The Heiress and the iron king

CHAPTER ONE Lauren’s POV The doorbell was striking a low note, and I stacked a pile of romance novels on the front table. The silence of Hawthorne was a delight to me, as I liked it. The old speakers were playing soft music, and the feeling of fresh air and forgetting that there was a world outside. I breathed slowly. Calm. Safe. Normal. "Lauren!" Behind the counter, Sophie called. You are making that a life-or-death task with that table. It must look perfect, I thought, pushing a book a little to the left. "Perfect is peaceful." She laughed. You must get excitement in your life. "No, thank you," I murmured. But I had no time to say more when there was shouting outside. Two men were screaming outside the shop window. The angry voices then cut through the silent room like knives. My chest tightened. Not now. Please not now. I stepped back from the table. The edge of my sight was blurred. My heart beat was very quick, too quick, as it would have been a pleasure to run away. The shouts became more and more pronounced, blending, bouncing off in my ears. I couldn't breathe. "Lauren?" Sophie hurried toward me. "Hey, look at me. Not them—me." "I—I can't—" My voice shook. It is nothing but a point, you see, and I have taken your hands, she said. "You're safe. This is your bookshop. You're okay." I was breathing as she had shown me. In. Out. Slow. Count to four. Slowly, my chest relaxed until the world came to rest. "That's it," she whispered. "You're alright. You are not as feeble as you believe you are. I shook my head. "No, I'm not. I cannot even cope with two strangers screaming. This is why I need to keep my life small. I guess you do not need to be small anymore, she said with a little smile. Perhaps you are too big to do nothing. I was about to say something in his defence when the bell struck once more. There came a dark-suited man with a long stride. Moving was slow and cautious, the manner one steps into a hospital or a place he/she is not familiar with. He brought a briefcase and silver hair, which was well combed. He did not appear like a person who was supposed to be in a small book shop. "Miss Lauren Aaron?" he inquired, and stared directly at me. My stomach dropped. "Yes?" He plunged into his briefcase. "My name is Charles Whitmore. I am a London legal representative. I have been told to give this. He took a big closed envelope--quality paper, governmental seal, my name printed in big black characters. Everything inside me froze. Sophie stepped closer to me. "Is something wrong?" "I'm... not sure," I whispered. Charles cleared his throat. This is an invitation to come to the reading of the will of Mr Raymond Carter. First thing tomorrow at Rowan International Headquarters. My throat tightened. "My grandfather?" "Yes," the man said gently. "He has passed away." I didn't speak. I couldn't. Years ago, my grandfather had disinherited me. No calls. No letters. Nothing. I had been faking it my whole life that he does not exist because it would make it less painful. Sophie touched my arm. "Lauren..." Charles maintained his solemn look. Your presence is demanded in the will. It is not optional." Optional. Not optional. My head spun. I have not seen him in years, I said to myself. "Why would he want me there now?" That is something we shall see tomorrow. Please come." He put the envelope on the table, bowed, and walked away immediately. He closed the door, and the shop was silent. Sophie took up the envelope and gave it to me. "Are you going to open it?" I had shaky hands breaking the seal. There was only one sheet of paper with clear black printing inside. A time. A place. A requirement. Rowan International. 10 AM. Mandatory attendance. My breathing started accelerating once more. "I cannot go." Yes, you can, Sophie said, mumbling. "No, Sophie, I can't!" I shook my voice. I would not be able to stand before strangers. I can't go to London alone. I can't face anything that big." You can not run away and be out of your life, she said. What should make everything different? “That’s the issue.” Tears stung my eyes. “I don’t want everything to change.” “But maybe it’s time.” I glanced down at the paper again. I dislike how my hands shook. “He left me,” I say quietly. “He never for once wants me.” “But he called for you now.” I stared at the box, my heart beating. Part of me wanted to tear it up and forget it existed. But another part, small and scared and buried deep, whispered something else. What if you’re to know the truth? I took a shaky breath. “If I go, will you come with me?” Sophie gave me a sad smile. I would like to, but I have a shift tomorrow. You'll have to go alone." Alone. That word felt heavy. Yet something within my breast resisted--just as much. "Okay," I said softly. "I'll go." The following morning, I found myself at the train station holding on to my coat. The air was cold, sharp, and noisy, shouting salesmen, noisy suitcases, and honking cabs. All the noises were causing my nerves to make a twisting motion, but I got on the train. The doors slid shut. This is it. No turning back. The world beyond the train blotted into green and grey lines as the train moved on. My palms were sweating. My heart was beating too big a beating. London was drawing nearer every minute, and with every halt was like a step toward something great--something I had not trained myself to expect. But I kept going. When the train came to a halt in London, I got out of it at the busy station. The human beings ran all over, raising their voices, laughing, screaming, moving so quickly that I could not even think. My breath caught. In. Out. Four counts. One step was heavier than the other as I obeyed the instructions on the paper. And then I saw it. Rowan International- a massive sky-reaching glass construction. It had high silver doors. Sharp people in sharp suits came and went in and out. I swallowed hard. I do not belong here, I said to myself. But I walked in anyway. It was a gigantic lobby, white marble floors, high ceilings, and glass walls. Everyone appeared to have a clue about the direction taken. I was there like an orphan child. A woman at the desk looked me up and down. “Can I help you?” “I’m… here for the will reading,” I said quietly. Her eyes were too narrow at me, because I did not look important enough. Her voice was clipped. "Tenth floor. Boardroom B." I nodded and rushed towards the lifts; it was beating fast again. I had pressed the button inside the lift and held my breath as it lifted. As the doors were opened, I saw a long hall, hung with framed pictures of my grandfather shaking hands with great people. He never shook hands with me. I reached Boardroom B. My hand hesitated on the door. Just open it, Lauren. I pushed it slowly. It was a big, bright room with a long table in its middle. Men in suits seated the chairs and were talking in low tones. They all looked at me and made it seem that I had entered the wrong world. My legs felt weak. Then I saw him. Mason Oscar. Tall. Sharp suit. Cold grey eyes. Dark hair neatly styled. A fellow who did not seem to smile, never hesitated, never was afraid of anything. He was at the upper end of the table with his hands in his pockets and was gazing at me as though he were aware of all there was to know about me. I froze. He moved slowly, with a movement that was assured and mastered. His eyes fixed on me-- unemotional, unreadable, almost excessive. You are late, Lauren, he said in a low and restrained voice. Pulling up a chair at the table, he did it. "Sit."