5

The drive to the Hemingway estate felt like a march to the gallows, like she was headed to her own eternal damnation. Giselle gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white.

For three days, she had stayed perching on Serayah’s couch, staring at the ceiling and replaying a spontaneous loop with the handsome stranger in her head. The way his hands felt on her while he fucked her. The way he had looked at her like she was the only woman in the world, right before he took her to his slaughter bed.

She felt a wave of nausea. She had wanted to hurt Chase, but now she just felt stained. She didn't know how she was going to look him in the eye without flinching.

“I should have brought Lawrose”, she thought as she pulled into the circular driveway. “Or Serayah. Anyone to help me pack and leave this hell hole quietly”

The house was quiet. Too quiet. She let herself in with her key, thankfully the locks had not been changed, she would have to leave the key with their maid, Amelia today.

She stopped in the doorway. Her eyes raking in the view in one sight; suitcases were already lined up by the bed. They were packed tight, locked, and waiting.

"He couldn't even let me pack my own clothes," she whispered.

She sat on the edge of the bed, the same bed where she had dreamed of a life that was now going to be dissolved by a pile of legal documents. The guilt of the one-night stand hit her all at once just thinking about how happy she used to be by just being chase wife. She had cheated. Even if he had served her papers, she was still his wife that night. She felt cheap. She felt heart broken.

She collapsed onto the mattress and sobbed into the pillows. Hot bawls of tears.

"Mrs. Hemingway?"

Giselle jumped, wiping her eyes frantically. Amelia, the long-time housemaid, was standing in the doorway with a look of pure pity.

"Amelia. I’m sorry. I didn't hear you," Giselle stammered, sitting up.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"I'll be fine. I’m just... it’s a lot." Giselle cleared her throat and stood up, trying to regain some dignity. "Where is he? Where is Chase?"

"He is in the study, ma'am. He is with his father."

Giselle froze. "His father? Richard is here?"

She had always wanted to meet Chase’s family.

"Yes, ma'am. He arrived from London two days ago."

Giselle felt a spark in her nerves. In three years of marriage, she had never met a single member of Chase’s family. Chase spoke about his father as if he were a distant figure who only cared about the company. And his mother? Chase hated her. He’d told Giselle his mother had abandoned him as a child, and when he found out she died of cancer when turned eighteen, he had simply said she deserved whatever she got.

"I should go say hello," Giselle said, more to herself than Amelia. "I should at least meet the man before I’m legally removed from the family."

She walked down the long, carpeted hallway toward the doors of the study. As she got closer, she heard voices, it looked like they were arguing as she drew closer.

"You did what?" a deep masculine resonant voice boomed from behind the door.

"I served her divorce papers, Dad. I couldn’t wait till your return, it’s my personal life, not yours. I’m leaving her and it’s final," Chase’s voice snapped back.

"What made you so cruel to ditch your wife of three years on Valentine’s Day? I haven't even met the woman yet, and you’re already throwing her out? It’s bad for the image, Chase. It’s impulsive. We definitely do not want people thinking we mistreat women in this family, not at this stage of new company, you will have to reconsider your decision."

"Since when do you care about my marriage?" Chase shouted. "You’ve been in London for years! You were too busy to come to the wedding. You were too busy to visit for Christmas. What changed?"

Giselle stopped outside the door. That voice. The older man’s voice that sounded familiar but her mind could not register where she heard it from, it was a low, gravelly rumble. It sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with fear. It was familiar. Way too familiar.

"What changed is that I am back to run the New York office, and I won't have my son making headlines for being a heartless bastard," Richard barked.

“See… it’s always about your business!! For fuck sake dad, you cant be living your life and living mine!!” Chase growled.

The argument grew more heated, the sounds of footsteps pacing filling the room. Giselle couldn't take the suspense anymore. She pushed the doors open.

"Chase?" She called out softly.

The room instantly went silent.

Chase was standing by the window, looking visibly annoyed. But it was the man behind the desk who made the blood drain from Giselle’s face when their eyes met.

He was wearing a dark blue suit this time. He appeared a bit different from who she thought he was, more powerful, imposing and looked exactly like the man who had pinned and fucked hades out of her pussy about three nights ago. For a moment she prayed she was dreaming as she blinked her eyes in milliseconds.

Richard Hemingway stared at her. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second—the only sign of his shock—before he switched into a professional disposition that slammed Giselle back into reality, wondering if he recognized her.

"Oh, finally," Chase said, gesturing toward her with a mock bow. "Here she comes. The woman of the hour. My soon-to-be ex-wife, Giselle."

Chase walked over to the desk, oblivious to the lightning bolt of tension striking between the two people in the room.

"Giselle, meet my father, Richard Hemingway. He’s finally back from London to tell me how to live my fucking life."

Giselle couldn't breathe. Her lungs felt like they had turned to lead. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound or words came out. She felt the room tilt.

"Giselle?" Chase frowned. "What is wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Richard stood up slowly. He moved around the desk with the same attractive grace she remembered from the bar. He kept his eyes locked on hers.

"She looks like she’s about to faint, Chase," Richard said. His voice was steady, but there was a hidden depth to it that made Giselle’s knees shake. "Are you okay, Giselle?"

He reached out, his hand hovering near her elbow as if to steady her. Giselle recoiled slightly, her back hitting the doorframe.

"I... I’m just weak," she managed to whisper.

"Sit down," Richard commanded. It wasn't a suggestion. He guided her toward a leather armchair. "Chase, don't just stand there. Get her a glass of water."

Chase rolled his eyes. "She’s just being so fucking frantic and dramatic since the day I served her the divorce papers, Dad."

"I said get the water," Richard repeated. His voice was quiet this time, but it carried a terrifying edge of command.

Chase huffed and walked over to the water dispenser in the corner of the room. He filled a glass and brought it over, practically shoving it into Giselle’s hand.

"Here. Drink, I hope you don’t fucking choke" Chase said. "Then we can finish talking about the movers."

Giselle took a sip, the cold water doing nothing to settle the fire in her chest. She looked up and caught Richard watching her and tried to avoid his gaze. He was standing right next to her chair, his presence overwhelmingly strong. Instantly she recognized the perfume he was wearing, the very that set her soul ablaze three night ago. But all that didn’t matter considering she was struggling to process all the happenings leading up to that moment.

He knew. He knew exactly who she was. And she knew exactly what he was—her husband's father.