Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

“She’s my daughter,” she whispers.

I take a sip of water. “Who?”

“Gwyneth.”

I choke on the water and Aspen is by my side, patting my back. “Jesus, Nicole. I tell you something and you nearly choke to death? Thanks for the moral support.”

I clear my scratchy throat. “I’m…surprised, is all. Isn’t she in her twenties?”

“She’s twenty.”

“And you’re thirty-five. When did you have her? At fourteen?”

“Going on fifteen, yes.”

“Wow.”

“Kind of a reassuring reaction.” She digs her fork in the lasagna and takes a large bite that she can barely fit in her mouth.

“It’s not judgment. I’m just processing all of this.” I touch her hand. “It must’ve been so tough.”

She pauses chewing and stares at me as if I’m a clown in a horror film. If I didn’t think it was so unlikely, I’d think tears were shining in her eyes. “You’re…the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

“That’s because other people are scared to tell you anything.”

She swallows the bite of food. “Doesn’t matter anyway. She…Gwyneth doesn’t like me or consider me her mother, and that fucking asshole Kingsley is turning her against me every chance he gets. He’s not even allowing me the chance to be a part of her life.”

“Isn’t she old enough to make her own decisions?”

“She is, but she’s also too attached to him considering he raised her on his own. I told her I thought she’d died and that I didn’t abandon her on purpose, but she still hates me for having to grow up without a mother. Which is understandable, but still…”

“How about asking for her husband’s help? You’re friends with Nathaniel.”

“Nate told me to give her time. But with her jerk of a father in the picture, no amount of time will help.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes on an abstract painting on the wall. “Maybe I should do the world a favor and hire someone to kill the motherfucker for real this time.”

“Are you sure you want to say that out loud?”

“Pretend you didn’t hear anything.” She smiles and I smile back.

Then we fall into a silent companionship. Now I know why Aspen helped me the first time I knocked on her door, no questions asked.

She’s experienced what it feels like to lose a child, and judging by how guarded she’s turned out to be, the pain must’ve been immeasurable. It probably shaped her into the woman she is today.

I can’t imagine my life without Jayden. He’s my second chance to do better, to do something good.

And I’ll fight for him until my death if I have to.

My phone pings with a text and I startle, then my heart skyrockets when I see the name on the screen.

Bloody Idiot: I have a last-minute job. Book me a flight to Singapore and a hotel room for two days.

Singapore? Two days?

I don’t know why my stomach churns at the news. Even though he’s in his office every day and mostly handles things remotely, Daniel is still an international solicitor, and traveling for work isn’t a novelty.

Nicole: Right away.

Bloody Idiot: Stay in my flat with the kid and the cat.

Nicole: We’re fine in our flat.

Bloody Idiot: That’s an order, Ms. Adler. I don’t want to hear your annoying neighbors through the phone when I call for work.

I purse my lips. He either likes being a jerk or he’s terrible at being nice without the jerk part.

Nicole: Got it.

Bloody Idiot: Oh, and take this as your deadline. When I come back, you better tell me what the fuck was wrong with you the other day or I’ll find out myself. Either option will give me the same result, but you can choose whether or not you’ll pay for keeping information from me.





18





NICOLE





“Didn’t you say he’ll be here at nine?”

I wince at the accusation in Jay’s tone, then pretend to check the huge Roman numeral clock on the wall. “I did.”

“Well, it’s three minutes past nine and he’s not here yet.”

“Flights can have delays, hon. And three minutes is hardly late.”

“Then call him, Nikki.” He shakes me by the hem of my dress, channeling the clingy four-year-old version of himself.

How to tell him that the thought of calling Daniel is no different than putting a finger in my mouth with the intention of throwing up?

I’ve been a bundle of nerves the past two days, thinking about the best lies to tell when he comes back.

There’s no way in hell I would bring up my screwed-up condition willingly. Not in this lifetime.

Two parts of me have been equally at war with each other concerning how to feel. A part of me wishes he wouldn’t come back anytime soon. But the other part is as eager as Jay, if not worse.

It doesn’t help that we stayed in his flat. Not only that, but my twisted cravings led me to his room late at night and I slept hugging his pillow that’s soaked with his scent.

And I might have touched myself to it too. I slid my fingers into my soaked knickers and pictured his face as I thrust in and out of my pussy. When I came, I cried into the pillow for being so irrevocably dysfunctional.