PART ONE — THREE YEARS AGO

Event: The Miller Charity Party

Venue: The Geraldine's Hotels

“... you know this will help you get your inheritance. It's all for you, Lila. Everything your uncle and I do, is for your own good.” My aunt, Erica Shaw, hissed at me. Short and thin fingers curled around my upper arm, blunt nails digging into my skin.

I gave a grimace, nodding “Yes, Aunt Erica.” Gently, I pulled my arm from her grip, wincing at the half moon marks she left on my skin.

“Great!” Her lips pulled up into a wide smile that was as fake as the jewelry I wore, and her eyes pretended to crinkle at the corners. “Now, mingle” She gave two claps in a ‘chop-chop’ manner and gently shoved me into the mass of moving bodies. I moved along with them.

We were at a private charity gala organised by the Millers at ‘The Geraldine's Hotels’, in a quest to ‘give back’ to the community —the community they stole from, but who’s counting.

The soft tunes of the violins, saxophones and piano pierced the room, creating a melodious and nostalgic atmosphere.

As the night wore on, I made my way to the wine fountain and grabbed a flute of champagne. I felt like a porcelain doll on display, forced to smile and mingle with people who only cared about power and titles. The music and laughter seemed to swirl around me, a cacophony of superficiality that made my skin crawl.

The men and women mingling in the room spoke in hushed tones about mergers and acquisitions, their voices dripping with confidence and entitlement.

There were businessmen, wives of businessmen, mistresses of businessmen, and like me, nieces or daughters of businessmen.

All of them were clad in high end designer gowns and suits, their fingers adorned with diamond-encrusted cufflinks and elbow-length gloves, —just to be extra — expensive watches, and too high heels.

Well, that was Mrs. Augustine, wife to Mr. Jamieson Edwards, the president of Azure Seas. They owned a yacht and ship collection for hire.

They were one of the few people I was familiar with. Others, well I either mixed up their names or mixed up their faces.

My hands plucked a piece of grape from the base of the fountain and I took a bite, its sweet juice filling my mouth.

“Hello, there,” I turned to the male voice that snuck up beside me, his hands stretched out for a handshake. I shook it. “I'm Collins Turner, the fourth. CEO of Nova Tech”

I swallowed my laughter with the grape. “I'm Lila. Lila Rose”. I refrained from adding, ‘the first’. He wouldn't get it. They only found humour in gossip, closed deals and golf.

He quirked a brow at that, lifting my knuckles to his lips and placing a kiss there. I wanted to roll my eyes.

“Lila Rose…” He drawled expectantly, his lips in a tight line and I knew what he wanted.

He wanted a flamboyant introduction. Maybe Lila Rose the CEO or Princess Lila Rose. I was neither of those things, at least not until I got my inheritance.

“Just Lila Rose.” I replied, my voice firm.

He nodded, clearing his throat. My lips twitched as I watched him pluck a flute of champagne and down it in one go, jaw clenching in irritation. “Very well, Lila.” He said and left. But not before grabbing another flute, from a different server.

My teeth bit down on my bottom lip to stifle the giggle that wanted to escape. Honestly, I've met a lot of ‘Collins’ at these events and I've had to watch the light being snuffed out of their eyes when they realise I have nothing to offer except, Lila Rose. They probably wondered how I got into these events.

Those that knew me as Gregory Shaw's niece were “nicer”. But only because I was his niece.

Collins slithered his way up to a group of men and he seemed to be content, with the way he smiled and laughed with them.

I tore my gaze away, biting into another delicious grape.

*At least they had tasty appetisers at events like these. *I thought.

Spotting my aunt walk up to me, her floor-length sequined gown swaying with each step and a flute in her hand, I groaned inwardly.

“There you are, Lila.” She started, her eyes searching the ballroom. “Why aren't you getting acquainted with people? You need to learn to make connections, get to know these individuals. It will come in handy, soon.”

“I did. I met the CEO of Nova Tech. Collins Turner,” I paused. “–the fourth.”

A flash of surprise crossed her face. “That's very wonderful.” She replied, the joke completely going over her head.

Did I love my Uncle and his family? Absolutely not. But, I was grateful to them for taking me in after my parents died, when I was fourteen. The first few years of living with them was hell, especially with their daughter, Helena.

She made everything more unbearable for me, I was miserable. The taunting and snide remarks thrown at me, conversations I overheard between my Uncle and aunt.

Pfft!

They didn't love me either. We only tolerated each other and I knew I was just an asset to them.

*'Patience Greg,” *I had overheard.* “-Her inheritance is what makes her valuable to us.’ *

That day, my Uncle was fed up with me and wanted to throw me out of his house, because I and Helena got into our usual squabble where I ended up smacking her across the cheek. Hard.

Of course, she tattled.

If they thought they had a chance at my inheritance, they were wrong because I would do everything in my power to leave with it.

Every. Single. Penny.

“You can't just meet one person though, dear,” She said pointedly, fussing around the table. My eyes were fixed on the different groups of people huddled together. Then, they drifted towards two pairs of couples that were dancing— salsa.

---

💋 To be continued...

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Their hands and feet moved in sync with the tempo of the orchestra, sliding and gliding on the floor. Diamonds and sequins, catching the light and forming soft coloured dots wherever the light reflected it.

I was transfixed.

Squinting my eyes, one of the female dancers was Constance Quinn. She was one of four mistresses to Sir Viktor Harrison— an old, grey-headed man, vying for the seat of the senate in the next election.

“Oh, lovely Constance. Always making her daddy proud.” I ignored the double meaning of the words my aunt uttered but turned to her, regardless.

She held up two flutes of champagne. “Here, drink up. Some liquid courage because we are going to introduce you to a lot of capable men,” She swirled the drinks. “and women.”

Handing one to me, she clinked our glasses and took a gulp of hers. I faked a grin and gulped down my champagne too, the warm, amber liquid soothing my dry mouth and filling it with the tangy taste of…well, champagne.

Erica's eyes brimmed with excitement, —lips curling up as she bounced on her feet— so much so that she hooked her arm in mine and led me around.

We walked and talked for almost five minutes. Then, a wave of dizziness washed over me, like a cold tide pulling me under. The music and laughter seemed to blur together, and I felt a prickling sensation on my skin, like pins and needles.

I tried to shake off the feeling, but my vision began to blur, and my legs felt like jelly beneath me. If I looked into a mirror, I was sure that my face would be red and blotchy from the exhaustion and the fuzziness I felt.

Just when I thought we had stopped, she pulled me again, gushing, “Oh, that's Priscilla Crane. Daughter of Thomas Crane and future wife to Elijah Ryker. Gosh, she's so stunning. Let's go say hi.”

*No!* I wanted to sit or better yet, sleep so I planted my feet to the ground, digging my heels to the floor.

“Aunt Erica, please.” I begged. “We've met a lot of prestigious people tonight, plus, I don't feel too good.” My voice sounded far away.

I unlinked our arms and took a step back from her. Far enough to prevent her from snatching me into her grip, but close enough to hear what she had to say.

Her lips gave a slight twitch, eyes calculating.

“Oh dear,” She clutched her pearls in theatrical horror, eyes widening with mock concern. “What's wrong?”

I wanted to scoff, because I knew my aunt. She had no sympathy for me, so her display of concern blared warning bells at the back of my mind.

But, I humoured her.

“I feel funny. A little dizzy, foggy. Sleepy.” I tried to blink away the haze and blur of my vision and my lips pulled down into a frown as the scenario settled in my mind.

It was not normal to feel this way and even when everything in me felt it was just the exhaustion, I knew better.

“You're definitely tired then,” She murmured, guiding me towards the elevator with a hand on my back. “Come on, let's take you to a suite so you can sleep it off.”

I narrowed my eyes at her, my lips pursed.

This hotel, amongst the other ‘Geraldine's Hotels’ across the country, was owned by Lady Ellen Wells, a 34-year-old widow. Her husband's death had caused a scandal and the media spun tales which pointed to her as the murderer.

If the rumours I heard were true, —that he was physically abusive— then, the man deserved to die.

The elevator doors opened on the 12th floor, to reveal a large expanse of hallway, with two large doors on each side, and our heels echoed with every step on the stylish herringbone floors.

Wooden abstract figurines and paintings decorated the walls. Large potted plants were placed at the corners of the hallways and beside each door.

Warm fluorescent light accentuated the flare, the vents released cool air that pricked at my exposed skin, causing goosebumps to erupt. The scent of lavender and freshness tickled my nostrils.

It was a beautiful hotel, at least from what my blurry eyes could make out.

We stopped at one of the doors, my head raising to find a ‘Suite 301’engraved on a wooden plaque, placed above it.

“You can rest here-” My aunt's words were interrupted by a shrill ringing of her phone which she quickly took out of her gold purse, her eyes scanning the caller ID.

She gave me a look, jaw clenching in irritation briefly, before she schooled her features and plastered a sickly sweet smile. “This is the key card. Rest up.”

I staggered on my feet when she shoved the key card into me, my mouth parting on a gasp.

“Hello, Greg,” She placed the phone to her ear, gave me a look and walked away.

My eyes flicked between her blurry retreating back and the key card with S.301 engraved into it in small font. I was coherent enough to know that this was not a coincidence.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I recalled that the only drink I had was the one she gave me and all of a sudden, I had a suite I could ‘rest up’ in.

I had no idea what they planned, but I did not want to find out. Also, I actually needed to lie down.

My eyes zoned in on a partially opened door opposite where I stood— Suite 304— and I stumbled the few distance across. My hands held on to the wall to support my frame and I pushed into the dark room.

Feeling along the walls, I turned on the lights and slammed the door shut, turning the lock. I knew sneaking into an empty suite, that I did not pay for, was the perfect scenario to cause the spread of gossip.

---

💋 To be continued...

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But I just needed to shut my eyes. Only for a little bit.

*I would leave in thirty minutes. *I told myself, making a mental note to set my alarm after I've settled in.

Three gray coloured sofas lined the sitting room, a cylindrical glass table adorned with plastic fruits in a fruit basket, sat at the center, opposite a sleek, white TV unit. The walls were a blend of gray, black and white that screamed ‘sophistication’.

To my far left was a dining area and bar of some sort. A small oak table sat in the middle, with three chairs flanking it. While at the corner, a liquor cabinet lined the wall with a makeshift bar counter and bar stools.

I gave a hum of appreciation and took off my heels, sighing in relief when my bare feet made contact with the plush black carpet. I wiggled my toes and began my journey towards the room, ignoring the closed door in the dining, that probably led to a fancy kitchenette.

The door opened on a click exposing a cold dark room and I stumbled in, turning to switch on the lights.

“Who the fuck are you?” I tensed, my back stiffening as I felt warm minty breath on the back of my neck and the cold press of a gun on the exposed dip of my waist.

*What a way to go, Lila.* I shuddered, raising my hands in surrender.

“My name is Lila. Lila Rose.”

It seemed as though my body and mind felt different things regarding this scenario. Because despite the rapid thumping of my heart, my sweaty palms and shaky limbs, my mind recalled the interaction with Collins the fourth and I began shaking with barely controlled laughter.

“Are you laughing?” The annoyance in that deep baritone only made me burst into laughter.

I gave a snort which triggered more rounds of giggles, my body bending at the waist and one hand holding on to the wall for support.

He moved away, the gun dropping from my waist and I took that opportunity to face the quite familiar stranger, my hands gripping my cramping tummy.

He raised a perfectly trimmed brow at my display, his eyes hard, and lips pulled in a firm line. He crossed thick forearms in disapproval, his biceps bunching up the white shirt he wore, tucked into black slacks.

The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and two buttons were undone, revealing a sliver of smooth tan skin and a silver chain with a ring on it.

“Lila Rose who?” Ah! He also wanted the flamboyant introduction. My eyes moved from his bare feet up to his face— black hair, styled in messy waves and a chiseled jaw.

Meeting his red-rimmed stormy gray eyes, I shrugged, the fits of laughter subsiding and leaving exhaustion.

I took a step in the direction of the bed and then I crumpled to the floor in a pile of limbs and fabric.

He sank to the floor in front of me, toned thighs crisscrossing and I wondered how such a big and ripped man could fold himself on the floor like that.

My cheeks heated as I felt the burn of his gaze on my face, my eyes blinking to ward off the ever present fog in my mind.

“What?” I grumbled, my eyes taking in anything and everything that was not him.

I took in a deep breath and his scent assaulted my nostrils, a mix of sandalwood, after-shave and ‘expensive man’. My body loved it and was acutely aware of how attractive he was, judging by the heat in my tummy and the fluttering of my pulse.

He held my chin in his fingers, pulling my eyes back to his. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to tuck my hair behind my ears.

He hummed, jaw ticking before he sighed out. “Yup, you're as drugged up as I am.”

---

💋 To be continued...

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