Chapter 4

When the party finally ended, Cayla was ghostly pale. She leaned against a wall for support, trying to hide the way the room was spinning.

Grafton was at the bar settling the bill, but his eyes kept darting toward her, a strange, worried frown on his face.

He cleared his throat. "Cayla, take Cherrelle home."

It was an order, a way to create distance.

Cayla nodded, her movements stiff. She helped a tipsy Cherrelle out of the club. They were walking past a large decorative fountain in the lobby when Cherrelle stumbled.

"Oops," she slurred, and then deliberately pitched herself forward into the water with a loud splash.

Grafton heard the noise and came running. He saw Cherrelle floundering in the fountain and Cayla standing at the edge, her hand still outstretched.

He saw what he was conditioned to see. Another attack.

He grabbed Cayla's wrist, his grip bruising. "I warned you," he seethed, his voice low and dangerous.

"I didn't push her," Cayla said, her head throbbing. The alcohol, the fever, the constant stress-it was all catching up to her.

"I saw you!" he yelled, yanking her forward. "You're a liar!"

He refused to listen to her denials. His fingers tightened, mercilessly.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget," he said, his eyes cold as ice.

And he pushed her into the fountain.

The cold water was a shock to her feverish body. Pain exploded in her head as she went under. He ordered his bodyguards to stand by the edge, to stop her from getting out.

She looked up through the distorted water and saw him lift Cherrelle out, cradling her tenderly before carrying her away.

She woke up in a guest room at his penthouse. Grafton was sitting by the bed, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he asked, his voice rough.

A bitter laugh almost escaped her. "Would it have stopped you?" she asked instead, her voice weak.

The air in the room grew thick with tension. He lit a cigarette, his hand unsteady.

He changed the subject. "You hurt Cherrelle."

"No."

"She would never lie to me!" he snapped.

Cayla fell silent. She just looked at him, her eyes empty of hope. She knew it was useless. He would never believe her over Cherrelle.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He threw a thick file onto the bed. "Cherrelle's birthday is next week. I want you to plan the party. Don't mess it up."

Cayla opened the file. It was a list of all of Cherrelle's favorite things-flowers, foods, music. Her fingers trembled. She remembered how Justen had kept a little notebook, secretly writing down everything she ever mentioned liking.

"Did you hear me?" Grafton's sharp voice cut through her memories.

"Yes, Mr. Mcleod," she whispered. "You must love her very much."

She started to get out of bed, ready to begin the preparations. As she moved, her phone slid off the nightstand and fell to the floor, the screen lighting up.

Grafton's eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.

The lock screen was a photo of Cayla, smiling radiantly, with her head resting on the shoulder of a young man. A man who looked exactly like a teenage Grafton Mcleod.