Tarian.
New York.
Saturday, 8th November.
Two days later.
Morning.
I just finished working out at the gym.
Now I’m returning to the house, my body screaming for mercy.
For two days now, since I returned from Nantucket, I’ve buried my thoughts, my soul, my entire being, in work.
Work and more work.
Anything that might save me from the agony that has been clawing at me since I left Murieann’s home.
But memory detonates inside me anyway.
I see her again, standing by the window.
Watching.
Just before I entered the car to leave her premises.
A part of me had hoped, foolishly, that she would open the door and ask me to stay.
Perhaps that part of me was just that, a fool.
She didn’t ask me to stay.
“Mr.
Sawyer?”
The driver had called quietly.
I whipped my gaze to him, irritation slicing through me.
Then I spared Murieann one last glance before slipping into the car and headed for the private strip.
And now, days later, I still can’t ignore the pain of being away from her presence.
It feels like someone hollowed me out.
My phone rings inside the car now, as I settle in it.
‘Clayton Hayes Firm’ flashes on the screen.
My brows knit together.
What the hell are they calling me for?
I have no business with them.
They’re one of the most reputable law firms in New York.
The kind that works for the biggest names, the biggest sharks.
Not like we don’t belong in that category.
But we have never hired their services.
I turn on the Bluetooth speaker and answer as I crank the ignition.
“Hello?”
“Mr.
Sawyer.
Good morning to you.” A deep male voice comes.
“Morning yourself.
How can I help you?”
“I am calling in regard to our client, Ms.
Murieann Amran, who has requested us to finalize the partnership deal with you.”
My frown deepens.
My heart sinks.
So Murieann meant what she said.
“If you will just have your lawyers call us, that would be fine, and we will take it from there,” the man mutters calmly.
Anger coils inside me.
Hot and immediate.
What did I do that made her boycott me like this?
I didn’t do anything wrong.
If anything, I treated her with f*cking respect.
So why do I deserve this?
The rage burning in my chest sharpens my voice.
“Have Murieann see me.”
“What?” the man spurts.
“You heard me,” I say coldly.
“I never agreed to her terms the last time we spoke.
So ask her to see me tonight.
At my parents’ party.”
I pause deliberately.
“Sawyer Residence.
“If she wants to finalize this deal.” My jaw tightens.
“Otherwise the deal is off.”
“Wait…Mr.
Sawyer…”
I end the call.
Cutting him off.
I don’t even bother listening to whatever bullshit he wanted to say.
She doesn’t get to do that to me.
Treat me like her f*cking puppet.
No one does.
Without another word, I shift the car into reverse and pull out of the parking lot.
If Murieann doesn’t explain her recent actions, then she doesn’t deserve to be around me.
Not even the slightest bit.
***
Night.
I’m dressing for the party tonight.
It’s a celebration for an award our family just won.
Best Fishing Business in the World.
The media can’t stop praising us.
Calling us “an embodiment of a united family.”
If only they knew the truth.
My door suddenly opens.
Through the mirror, I catch Viola walking in.
She’s dressed in a deep blue sleeveless slit dress.
Diamonds glisten on her neck, her arms, her ears.
Every inch of her looks expensive and calculated.
“You’ve been in a sour mood since you got back from your trip to Nantucket,” Viola says, her tone dripping with scorn.
My gaze meets hers in the mirror.
“Don’t start, Viola.” I warn quietly as I fix a brooch onto my jacket.
A diamond brooch shaped like a rose.
A gift from my mother on my twentieth birthday.
Something I’ve cherished ever since.
“Well.” Viola continues, strolling further into the room, “If you’re really this sour, then things clearly didn’t go well for you.”
Her voice carries that teasing lilt.
But beneath it?
The usual bitterness.
I finish adjusting my blue bow tie.
A touch of blue for the occasion.
It was written on the invite.
A symbol of love.
But there’s nothing loving about my entire family, is there? Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
“Things worked out great, Viola,” I say coolly.
Her brow lifts, as she watches me.
Searching for cracks.
I give her none.
“Perhaps too well.” I add.
Smoothening my jacket.
Through the mirror, I watch Viola rise from the couch and walk toward me.
Slow and deliberate.
She wraps her arms around me from behind, her hands sliding up to my chest.
Her fingers begin rubbing slow circles there.
The sensation does nothing but irritate me.
“You’re lying, Tarian,” she whispers into my ear.
Then she smirks.
“The enthusiasm you carried when you left this house doesn’t match the mood you brought back.”
She pulls away slightly, watching me through the mirror with cruel satisfaction.
“And it only means one thing.” Her smile widens.
“Murieann Amran rejected you.”
The words slice down my spine.
Cold and sharp.
Fury surges inside me again, fury at Murieann’s strange behavior.
But I force it down.
Sure.
I felt humiliated at the way she treated me after we f*cked.
But that isn’t the whole truth.
Something happened.
In those last seconds before she asked me to leave.
Something shifted.
Something I still can’t understand.
And with cold regret clawing at me, I want to know what it was.
I want to know what I did wrong.
“You know,” I say slowly, my voice icing over, “Only a sick woman like you would twist every situation into the worst possible version.”
Viola frowns.
I turn to face her fully now.
“You complained that I left you to go on a business trip with another woman.” I continue.
“And you made such a fuss that my mother came to question me.”
I close the small space between us.
My voice drops lower.
Darker.
“Now that I’ve returned, you’re standing here smug because you think I was rejected.” A dark grin curls on my lips.
Her frown deepens.
“Can’t you see it, Viola?”
I lean closer.
“You’re never satisfied.”
My voice turns colder.
“Even if I had chosen to love you, you would have still found a reason to frustrate me at every turn.”
I watch my words hit her.
One by one.
Her expression freezes.
Her body stiffens.
Like stone.
“Meet me downstairs,” I say coldly, as I walk away from her.
Not even sparing her another glance.