Page 127 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Abby

He’s right. I do owe him for what I did to him all those years ago.

When I was too young to realize that what I was going to do was not only wrong, but also quite serious.

When I was too consumed by jealousy and a sense that I should have anything I wanted.

How wrong I was. I didn’t have him then. I certainly don’t have him now.

I made sure he’ll hate me forever. I almost destroyed his life, and when I wanted to explain myself and justify my actions, but mostly, just apologize, it was too late.

He was gone. I hoped, over time, he’d come to forgive me—I mean, I was only fourteen—but clearly, that’s not the case.

Perhaps, it was na?ve to think once he found success, he’d put the past behind him.

Behind us. I hoped he’d forget about what I did, or at least, forgive me for it.

It’s been twelve years! I’ve certainly tried my best to forget. And how’s that going for you, eh?

I glance at my reflection in the mirror in the restroom of the V & A.

After Cade told me I owe him, I fell silent. I allowed him to hold me close as he proceeded to make his way around the room. He met film stars, well-known authors, other sport stars, and socialites with a confidence and ease I envy.

To think, I grew up in the middle of the London social scene, with my parents loving to entertain at home—yet I shy away from that very scene.

I never wanted to be part of it. I wanted to rebel against the constant need to put on a face, to make small talk, to pretend an interest in their very boring lives.

All I wanted was to break free and find myself.

To travel, meet new people, make friends who felt real, people who’d look behind the glitz of my background to the person I am.

Perhaps, I saw that lack of pretense in Cade, even then. Which is why I was attracted to him.

Make no mistake, though, I played that game well at the behest of my parents. Despite everything, I know they only wanted the best for me. So, I played my part as they asked, in the hope they’d leave me alone the rest of the time. And it worked.

It was a relief to turn eighteen and leave for university, and to finally make decisions about my own life. A hard-won freedom which is, once again, under threat. This time, from him.

While he was busy, caught up in conversation with a renowned philanthropist and his wife, I pulled away.

He let me leave, and for some reason, that upset me even more than if he’d held onto me as he’d done earlier.

Clearly, my emotions in relation to Cade are all over the place.

I needed to clear my head and walked to the powder room to refresh my make-up.

The door to the room opens, and two women chattering to each other walk in.

I refresh my lipstick, drop the tube into my evening bag, and walk out.

I head toward the great ballroom where the event is being held.

I shoulder my way through the people at the bar and those talking to each other in the vicinity of where I left Cade.

Of course, he’s not there. I turn and head toward the dance floor.

When I reach the edge, I spy a couple dancing. That’s when I see him.

I recognize his broad back, that line-backer build of his that overshadows everyone else’s and makes him stand taller than the others.

His suit jacket pulls over that tight arse of his.

His corded thighs flex as he glides forward, then back.

He turns and I take in the woman with him.

She has flashing brown eyes and dark hair.

Her entire personality vibrates with the kind of effervescence I’ve always wished for.

I’ve spent so much of my life trying to shrink into myself.

Trying to fade into the background and not be noticed.

The woman in Cade’s arms, however, is the kind who’ll attract attraction wherever she goes.

Is that who Cade likes to be with? A woman who seems larger-than-life?

A woman with the kind of charismatic presence that would complement his own?

A woman who throws back her head and laughs at something he says?

The sound is unrestrained, with the kind of lushness to it that speaks of someone who lives life to the fullest. Someone who's not afraid to face the ghosts of her past. Someone who, no doubt, faces her life head-on. Unlike me.

Pain slashes through my chest. A hot sensation coils in my throat.

I close my fingers around the straps of my evening purse.

So that’s it, then. I lost him before I even had him.

He’ll never look at me the way he’s glancing down at her.

His features are relaxed, his jaw unclenched.

His lips turn up in a wide smile. I blink.

I’ve never seen him smile like that before.

Not at me. Not at anyone else in the little time I’ve known him as an adult.

And certainly not when I knew him as a teenager.

No, this is the expression of someone who knows the other person well enough to let his guard down in her presence.

Has he been intimate with her? Was he in a relationship with her?

Maybe he still is. He bends his head, so their foreheads almost meet.

That ball of sensation in my throat expands until I can barely breathe.

I take a step forward when a man cuts through in front of me.

A man who is as tall and almost as wide as Cade.

A man I recognize as Hunter Whittington, the presumptive Prime Ministerial candidate.

A man whose body is wound so tightly, I can feel the tension pouring off of him.

A man who marches up to Cade and his partner.

They turn to face him. The man and the woman exchange heated words before he turns to Cade and says something that has Cade’s eyebrows drawing down. Cade turns to the woman and says something. That’s when Hunter swings and buries his fist in Cade’s face.

What the— I race forward, past the gaping onlookers, then pause when Cade swings back.

His fist connects with Hunter Whittington’s jaw.

I gasp. Blood drips from the side of his mouth and Hunter stumbles back.

Cade raises his fist again, and that’s when the woman steps between the two men.

Hunter rears forward, but she stabs her finger in his chest. Hunter stops and glances down at her.

She says something to him. Hunter nods. He looks up, scowls at Cade, but allows the woman to lead him away.

I close the distance to Cade and circle my fingers around his wrist. I raise his arm and take in the torn skin on his knuckles. "Your poor hand."