Page 140 of Lawless Rivals

He slides a hand into his pocket, calm and composed as always. “I’ll come for you in a few months, okay?”

“It took you long enough when I was at Black Heath Stud.”

“They spread rumors you’d run off with your French lover,” he says. “As soon as I had my men confirm you hadn’t gone back to that cheating French fuck, I sent Riley.”

The answer should give me a clean place to put the hurt.

It doesn’t.

It only shows me how foolish I was to think distance had changed anything.

I’d been living away from home, drinking coffee in Paris cafés, sleeping in a bed no one in this house had chosen for me, and still they knew what I got up to and who screwed me over.

Despite having privacy, I was still a Harrington, and Harringtons are watched even when they think they’re free.

“You know Lucien cheated?”

Fionn nods. “He’s lucky I didn’t put a bullet in his fucking face.”

“Can you arrange a car for me?”

“I’ll drive you to the airport myself.”

I shake my head, already moving up the staircase. “A driver is fine. You should stay here with them.”

In my room, I pack fast without bothering to get changed. The green dress stays on, the silk whispering around my thighs as I pull outfits from drawers and shove them into a case.

Passport. Charger. Underwear. Makeup bag. The earrings from the dressing table, because they are mine even if they came from this house.

The last time I left home to travel, I knew I’d come back. This time, I can’t imagine sleeping in this bed again.

Downstairs, the regular driver waits by the front door. He nods and takes my suitcase while I follow him to the waiting town car.

Once the door closes, I stare out at my family home and swallow the lump in my throat.

“The airport, Miss Harrington?” he confirms from the front seat.

“Yes, please.”

As we pull away, I keep my face turned forward, but there’s an unsettled knot in my chest.

A heaviness that needs to be released before I can move on with my life.

Chapter 36

Saint

Dane is behind me before I reach my truck.

I reach for the driver’s door.

“No,” he says.

I don’t turn around. “I need to head out.”

“I know where you’re going and you’re not driving.”

My hand closes around the handle. “It’s not up to you.”