Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

“Get the hell out.” Edward sneers.

“Don’t push me, cunt, or I’ll fucking knock you out. Explain to me why Charlotte, a woman who you’re both supposed to love, spent the night crying because you two won’t see her?”

Harold’s face falls.

“She’s fucking heartbroken!” I cry. “And why? All because neither one of you has enough guts to trust me?”

Edward glares at me. “You’re no good for her.”

“She doesn’t want a fucking Christmas because of you. I came home from work last night to find her on the floor sobbing over her fucked-up, selfish family.”

Edward’s eyes drop to the floor.

“I don’t give a fuck if you don’t like me,” I shout. “But you will not punish her for loving me.” I’m so angry, my eyes fill with unexpected tears.

Edward lifts his chin in defiance. “She needs to come home. It’s where she belongs.”

My temper hits an all-time high. “Nobody can love her more than I do. Nobody! I’ve done some fucked-up things in my life, I’ll admit, but I love her and I’m marrying her whether you like it or not. If you keep going like this, the hurt you inflict on her will be way too deep for you to ever repair.”

Harold watches me, and I turn to him. “Do you think your wife would be proud of the way you’re treating your beloved daughter?” I whisper in contempt.

His haunted eyes hold mine.

“I wouldn’t treat a fucking dog the way you’ve treated her. You, of all people, should understand how she feels.” I sneer. “You fell for the hired help, for Christ’s sake.”

“You leave my mother the fuck out of this,” Edward snaps and throws a punch at my jaw. I stagger back, recover quickly, and then I punch him in the face as hard as I can. We grab each other turning it into a scuffle. Punches are thrown and the table tips over in the foyer. A guard comes rushing in from outside.

We struggle on the floor until I’m dragged to my feet by my biceps.

“Get him outside!” Edward yells.

“You make this right!” I yell at Harold with hot blood trickling from my lip. “Do you hear me? You fix this.”

I’m pushed out of the front door and down the stairs before I’m thrown into my car by the guards.

I’m so angry I can’t even see straight.

I take off and speed out the gates, glaring at the estate behind me disappearing quickly. I wince as I touch my eye, I think it’s already black.

* * *

It’s late afternoon and I’m just tidying up for the day. I had to buy a new shirt before I could come into the office. The one I was wearing got ripped this morning in Nottingham. I have no idea how I’m going to explain this black eye and cut lip to Charlotte, either. I’ll think I’ll say it happened in the gym while boxing.

My phone rings and the name Angel lights up the screen.

“Hello, my beautiful girl.”

“Hi,” she breathes, and I can tell that she’s smiling. “Thank you for being so wonderful.”

I frown, wondering what she means. “How are you feeling?” I ask. Does she know about my little psycho attack in Nottingham this morning?

She exhales heavily. “Better. You won’t believe it.”

“What?”

“My father just called me.”

I frown. “He did?” I hesitate. Shit. “What did he say?”