Empire of Hate: A Second Chance Enemies to Lovers Romance

PRESENT

I’m going to punch a wall.

Or a door.

Or better yet, myself.

The only thing that stops me is the way Nicole is shaking and chanting, “Please don’t hurt me…don’t hurt me, Christopher.”

That lowlife Christopher.

The motherfucker that I should’ve nutted that first time I saw him hovering over her while she was pumped with E.

When I thought she meant to have sex with him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What have I done?

I stare at Nicole’s tear-streaked face, at the tremor in her body and the glassy look in her light eyes. They appear lifeless. Dead.

She came back into herself earlier, cried the worst I’ve seen her, and fessed up everything as if she couldn’t stop. As if she waited her whole life to talk about that horrible experience. From the bits and pieces she told me just now, Christopher raped her in her pool house.

I told him to stop.

I begged him to stop.

That’s what she said. He hit her, too, and she recalled everything that happened to her afterward.

The pain.

The helplessness.

Everything.

All that took place when I was broken to fucking pieces after I heard from Astrid that she saw Nicole having sex with Christopher.

When, in fact, he was raping her.

When, in fact, she’d been silently screaming for help.

And because my ego is dick-shaped, I told Nicole she was nothing when she came to find me.

Just after she was brutalized by that fucking scum.

The small supply room’s walls close in on me, and I have to breathe deeply so as not to agitate her further. That’s what I do with clients with a fragile mental state—I become the anchor they can hold on to. The only difference is that I’m detached enough to do that with them.

I can’t be fucking detached with Nicole.

Not when her pain is bleeding in my fucking veins.

“Why didn’t you ask Astrid for help?” I ask, my jaw clenched so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t dislocate.

“I wasn’t sure I saw her. I think I had…a concussion, and uh…I don’t know, but I was bleeding after he was…done.”

“Did you go to the hospital?” My voice imitates the calmest monk while my insides roar with a burning fire.

She frantically shakes her head. “I got better after a few days on my own.”

“Fuck, Nicole, fuck! Why didn’t you file a report?”

“I couldn’t!” Now she’s the one who’s screaming while she sobs. “Mum would’ve been so disappointed in me.”

“Your mother was a fucking criminal. She had no bloody right to be disappointed in you.”

“She was my mother. I didn’t know anything about what she’d done at the time, and what did you expect me to say? I asked a boy over and he raped me? Who would’ve believed me?”

“They would’ve believed the medical rape kit the doctor would’ve made. You said you were fucking bleeding.”

“It wasn’t worth it.”

“What?”

“Dragging Mum and Uncle Henry’s names through the mud wasn’t worth it. Christopher was a deputy commissioner’s son. He would’ve gotten away with it. They would’ve said I asked for it.”

“But that’s not the case.”

“Maybe it was!” She pushes me away, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Maybe I was stupid and obsessed and was blind to invite a predator to my house. It happened, okay? It all happened, so what was the point of making a report?”

“Fucking justice, Nicole.”

“I didn’t need that.”

“Clearly. Judging by the way you have panic and anxiety attacks whenever you’re touched sexually.”

“Then stop touching me!” She turns around and flings the door open. “I was doing just fine before you came back into my life.”

And then she’s running outside.

I catch up to her in no time and practically pick her up and shove her into my car. I remind myself that I need to be more gentle. That she just shared a traumatic experience she never told anyone about.

She tried to tell you back then, too, but you rejected her like a sorry cunt.

Is there a way to reach out to eighteen-year-old me and choke him to death? To make him aware of who stood on his fucking doorstep that night?

It wasn’t only Nicole. It was Nicole in need of help. It was Nicole traumatized, vulnerable and weak, and the last thing I should’ve done was shut the door in her face.

The evening Astrid told me she saw Nicole and Christopher having sex, I remember seeing black. I remember it so well.

It’s the moment that shaped my arsehole self and turned me into a blonde-hater.

But as the world blew into smithereens in front of my eyes, I pretended nothing was wrong and even teased Astrid about her relationship with Levi.

I acted normally while my heart was bleeding on the floor.

I smiled while I was ripped open from the inside.

Then, when Astrid, my brother, and I got together to go bowling, I remember the doomsday-like feeling that crowded my spine.

I remember not hearing a word they were saying. The sounds and colors became gray and I was seconds away from snapping.

So I told them I was getting drinks. Instead, I drove straight to Astrid’s house. To Nicole.

I had to talk to her.

To ask her why the fuck she chose someone else.

Then I recalled that I’d flung girls in her face like they were shiny toys. I remembered that she often called me Astrid’s loser friend and looked down her aristocratic nose at me.

I recalled that I was nothing.

But I stood there like a creep for a whole hour, until I was sure one of the neighbors would call the police.

Then I went to the liquor store, got drunk on the cheapest whiskey available, and called the first girl on my contact list.

That’s when Nicole found me.

Drenched in the rain, her eyes deep and dark and a little lifeless, now that I think about it.

That’s how we ended.

When I told her she was nothing to me.

A few weeks later, her mother got arrested for killing Astrid’s mother and nearly murdering my best friend in that hit-and-run.

Nicole disappeared soon after.

And I left England the same calendar year.

“I never fucked that girl,” I say slowly as I drive.

Nicole, who’s leaning against the door with her knees pulled to her chest, flinches. “What girl?”

“The one you found me with that night. I kicked her out soon after you left.” I got drunk on more cheap whiskey and stared at the fucking snow globe she gave me all night long.

It was the first and last time I knew what a broken heart felt like. Excruciating pain, epic hangovers, and model-like blondes with vicious character.

It also included living with a heart that had a hole the size of a fist in it.

I filled it up with booze, sex, and a social life fit for Victorian courts. But it was never full.

Not really.

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispers, her voice haunted, a bit hoarse.

“It matters to me. I didn’t fuck her the night you were hurt, Nicole.”

“I believed it.” She laughs, then breaks down in tears. “That night, all I could think about was you with her. Guess I should thank you for the distraction. God, I was so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

She folds more into herself, using her hold on her knees as armor against the world.

The people.

The injustice.

I’m too close to driving my fist into the steering wheel and inevitably getting us both killed.

If I’d listened to her back then, if I hadn’t been so shoved up my own arse and so attuned to my naïve heartbreak, I would’ve seen it.

I would’ve seen her brokenness and silent plea for help.

But I didn’t.

And I spent the following weeks actively pretending she was a pest.

She didn’t look at me either. Not even her usual glares or haughty remarks.

The day Victoria Clifford’s mask fell off and the police arrested her, Nicole broke down and maybe that wasn’t only for finding out her only parent is a monster. Maybe she let the world see her rare tears because of the pain that was festering inside her for weeks.

After the police escorted her mother out of the room, I wrapped my arm around Nicole’s shoulder and led her to the hallway. Even though the wound I thought she caused was fresh, bleeding, and refused to get better, I still felt a twinge in my gut at witnessing her state.

I still wanted to get her away from a furious Uncle Henry and a heartbroken Astrid. Despite my loyalty to my best friend, a part of me wanted to protect Nicole from her wrath if she or her father decided to blame Nicole for her mother’s actions.

And for a few minutes, Nicole allowed me to hold her, to silently console her while she sniffled and trembled like a leaf in a violent storm.

But then I broke the spell and asked like a first-class idiot, “Do you need anything?”

What could a girl who just realized her mother was a murderer need, Dan? Maybe you’re the one who needs a more functioning brain.

Obviously, I was on a kick of being daft back then because when her lips trembled, I lowered my head and brushed my lips against hers.

In my simpleton mind, I only wanted her to get better, to forget even for some time, but I ended up ripping my heart’s stitches open and kissing her with the desperation of a madman. I swear she kissed me back for a brief moment. For a second in time, we were so in tune that I had no clue where she ended and I began.

But then, she swiftly pulled from my hold, and stared ahead. “I need you away from me, Daniel.”

And then, she marched out.

A few days later, she packed her suitcases and left.

She hadn’t even looked at me. Not once. And I’d thought she was done with me.

I’d thought I was done with her, too.

All these years later and I’m learning the hard fucking way that I was never done with her.

Not when I never really got started with her.

“How did that fucker…” I trail off at my strained tone and start again with a cooler one. “How did he become Jayden’s father?”

A chin tremble. A jerk. Silence.

“Is he…actually your son?”

“No! Do you think I would’ve let that monster have more hold on me?”

“I’m just asking.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I’m on your side here.”

She huffs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I really am, Nicole. Tell me…” I purse my lips and add, “Please.”

More silence. More huffing. I swear the interior of my car is a thousand degrees and it’s a miracle I don’t drive straight into a wall at this point.

Nicole opens her mouth a few times, then stares out the window as she speaks in a soft, choked tone. “After Mum was arrested, I couldn’t bring myself to go see her. I felt so sorry toward Uncle Henry and even Astrid. I was planning to study in Cambridge and then, maybe a few years later, I would ask for his forgiveness. He was like a father to me after I lost mine, and I loved him, in my own way, even if he was blinded to anyone but Astrid and her mother. I just wanted to start anew, build my life from scratch.

“I was doing well, pretending my classmates didn’t murmur behind my back that I was a murderer’s daughter, that the aristocrats were rotten to the bone. It was fine. I was fine. I didn’t care about friends or parties or being a normal university student. I was just building my life. In the process, I ignored Mum’s mail. Until two years later when I got a visit from a police officer who informed me she’d died due to cancer. She’d been writing to me about that. Her cancer and her battle with it.

“I cried at her funeral, which I attended on my own. I cried for how she’d shaped my life and I cried because she was no longer in it. Then, in the middle of all that, I saw Christopher holding a baby. Apparently, he’d married my mum soon after Uncle Henry divorced her and was seducing her long before she was arrested. He said, ‘I only fucked you because you look like her. Now that she’s gone, you’ll do.’ I bolted out of there and fell down the stairs and broke my arm. I had an epic panic attack and nearly got myself hit by a car. I didn’t think seeing him again would spur such a reaction, but it did, and I hate that version of myself, the scared, faulty version. So I wanted to disappear, but he found me, he hit me.”

My fist clenches. “Did he…”

“He wanted to, but I blinded him with pepper spray and kicked him. It felt so good…so liberating. He left me alone for a while. A month later, social services asked me if I could take custody of Jayden. He was abused, had blue marks on his back, and he developed asthma from the conditions Christopher was keeping him in. I couldn’t say no, I just…couldn’t. He found me soon after, beat me to a pulp, and if it hadn’t been for a neighbor, he would’ve killed me and Jay. Uncle Henry found me around that time, but I couldn’t face him.”

That must’ve been what Astrid told me about.

“I had to leave the country and escape him. I dropped out of university and used the rest of my trust fund to raise Jay. It was tough at the beginning, and we moved a lot trying to find a good paying job. That’s how we ended up here.”

In New York.

Where I am.

My heart is thumping so loudly that I think she can hear every beat.

“Jayden said Chris visited you while you’ve been here.”

She slides her attention to me. “Did you ask him that?”

“Answer the question, Nicole. What happened?”

“He wanted us back. I kicked him out and moved the next day. That was two years ago.” She sniffles. “I never thought he’d sue for Jay’s custody. He never wanted him.”

But he wants you.

I don’t say that, because I doubt it will have a positive effect. I’m sure his whole mother-and-daughter fucked-up fetish is only that, a fetish. The one he actually wanted was Nicole, not her mother. She’s the one he used force to have, and she’s the one he’s been trying to keep a link to whether through her mother or her brother.

If he was actually after Victoria, he would’ve kept the last memory she left behind, Jayden, and raised him well. But he let Nicole have him just so he’d have an excuse to bulldoze into her life again.

That motherfucker is using his own son as a tool.

We arrive at the building’s parking garage, followed by a gloomy cloud, but thankfully no accident happened during the ride.

Nicole’s movements are mechanical and stiff. She looks so broken, so distressed, that I wish I could make it better.

Somehow.

Someway.

Once we reach the lift, she wipes at her face. “I don’t want Jay to see me like this.”

I lift her up in my arms and she gasps. “W-what…”

“I’ll tell him you’re asleep. Close your eyes.”

She blinks once, twice, and then her body goes slack against mine and she closes her eyes.

Her hands are snuggled in her lap and she looks so vulnerable, like a child. And I can’t resist the urge to smell her hair and breathe her in. To hold on to the reality that she survived.

That she found her way back to me.

Sure enough, Jayden and Lolli come running to the lift as soon as it opens.

He watches his sister, then narrows his eyes on me. “What’s wrong with Nikki?”

“She’s tired.”

“She’s never tired.”

“She is, brat. Go watch your Minions.”

He continues to eye me suspiciously even as I carry Nicole to her room.

“We’re alone,” I tell her.

She doesn’t stir, probably has fallen asleep for real. I place her on the bed, remove her heels and cover her to the chin.

My lips meet her forehead and I whisper a promise against them, “I’ll fix this.”

Or whatever is left of this.

I step out to get water and find Jayden standing there statue-like in a trainee demon’s stance.

“A word, Daniel.”

He never calls me by my full name anymore. That, and the fact that he’s not annoying Lolli to compete for the dick award should be a warning sign.

“Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Sighing, I close the door behind me and follow him to the living area, where he has a basket full of Minions merch.

He sits on the sofa, crossing his arms. “You can have these back.”

“Are you sure?”

“No…I mean yes. I like them, and you, but I don’t need both if you hurt my sister.”

I would’ve smiled if I weren’t two seconds away from exploding. “I’m not hurting her.”

He swallows. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“If you do hurt her, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I’m sure you will.” I ruffle his hair. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Can I have my things back?” he asks sheepishly.

“Never took them away from you.”

“Thanks, Dan!” He drags the basket and a whining Lolli with him.

I head to the kitchen and resist the urge to get drunk. That’s not a solution. Instead, I down a cup of water and dial Knox.

“Bit of a bad timing, mate,” he says, breathless.

“I need a favor.”

“Of what kind?” His voice sobers up. I’m never the type who asks for a favor.

Never.

“I need you to hook me up with a member of Anastasia’s family.”

“The fuck you need the mafia for when you’re an attorney?”

“I need them to tie up some loose ends the law couldn’t.”

When I’m done with Christopher Vans, he’ll wish for the fucking Grim Reaper.

He’ll wish he’d never touched what’s fucking mine.