Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I am the illegitimate son, unwanted and despised.
Ophelia Hart is the girl next door. I’ve watched her grow up. And rescued her countless times from my half-brother.
I’ve been gone from her life for two years and when I run into her again, she’s no longer a girl.
Only problem is, she’s wearing his ring on her finger.
But there’s always been something between us. I’ve always been her protector. Especially when it comes to him. And that pull is stronger than ever.
She no longer thinks me the hero of her story, though.
But I know something she doesn’t. A secret from her past. And she’s in danger.
She’ll fight me.
I’ll fight for her.
If she hates me for what I have to do, so be it.
Because there is no way in hell I will let my half-brother have her.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
SILAS
Present Day
Ihit play on the remote and watch Horatio Hart walk toward the courthouse. His steps are slow. He’s searching the crowd. A smile finally creeps onto his face. That’s unexpected. There’s only one reason he’d smile minutes before his sentencing hearing. He’s looking at ten years, after all. I follow the path his gaze takes and there she is, standing just beyond the throng, easily missed, unless you’re looking for her. And I’m looking.
Ophelia Hart.
Horatio Hart’s daughter.
I zoom in on her face and pause. A baseball cap is pulled low over her forehead and a thick scarf is wrapped around her neck. It hides all that pretty blond hair. Her eyes are red, her skin flushed pink like it always gets when she cries.
The last few months cannot have been easy on her.
I hit play again and watch as Horatio nods to let her know he’s seen her. It’s a silent communication. A thank you. An I love you. Or hell, maybe it’s just an I’m sorry I’m such a fucking piece of shit.
Then he’s gone, urged on by his lawyer. He disappears up the stairs and into the federal courthouse in Boston’s waterfront Seaport District. If I didn’t have the sound muted, I’m sure all I’d hear would be the clicking of cameras and the screaming of Hart’s name as the press bombards him with questions. That or the obscenities shouted at him by the angry crowd.
Horatio Hart has been toppled from his pedestal. Those who once loved him now call for his head on a stake. I can’t blame them.
The reporter’s generic face fills the screen. Behind him I watch Ophelia. She lifts a gloved hand to wipe her eyes. Her scarf shifts and the wind sweeps up a lock of long hair. It floats feather light, like it’s the softest thing on earth.
It is. Strong too.
I know.
Someone clears their throat behind me, interrupting. I hit pause and shift my attention to Cecilia, my personal assistant.
“Sir, excuse me,” she says.
“Everything is ready?” I ask.
“Yes, sir. The jet is scheduled to take off within the hour.”
“Good. Is the penthouse booked?”
“Yes, sir. Had to do some maneuvering, but The Sinistral is always accommodating when they hear your name.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Ms. Gibson’s rooms?” I keep Nigella Gibson, my attorney, on retainer for the company.
“Arranged, sir.”
“Good. I’ll be spending the next few weeks there. Make sure to have everything I’ll need sent up.”
“Yes, sir.” She clears her throat. “Ms. Day is ready, sir. Shall I send her in?” she asks, voice lowered. I’m not sure how comfortable Cecilia is with managing this more intimate aspect of my life, but it’s why I pay her what I do. She is discreet, and that is all I require of her. I neither have the time nor the desire for a woman outside of the physical comforts their bodies provide.
Looking at it that way, Ms. Day has been on a sort of retainer too, I suppose. At least up until now.
I shift my gaze to the image of sad little Ophelia Hart on the screen.
“That won’t be necessary,” I tell Cecilia. “Make sure she’s paid generously for her trouble, though.” If Cecilia is bothered by this, she doesn’t let on. It’s not her place. “I’ll head out in a few minutes. Make sure the car is ready.”
“Already done, sir.”
With that, she’s gone, and I’m alone with Ophelia once more. I study her, take in those familiar, whiskey-colored eyes. Sad eyes. She always had sad eyes, even before everything happened.
It’s been a while, and as little as I like the idea of her being caught in the crossfire, she made her choice a long time ago. Collateral damage. No war is won without it. And I intend on winning this one.
1
OPHELIA
Past
New Neighbors
Iwatch out the window as the second moving truck pulls out of the driveway of the house next door. The driver takes the turn a little wide, and the front tire jumps the curb before he’s out of our private little cul-de-sac. The house sold a few months ago, and I’ve been keeping an eye on all the construction. I even snuck over a few times to have a look around, but my dad doesn’t know about that. I’ll have to pretend I’m seeing everything for the first time when we go over to meet our new neighbors later today.
Through my binoculars, a birthday gift from Dad, I zoom in on the movers carrying box after box into the house. I even get to look inside some of the rooms as a legion of workers unpack all the nice, new things. Downstairs is easier to see into since the windows are floor to ceiling. Upstairs, I can almost see into one of the bedrooms.
Movement along the path from the swimming pool to the detached and much smaller cottage catches my eye, and I turn to see two blurry figures. I adjust the lens and focus on the pair.