Chapter 11
717 Words
Chapter 11
HARRIET'S POV
The morning sun streamed through the massive windows of Marco's estate as I packed my small bag. My hands trembled slightly as I checked my phone again – there it was, the notification from my bank. One million dollars. The amount seemed surreal, like a dream I might wake up from at any moment.
"Your car is ready, Miss Blackwood." Edward, Marco's assistant, stood at the doorway. His expression was unreadable, professional to a fault.
I nodded, taking one last look around the room that had been mine for the past few days. The silk sheets still lay rumpled on the bed, a silent reminder of last night. I pushed the thought away. This was strictly business – I had what I needed to save my father's life, and that's all that mattered.
The click of expensive shoes against marble made my heart skip. I knew that sound by now.
"Leaving without saying goodbye?" Marco's voice carried its usual authority, but there was something else there too – something I couldn't quite place.
I turned to face him, clutching my bag like a shield. "I didn't think you were one for goodbyes, Don Sanchez."
His green eyes narrowed slightly at my formal tone. He crossed the room in three long strides, closing the distance between us. Up close, I could smell his cologne – cedar and something darker, more expensive. It made my head spin.
"You've fulfilled your end of the contract," he said, his voice low. "The money is yours."
"Thank you." I forced myself to meet his gaze. "My father's surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning."
Something flickered across his face – concern? But it was gone before I could be sure. "Edward will drive you home."
I waited for more, but there was nothing else. Of course there wasn't. What had I expected? Sweet words? A tender farewell? This was Don Marco Sanchez – the man who bought what he wanted and discarded it just as easily.
I shouldered my bag and walked past him, my heels echoing in the vast room. At the doorway, I paused, fighting the urge to look back. "Goodbye, Marco."
His silence followed me down the hallway, into the waiting car, and all the way home. It wasn't until I was unlocking the door to my tiny apartment that I realized I was crying.
My phone buzzed – the hospital confirming tomorrow's appointment. I wiped my eyes and straightened my shoulders. None of that mattered now. I had the money. My father would live. That was worth everything.
Even the hollow ache in my chest that I refused to name.
MARCO'S POV
I watched her car disappear through the gates, my fingers wrapped too tightly around my whiskey glass. The amber liquid caught the morning light, throwing shadows across my desk.
"The transfer has been confirmed, Don Sanchez," Edward reported from the doorway. "Miss Blackwood's father is scheduled for surgery tomorrow at Saint Mary's."
I nodded, not turning around. "Make sure our people at the hospital keep me informed."
"Of course, sir." He hesitated. "Will there be anything else?"
"Get rid of them."
"Sir?"
"The other girls. All of them. I want them gone by sunset."
Edward's surprise was evident in his silence, but he knew better than to question me. "Yes, Don Sanchez."
The door closed softly behind him. I drained my glass, letting the whiskey burn away the taste of her goodbye. Harriet Blackwood. The virgin who'd signed my contract for her father's life. She should have been like all the others – a simple transaction, a fleeting pleasure.
Instead, her dark eyes haunted me, filled with a fire I hadn't seen in years. Not since...
I hurled my glass against the wall, watching it shatter. No. I wouldn't go down that path again. Love was a weakness I'd buried with Sylvia, and that's where it would stay.
But as I turned to my desk, my hand brushed against the contract. Her signature was delicate, nothing like her spirit. Before I could stop myself, I was reaching for my phone.
"Sir?" Edward answered immediately.
"Find out everything about her new workplace. Everything."
I had another contract in mind. One that would bring her back to me, whether my heart wanted it or not.
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