~Reynold’s POV~
He reminded me that Mr. Mike was already at the house and threatened to stop paying for my mother’s treatment if I refused to come home.
Desperate for something to hold on to, I finally told Frederick the truth.
My father is trying to force me to come home and use my body to save his company. Mr. Mike is there today. But I’m not going.
Minutes ticked by before my phone finally chimed. My heart soared. I quickly snatched it up and scanned the screen.
I’m not stopping you. You’re free to do whatever you like, he replied, his tone chillingly detached.
I quickly typed back, relief making my fingers clumsy.
I’m not going! I just wanted to tell you the truth.
Okay. You don’t have to tell me, came his flat response.
I sent a few more messages after that, desperate to keep the conversation going, but he went completely silent again.
True to his threats, my father’s calls kept coming, followed by vile text messages threatening to abandon my mother to her fate. Surprisingly, though, I found that I wasn’t as broken by it as I used to be. I cared about my mother, but since I hadn’t even been allowed to see her, the threat no longer had the same hold over me.
Staying away from them meant keeping the tiny, fragile hope alive that Frederick might eventually come back.
The weekend came and went, but Frederick never returned. As the days passed, I began to realize that he really meant what he had said. It was almost a week since he left, yet he still hadn’t come back. He didn’t show up, but his invisible hand was everywhere. He had already hired a private chef for me, a kind, motherly older woman who quietly kept the massive kitchen stocked with fresh meals and made sure I ate.
Even though he never visited, delivery services kept arriving at the gates, filling the house with everything I could ever want. He replaced my entire wardrobe and had the newest models of high-end gadgets and electronics delivered to my door, even things I hadn’t asked for.
Every time something arrived, I took pictures and sent them to him with a note of thanks. I never stopped sending him my daily updates either, keeping him informed about everything I did.
Until, exactly one week after he had walked out, the crushing loneliness finally broke something inside me.
If I were your real child, I texted him in a moment of bitter anguish, would you just abandon me and never look back?
No reply.
That evening, the suffocating silence of the mansion became too much to bear.
I’m going out for a drink, I messaged him.
He didn’t reply.
I didn’t take the flashy new car out of the garage. Instead, I called a cab and went to a dark, crowded downtown bar alone. I sat in a corner booth and started drinking, drowning the ache in my chest until the edges of the room blurred and I could barely see straight.
The hope I had clung to for days was finally snapping, burning away into bitter ash.
He’s never coming back, a voice whispered in the back of my mind. You’re completely alone now.
By the time I tried to stand up, my legs felt like lead. The room spun violently, and all I could hear was the distant, haunting echo of Frederick’s voice in my head.
I stumbled toward the exit, my vision swimming, but before I could even make it through the door, my knees gave out.
Strong arms caught me just as darkness swallowed me whole.
I remembered nothing after that.
When I finally stirred the next morning, my eyelids felt like lead weights.
I slowly opened my eyes and blinked against the soft, warm sunlight filtering into the room. It took me a few seconds to realize something was wrong.
This wasn’t the hard, cold floor of the bar, and it certainly wasn’t the familiar ceiling of my bedroom at the estate.
I groaned softly and tried to shift my weight, immediately hissing as a sharp ache rippled through my lower body. My body felt tender and sore, and every muscle seemed to throb with an uncomfortable heaviness.
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
Panic surged through my veins. My hands flew down, frantically grabbing the edge of the duvet and pulling it back.
I was completely naked.
And I was lying in a plush, unfamiliar hotel bed.
No. No, no, no.
My breath hitched, tears springing to my eyes.
I made it worse. I got drunk and slept with a complete stranger...
Terror paralyzed me. I didn’t even dare turn my head to look at the face of the man sleeping beside me. My only instinct was to get out before I had to face the reality of what I had done.
Holding my breath, I slowly moved toward the edge of the mattress, my legs trembling.
Before I could even lower my feet to the floor, a heavy, muscular arm shot out from behind me, wrapping securely around my waist and pulling me backward against a hard, familiar chest.
A fresh wave of panic seized me. I struggled weakly against the grip, my voice shaking.
"Please! Please, just let me go! I don’t want to see your face. Please—"
Then a deep, low rumble vibrated against my back, cutting through my panic like a knife.
"Where are you going, little pet? Are you sure you don’t want to see my face?"
My entire world stopped.
The breath rushed out of my lungs in a single, ragged gasp. I didn’t even need to think. I twisted around in his arms so quickly I nearly gave myself whiplash, tears filling my eyes as I looked into his intense gaze.
Before he could say another word, I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face into his shoulder as I sobbed, clinging to him as if my life depended on it.
Frederick wrapped his arms tightly around my back, holding me close.
"Did you miss me that much?" he murmured, a faint, husky amusement threading through his voice.
I pulled back just enough to look at him, my voice cracking as my hands shook against his chest.
"Mr. Corvin... is this really you?"
He reached up, his large, warm hand gently cupping the back of my head and tilting my face up so I had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze.
"Call me Frederick," he corrected softly, his thumb sweeping over my cheekbone to brush away a stray tear. "Not Mr. Corvin."
I blinked, sniffing as I tried to process his words. "Why?"
A faint, tender smile touched the corners of his lips.
"’Mr. Corvin’ sounds too distant. And I don’t want to be distant from you anymore. So call me Frederick."
A fresh sob hitched in my throat...