AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No, brother, you aren’t. Please talk to me. I worry.”
“There’s someone who needs my help but they won’t take it. I’m worried they’re in danger.”
“Danger? What kind of danger?”
“There is someone she didn’t mean to upset. Someone who is now going out of his way to make her life hell.”
“Imogen?” she whispers, meeting my gaze. “You’re talking about Imogen?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Then you need to ignore what she thinks she needs. Imogen is strong, but sometimes that can be her weakness. She believes she can handle everything, but a person can only take on so much.”
“I know. He’s been watching her. He recorded her during, um… an intimate moment, and then tried to use it against her. He’s tried to get her arrested and he’s hurt her.”
“He hurt her?”
“I found out today. It’s taking everything in me not to go to his house and confront him.”
She takes my hand under the table. “Brother, you can’t do that. You can’t get in trouble with the police.”
“I know. Which is why I’m in a foul mood. I want to kill him. But I know him. He’ll happily go to the police and get me arrested.”
“Then you need to make sure the police are focused on him. You have to get them to see what he is like.”
“She won’t let me go to the police.”
“What are you two talking about?” Mum asks.
“Imogen!” Isabella answers loudly.
My eyes widen because there is no way she heard us talking from where she’s sitting. “What?”
“Imogen,” she repeats, this time pointing to the other end of the table.
I turn, and sure enough, Imogen is standing there, grimacing as she glances at the balloons and decorations. “Sorry. I completely forgot you were having a party.”
“Come sit. Eat,” Mum orders.
“I actually only came to see Ben, if that’s okay?”
“Si. But then you sit, ouramateImogen,” Mum orders.
She nods, not attempting to fight, and makes her way down the table. Mum makes Uncle Leo move down a chair to fit Imogen in next to me.
She leans down. “Can we talk in private for a minute?”
I nod, pushing back in my chair. “Mamma, we’re going to use your office for a moment. Imogen needs to talk to me quickly about a private work matter.”
“Don’t be long,” she demands and resumes her conversation with our aunt from our dad’s side.
“Happy birthday, Isabella,” Imogen calls, before grabbing my plate of starters. “I’ll be taking this.”
I let her lead the way, and my stomach grumbles as she eats my chicken wrap. It’s my favourite too. It has slices of chicken, DeLallo roasted pepper bruschetta, arugula, provolone cheese, tomato, DeLallo artichoke bruschetta, black olives and red onion, topped with a Balsamic glaze. It’s mouth-watering.
And Imogen Smith is wolfing it down.
“I was looking forward to eating that,” I grouch as we enter the office.
