locked himself inside.
Along with Bianca.
Sylvain shuddered to think of the things she’d been through while he was gone. His father’s treatments of his children had had two polarizing effects.
It made one strong. It broke the second.
But is this really strength? Sylvain wondered. He flexed his arms without thinking. Tight—everything about him was tight.
He could feel the tension growing as Anderson drove the car through the vaguely familiar, winding country roads.
He sat back. The Alastair Estate was hidden far, far, away.
He had a long ride ahead of him yet.
**
“A stop in the village, perhaps, sir?” Anderson asked.
Sylvain came to with a jolt. He had dozed off. These long trips, with nothing to occupy him but his thoughts, had that effect.
“How close are we?” he asked. He did not recognize his surroundings at first glance.
“According to the GPS? Forty minutes, give or take.”
Sylvain looked up at the sky. “It’s going to be dark then,” he said. “They still have the inn?”
“As far as I know, it hasn’t been burned down,” Anderson grinned.
Sylvain allowed himself a smile. “Then we can get lodgings upstairs. I’d rather make my arrival to the castle in the day than in the dead of the night.”
“Certainly,” Anderson agreed, and switched the coordinates to the town.
**
Sylvain walked through the front doors of the tavern and looked around.
The place was abandoned. He’d come in expecting people. The only patron was a lone man at the bar, nursing an empty mug.
The bartender was leaning back, arms crossed, looking bored. He made no attempts at conversation.
He did not even look at Sylvain as he approached.
Sylvain sat down. He’d underdressed for the occasion. He didn’t want to risk being recognized.
Now, he saw, he shouldn’t even have bothered.
Finally the bartender took notice. Sylvain realized he’d seen the man before, on one of his trips out here as a youth. What was his name? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t think they’d ever been introduced.
“Before” was a long time ago, too. Sylvain had still been a boy.
The bartender came over.
“What’ll you have, then?” he asked.
Sylvain ordered one of the beers on tap. “And rooms for the night?” he added, at the end.
“Don’t got no rooms,” the bartender said.
“I saw the vacancy sign out front.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe I should have been more precise. Don’t got no rooms for the likes of you.”
The bartender leaned over to the side and spat. “You Alastairs are a blight on this town. Have your beer—” he slammed it on the counter, “—and get out of my bar.”
Sylvain was taken aback. So the man had recognized him. Sylvain knew his last name was an unpopular one amongst the people but to be called a blight…?
“It takes some nerve,” Sylvain said calmly, “to speak to a man like that.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” the bartender challenged. “You sit on your damn fortune, along with that father of yours, and you torment the townspeople. Think just because you can throw your cash around, your shit don’t stink? Think just because you’ve got that fancy castle of yours, it makes you kings?” He laughed. “Think again. The Alastairs aren’t welcome here, or anywhere else in this town, for that matter. So finish your fucking beer,” another hard look, “and get the fuck out.”
Sylvain stood. He did not touch his drink.
“You, friend,” he said darkly, “have just made a monstrous mistake.”
And he turned away and strode straight out the bar.
Chapter Twelve
“My father’s done something,” Sylvain told Anderson the moment he climbed into the vehicle. “I’d never receive a reception like that had he not.”
“You’ll see him soon enough. Then you can ask for yourself.” A second later, he tacked on, “Sir.”
Sylvain sat back and stewed.
It started raining halfway to the estate. Fat, heavy drops the size of pebbles. They assaulted the roof of the car. Even with the wipers on at full speed, Sylvain doubted Anderson could see very far out the window.
Thankfully the road was empty. Nobody else would take this route at this time of the night.
Bianca, Sylvan thought. Please, let me not have failed you yet.
The car rolled up to the front gates. They were closed.
Even in the dark, Sylvan could see the outline of the castle.
It was monstrous. He’d always considered it ugly. It was built for his family centuries ago. Back when the feudal system was still in place. Since then, it had been passed down, generation to generation to generation…
As it would continue to be to the very end. Once, as a boy, Sylvain had dreamed of owning the place.
Now he wanted nothing to do with it.
When he was eight or nine he’d taken to exploring every part of the castle. He thought it teeming with secrets. He wanted to discover each one.
His endeavor did not end well. He’d gotten trapped beneath the earth when a draft shut a lone door on him. He’d banged and yelled and screamed for rescue, but nobody came.
Six days he’d spent down there, alone, in the dark. He thought for sure he would die.
Then, finally, on the eve of the seventh day, the door came open.
His father stood there, menacing, on the threshold.
Suddenly, Sylvain knew he had not been lost. They knew where he was the entire time.
“Learn your lesson, boy?” his father snarled. He’d grabbed his arm and hauled him after him. They went up to his study, where Sylvain, cold, hungry, scared, and very nearly broken, endured one of the most brutal lashings of his life.
He shuddered. Bad memories, he thought. This place is home to bad memories.
Yet if his were bad, how much worse were his sister’s?
“Gate’s locked. They weren’t expecting you,” Anderson said.
“Oh no,” Sylvain told him. “My father knows I’m here. I made sure of it on the drive. And anyway—I control the estate.”
He reached into his pocket and took out his new cell phone. He hit the button that activated the gates.
“Hm,” Anderson said as they grated open. “In we go, then?”
“Yes,” Sylvain agreed. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “In we go.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sylvain walked through the vast entrance, in awe of how little the place had changed since he’d last been there.
It must have been… what? Seven, eight years now? Perhaps more. Certainly before he went to America.
He placed a hand against one cold stone wall. His shoulders hitched unconsciously.
He’d never get rid of the scars his father had given him. Nor would he ever be free of the associations with this place.
Sylvain took a deep breath. He’d seen to Anderson’s lodgings first. He didn’t want the man, loyal as he was, to interfere during his first day back.
In the dead of the night, with everyone sleeping, Sylvain wondered how many servants his father still kept.
He drew his eyes up and to the side. His father… would be in his rooms, in the Eastern guard tower. Long ago Sylvain and his sister had joked that they should rename it “T
he Black Tower,” in honor of the man who resided there.
Sylvain had little doubt the name would still fit.
He turned away. He was not here to see his father. Bianca was who he had come for. But she was asleep, maybe in her rooms… maybe in the Western tower.
That was where their mother had spent her days. She respected and feared her husband, as did the rest of them. Divorce was out of the question. Sleeping in separate beds, both at home and for visitations here? That, at least, could be endured.
Anyway. Most of their lives were spent near Oxford. It was only the summer and winter holidays that drew them here.
“Oh, mother,” Sylvain whispered. “How I wish I could have helped you.”
But those were regrets for another day.
Sylvain’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at it. It was Anderson, informing him with a text that all the power and backup power supplies to the server farm underground were in good repair.
Sylvain smiled. Obviously, they would be.
He’d built them himself.
Tearing away from the wall, he began his descent into the depths.
Chapter Fourteen
An hour or two later, Sylvain was tired, but satisfied.
All the servers were running. Everything was secure. At the click of a single button he could activate the Trojan and draw millions into his accounts.
No one would be the wiser. His trading bots were inconspicuous and blended in with the market’s noise.
He could do it… but he had no desire to. Alicia had been right: he had enough money. More than enough. Already, he could retire and live off his balance for the rest of his days.
But complacency ill-suited Sylvain. His busy mind needed to work. He craved stimulation. He needed a goal, he always had to have a purpose.
He could not simply drift through life.
Right now, his purpose was upstairs, asleep in her bed. He’d come here to break his sister out of this prison.
He had no doubt the process would take time. Months, at least. Perhaps even years.
But in the end, it would all be worth it.
If he succeeded.
Sylvain shook his head. He hated the uncertainty. He hadn’t even seen his sister yet! But there was no way to guarantee success. Bianca was… fragile.
Their father had made her that way.
Sylvain doubted she even saw her living arrangements the same way he did. That was his greatest fear. If she had grown used to how things are… he would have a hell of a time pulling her away.
He hated that he couldn’t have been here earlier.
But regrets were for the past. He was here now. He cracked his knuckles, stretched, and leaned back in the chair.
Tomorrow, he would begin.
Chapter Fifteen
“Hello,” a sweet voice said. “Who are you?”
Slowly, Sylvain opened his eyes. He brought his head up groggily.
He’d fallen asleep at the desk last night, his computer still lit up before him.
He looked toward the speaker. And there, standing before him, seemingly out of a dream, was a young, golden-haired beauty.
Sylvain blinked. He had a moment of déjà vu. She looked like a very, very young…
Alicia.
He rubbed at his eyes. No, this woman was different. The resemblance was very fleeting. She was beautiful, no doubt, but little more than a girl.
Who is she?
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked at the window beyond her.
“Did you open the drapes,” he asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.
“Why yes,” the girl giggled. “It’s not good to sleep so late into the day, after all. I had to get you up.”
Sylvain grunted and ran a hand through his hair. “What time—”
“Just after two,” she said brightly.
He groaned. He’d worked so late last night he missed making his grand entrance. Dammit, but he had only closed his eyes for a minute! Not—he took a breath—six hours.
“I was just being polite,” the young girl said. “I know who you are. You’re Sylvain Alastair.” She cleared her throat. “The prodigal son returns,” she quoted.
Sylvain grimaced. He hated people misusing that phrase.
“Anyway, I’m Leila,” she continued. She bounced over to him and held out her hand. “I’ve been looking after your father for the last two years.”
“Have you, now?” Sylvain asked. He took her hand and offered a firm grip. The girl seemed simple…
But Sylvain knew how deceiving appearances could be.
“Oh yes, he’s been great to me. He’s kind and smart and oh-so-generous...”
Sylvain stopped listening. She babbled on and on, listing all his father’s virtues, and the only thing Sylvain could think of was how fake she sounded.
Well. Maybe “simple” was fitting for her, after all.
“Oh!” Leila cut off with a gasp. “I’m not boring you, am I? I’m sorry. I have a tendency to speak a lot when I’m excited.”
Sylvain cocked his head to one side. “And you’re excited now?” he asked her.
“Oh yes,” she enthused. “It’s not every day you get to meet another Alastair.”
“Funny,” Sylvain said. “Most people would have the opposite reaction.”
He pushed himself up. He wanted a workout. He hadn’t had a proper one since getting out of prison. He’d have to commission a weight room somewhere in here. Maybe a pool in the basement…
“Yes, but most people don’t know you for who you are,” Leila stressed. She beamed at him. “Your father explained it all to me very well.”
He looked her up and down. Is she sleeping with him? he wondered. The age gap was enormous. Leila barely looked like she was out of high school.
His father always had a penchant for younger women.
“You’ve been here two years?” Sylvain asked. “Why is it I haven’t heard of you before?”
Her face fell. Just for a moment, then it lit back up again. “Well, I figure it’s because you were in jail!”
At least she doesn’t mince words. “What were you doing before you came under my father’s employment?”
“Oh.” She tittered nervously. “I was um, studying. In school. To be an equine veterinarian.”
“A vet,” Sylvain replied dryly. He cocked an eyebrow.
“I like animals!” Leila said.
“Then you must have been disappointed to find our stables empty.”
She shot him a fierce look. “I’m not stupid, you know.”
“That remains to be seen,” Sylvain muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. So what happened, then? Did my father send you to fetch me this morning?”
“Hah.” She crossed her arms, and tilted her hip to one side. It emphasized her figure. “If he’d tried, I would have told him no,” Leila said firmly. “You are not a man to be fetched, Mr. Alastair. You are one to be followed.”
And just like that, Sylvain liked her.
Chapter Sixteen
Sylvan rapped softly on the chamber doors.
“Bianca?” he asked. “Are you in there?”
Leila shifted from one foot to the other behind him. “I told you,” she said. “Your sister hasn’t been out for days.”
Inwardly, Sylvain cursed. He knew his sister was prone to bouts of paranoia, given the proper triggers. But when he’d last seen her, they lasted a few hours at the most.
Now they’d progressed to days?
“Has anyone been giving her food?” he demanded. He tried to do it in a whisper—he knew that loud noises spooked Bianca. He did not want her frightened before their big reunion.
“There’s only me, Mr. Alastair,” Leila said pointedly. “And yes, I’ve been bringing her meals. Bringing them, then taking them away, untouched.”
Sylvain rounded on her. “And this doesn’t concern you?”
“Of course it concerns me!” Leila fired back. “But I can�
�t very well do anything about it, can I?”
Sylvain cursed and turned back to the door. He knocked again. “Bianca?”
They waited. No answer came. Sylvain suspected he would have no luck.
“We’ll try again in an hour,” he said. “Meanwhile, I’ll need to speak to my father…”
The door creaked open. From inside, a timid voice said, “Big brother?”
Sylvain felt such a pain in his chest, then. He loved his little sister with all his heart. To hear her speak, after so many years…
“I’ll leave you be,” Leila whispered from behind him. Sylvain barely heard. All of his attention was on the girl inside the room.
She was hidden behind the door, Bianca was. And only when he answered softly, “Yes, it’s me,” did she pull it wider, inviting him in.
Sylvain angled his shoulders to make it through the partially opened door.
“Big brother!” Bianca gasped. She jumped him and wrapped both arms around his neck.
Sylvain hugged her back—but he could not dissociate his mind from the smell.
The room stank. All the windows were tightly closed. The smell of sickness lingered in the air. The smell of disease.
He held his small, frail sibling close. He put his hands on her arms and gently eased her back so he could see her face.
It was Bianca, all right. The eyes, the cheekbones, they were all hers. But everything was thin.
My God, he thought. She is so much more hollow than I remember.
His chest constricted in something very, very close to fear.
There was something else different about her. The… color of her irises? No, surely not. Of course not. That was an impossibility!
And yet… Sylvain had read about certain bipolar patients whose affliction was so strong that the very color of their eyes became different when they underwent a personality shift.
Could he be seeing it in his sister? Madness…
“I knew…” Bianca gave a tremulous smile. “I knew you would come back. I knew you would never forsake me!”
“Never,” Sylvain swore. He held her tight to him again. Well—as tightly as he dared.
The Alastair Affair 2: Sylvain (A Billionaire Dark Romance) Page 4