Page 18 of Save Me
He pauses, searching my eyes thoroughly. “I do, and partly. This was always the plan, but I want it moved forward. You have shown such promise. You don’t need to be here. You could be working with me, climbing the ladder tomorrow.”
I listen, every cell in my body on high alert. It would be easy to say yes, to step into the role he’s carved out for me since birth. But something holds me back, a whisper of caution that tells me not to trust the man who shares my blood but not my past.
“Think about it,” he urges.
I will think about it. I’ll mull over every word, every implication, because that’s what my life has taught me—to analyse, to question, and above all, to trust myself first.
“Thank you for the offer,” I say. “I’ll consider it.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly, unimpressed with my stalling. But I’m not a pushover, nor am I weak.
“Good,” he says after a beat, standing. “Don’t take too long.”
He leaves, taking with him the power, luxury, and guidance he offers—temptations wrapped in velvet chains.
But right now, there are no answers—only the weight of a decision that could change everything.
I rise slowly and make my way to my room, the door closing behind me quietly. My mind races, replaying Dad’s words likea broken record that won’t turn off. Crestmont or Syndicate? Education or silver spoon?
I drop onto the bed, the springs groaning under my weight. I need a minute, just one damn minute, without decisions snapping at my heels.
And it’s time I stopped avoiding the one person who I was supposed to be able to trust in this life.
Picking up my phone, I dial Mum.
“This number has been disconnected.”
“Huh?” Glaring at the phone, I hang up and try again, this time slower in case I was too quick for the phone to catch up.
“This number has been disconnected.”
“What in the hell?” Sitting, I frown. Could she not afford to pay the bill, so they cut her off? Fuck. This is what Dad doesn’t get. How could she have supposedly taken all that money when this is our life?
Flopping back, I have no idea how I’m supposed to reach her now. A letter? Rolling my eyes, I figure it’s probably quicker for me to take the train back to Westfield to check on her.
I can go tomorrow, maybe. Family first and all that, even if she has lied to me. She deserves her side of the story to be told.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I glance at it, wondering if it’s Mum. It’s not. It’s an alert for a new message. No name, just a string of numbers that mean nothing to me.
I tap the message open, a frown creasing my forehead. It’s a video clip. I press play and then let out a soft groan. It’s Thayer and me, wild, reckless, lost in each other in the car park of the bar earlier.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Who in the hell was there that recognised me, for fuck’s sake?”
Not that I should be moaning. We were on display for everyone to see, and that’s what made it so fucking hot. But it’s come back to bite me in the ass pretty fucking quickly.
I watch, unable to look away as the video plays through every heated touch and desperate kiss. Who sent this, and what do they want from me?
The phone vibrates in my hand again, pulling me from the tailspin of thoughts. Another video clip pops up on the same thread. I jab at the screen, every muscle in my body tense as the new video plays.
This one’s different. It’s me again, but younger, more naive, doing shit I swore was buried deep enough no one would ever find it. The blood drains from my face. My hands shake, the phone almost slipping from my grasp.
“Vogue?”
Harry’s voice comes muffled through the door, soft but insistent.
“Yeah,” I call out a bit too loudly as I click my phone off and chuck it on the bedside cabinet.
He opens the door and slips inside.
