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He had a picture of him and his sister as his lock screen. They were both younger—teenagers, I guessed—and he had his arm slung around Hallie’s shoulders as they both grinned into the camera in a position that was classically a selfie. Something about the photo softened me towards him.
I was able to download my banking app, log in, and put a stop on the card, so at least that was one less thing to worry about.
After I’d deleted it again, I handed the phone back to him. “Thanks.”
I was aware that we were leaving central London, which was considered neutral territory, and heading into the Wynter territory of East London. Sharp spikes of panic went through me. What was I doing? Was I making a huge mistake? The phrase ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’ went through my head. It was no secret that Jayden had been asking questions about his father’s death and that his main suspects were my family members. What if he tried to use me to get back at my father and brothers?
Maybe then they’d show they cared?
My chest tightened. I couldn’t think that way. I wanted to be treated as an equal, but it wasn’t often women were in such a male, testosterone-filled society. I saw how my brothers used women as playthings, picking them up in bars and tossing them away again once they’d got what they wanted. God forbid someone actually developed feelings.
Jayden might not think much of the Wynter-Cornell marriage, but I’d watched on with something like longing in my heart. Hallie and Tam clearly loved one another. It was possible for people who were once enemies to become so much more.
I didn’t even know what I wanted from my life. Someone to love me for who I was and not because of what my surname was? Was that too much to ask?
The taxi stopped in front of the grand frontage of the five-star hotel in Shoreditch, and a doorman hurried forward to open the rear door of the black cab. Since I had no money, I allowed Jayden to pay. I would pay him back once I replaced my card—not that he needed the money. Just looking up at this hotel gave me an idea of the fortune he must be sitting on.
It was the early hours of the morning, so the place was quiet.
Self-conscious, especially in the expensive lobby, I kept my head down, my blonde hair falling over my face. I didn’t want anyone to see me, and I really didn’t want anyone to recognise me. Of course, I could explain my situation—that a Wynter was actually offering me help—but questions would still be asked, and one of them would be what I’d been doing in the centre of London, alone at two in the morning.
It was a question I didn’t want to answer.
But perhaps it would be better if someonedidknow where I was. If Jayden decided he wanted to use me to get back at my family, it might be an idea for someone to know my location.
My stomach twisted. I had no idea if I was doing the right thing or not.
“This way,” Jayden said, striding across the marble floors, towards a bank of lifts at the rear.
Everyone he passed bobbed their heads in a hello, or called greetings of “Goodnight, Mr Wynter,” even though it was technically closer to morning now than night. A few of them shot me curious glances, but I assumed they knew better than to question their boss.
He used a special key to call the lift, and, when it arrived, we both stepped inside. I was too aware of the small space, of the mirrors on all sides reflecting our faces back at us. For the first time, I saw the result of the attack. My hair at my temple was pink with blood. My eye makeup had smudged into panda eyes, and there were dirty marks on both my legs. Jayden’s jacket hung mid-thigh, dwarfing me, but at least it covered my torn dress.
Our eyes met in the mirror, and my breath caught. I dragged my gaze away again. I was frightened of what he was thinking. Was he really helping me out of the goodness of his heart? Did Jayden Wynter even have a heart?
The doors pinged open, and I emptied my lungs, grateful to be out of there.
We stepped into an open-plan penthouse. I took in the huge space, the sparse furniture, the hard floors. While beautiful, there was little comforting or inviting about the vastness of the space. How must it feel to live here all alone?
Did Jayden ever get lonely, or was he too busy having parties and inviting strings of girls back here to keep him entertained?
I hoped he didn’t think I was going to be one of those girls.
“You can stay here as long as you need to,” he said, tossing his keys and phone onto a hallway console.
I stared at Jayden Wynter’s face. I’d known who he was most of my life, but I’d never had any reason to either want to know him or get to know him. Our families were sworn enemies. Sure, we’d crossed paths at various events or even in restaurants or clubs, but we’d always given each other a wide berth. I knew his reputation of being a womaniser who cared only for booze and money, and laughed off responsibility.
I wondered what he’d heard of me.
The good girl who always did what her family told her. Who was sheltered by her overprotective brothers. I’d gone to a private school, kept my head down, got decent results in my exams.
We were around the same age—he had maybe a year or two on me, though he seemed older. Was it because he was a man? Or was it because of the amount of responsibility he now had on his shoulders?
He seemed different now—as though the death of his father had aged him. He’d always clearly been attractive, with his dark hair and eyes, the generous lips, and square jaw—but he’d always seemed young and wild with it. Now his hair was cut shorter—though still was long enough to hold a wave—and his face seemed harder, the cheekbones more prominent, the muscle in his jaw standing out. There was a new kind of glint in his eye. Maybe it had always been there, I didn’t know him well enough to be sure. The clothes were different, too. Gone were the ripped jeans and leather jacket, replaced by the sort of suit that was made to measure and cost thousands.
It was probably a mistake, allowing him to help me, but what choice did I have? I hated to think what might have happened if he hadn’t come along when he had. Just the thought tightened my chest, and I struggled to catch my breath, adrenaline pumping through my system, my heart beating hard.
I could slip into my house once I’d cleaned myself up and got a change of clothes. But then I remembered that my bag had been taken and the keys to my house had been inside. Shit. How was I going to get in without anyone noticing that I’d been out in the first place? Because of my family’s work, my house was locked down like Fort Knox. I wouldn’t be able to get back in without a key or someone else letting me in. Then the questions would start, and I didn’t want to answer them.
