“Congrats, princess,” he said, and I met his eyes. “Seems like the white knight got you after all. Have fun in your fucking ivory tower.” He opened the door, and I reached out for his hand. I wrapped my fingers around his, praying he would hold mine back. Arthur stopped in his tracks, but without looking my way, he tossed my hand away and left.
And I knew. I knew that would be the last time I would ever see him. The Arthur I had known had died, and in his place was this cold devil he warned me he would become.
The boy I loved had sold his soul to evil. And even as I walked to my window and watched his driver usher him away, I felt as thought my heart was in that car with him. He may not have wanted it. May have hated the very thought of it. But it was his regardless. Even if I never saw him again, it was his.
I believed it had been since birth, and forever would be.
Chapter Six
CHESKA
Thirteen months later
Hugo pressed a kiss to my cheek and sat down opposite me. He gave me a fleeting smile before he checked his mobile. “Problem?” I asked, as the waitress dropped off my gin and tonic.
“No, just work stuff,” he said, but I watched him closer as the waitress placed his IPA before him. He’d been acting sketchy of late, and I didn’t know why. We were due to get married in less than a month. My stomach rolled at that fact. It was here. Just around the corner. I was actually marrying Hugo. It had always been on the cards, but having it come to fruition was surreal.
“Hello, children.” My dad took his seat in between me and Hugo. “You okay, Ches?” he asked me in his usual tight-lipped way. I loved my dad. I truly did. But it was no secret that he had never been the warm and loving father most people got to experience. My mum had been the affectionate parent. My father was a businessman through and through, and that occupied all of his time. Family had always been an afterthought to him. I knew he loved me. But I wasn’t his entire world and never had been.
“Are you ready for the wedding?” Dad asked me. The waitress placed his sandwich and latte on the table before him.
“I pick up the dress next week. Other than that, everything is sorted.” I sipped at my soup. “It’s my hen do this weekend. Arabella and Freya have it all planned. I have no idea what we’re doing.”
“Sounds nice,” my father said dismissively and patted my hand. He turned to Hugo. “I’ve just got off the phone to …” I zoned out as Dad started talking Hugo’s ear off about work. I found myself watching the other people at the café. My dad had made it clear that, despite having a master’s in business from Oxford and desires to join the Harlow Biscuit empire, it wasn’t my place.
I fought off my rising ire and refocused on the couples and families, all smiling and happy as they caught up over lunch. I wondered what it would be like to be them for a moment. To be that excited to see one’s parents or siblings. We had money, and I had never wanted for anything. But all the riches in the world couldn’t make up for the emotional poverty that came with lack of familial affection.
Playing with the lime in my drink, I suddenly caught sight of a dark-haired man. He was dressed in an impeccable suit and wore black-rimmed glasses. My pounding heart lodged in my throat. I focused harder, trying to make him out, but on closer inspection it wasn’t him.
I took a steadying breath and willed myself to calm down. The man sat down beside a woman in a long red dress, kissing her on the cheek and holding her hand.
I rarely gave myself the luxury of thinking of Arthur. Ever since he walked out of my life thirteen months ago, I hadn’t once seen him. Hadn’t received one single text.
But that didn’t mean I hadn’t heard of him. Everyone in London and beyond knew of Arthur now. In the thirteen months since he had taken the helm of the Adley firm, he had caused what could only be described as havoc in the criminal underworld.
Murderer. The Bethnal Green Brute. The Devil himself. Or, as he was more widely known, the Dark Lord of London Town—some catchy headline with which one of the trashy tabloids had branded him.
It had stuck.
I remembered the cold, emotionless eyes that had said goodbye to me in Oxford a year ago. How, in the hours he had slept in my arms, he had morphed from a man with darkness in his soul into what was rumoured to be evil incarnate. He had awoken in my flat in Oxford as the infamous cold-blooded gangster he was now known to be. He ruled our city with an iron fist. He left a trail of misery and bodies in his wake. But the police could never catch him. Arthur was untouchable. He was feared.