He knew exactly what the little bitch was doing, and he did nothing to stop it. The wall separating his office from Rune's desk could turn transparent at the touch of a button.
He'd watched Margo's little games, fully expecting Rune to break first. Margo turned his stomach but he played along just to get a rise out of Rune. But Rune had the last laugh.
The bitterness in his mouth tasted like jealousy, though he refused to acknowledge it. Finn and Tom sniffing around her. Even Eli. Instead of reeling Rune in, Margo had her sprinting in the opposite direction.
As if he would touch Margo with a ten-foot pole. Still, it had been mildly entertaining. Until it wasn't.
He looked down at his hand. It was shaking, barely, but enough for him to notice. He clenched the pen until the tremor stopped.
Rune wasn't coming back, he allowed the thought to sink in.
A child. How could she?
He forced those emotions which urged him to leap for the door, take the fire escape, and drag Rune back by her hair back into the box he had specially crafted for her. After a long, deep breath, he wrested control back and started laying out the situation in clear mental columns, analyzing it like a chessboard. He always won at chess. Except that one time, one too many drinks, Rune across from him, smiling, leaning forward with a spark in her eyes. She'd almost had him then, playing with a verve and audacity she didn't usually show.
His gaze caught on the far corner of his office, on the empty space where a scarlet vase used to stand. The vase was a treasured gift, and yet in a brief moment of rage, it turned into nothing but broken pieces of ceramic.
The memory came uninvited. One winter evening, he didn't even remember what had set him off. He'd locked himself in his office, silent, frozen, the shattered remains of that vase scattered across the carpet. Rune had knocked, quietly at first, then once more. When he didn't answer, she went away. Or so he'd thought.
Minutes later, the door eased open. She didn't say a word. She knelt and gathered the jagged red shards into a neat pile. Then she pulled a chair up beside him, sitting there without expectation or questions. Just company in the silence until whatever it was passed. And surprisingly, it did.
He crushed that thought now, shutting it in the same dark cupboard where he'd shoved the rest of her story about her brother. He wasn't going to unpack that either.
His hand hovered over the phone. He almost called her. Almost.
But then, no. What was done was done. He would let her go. Let her scramble for work. And when all the doors closed, she'd come back. Eventually, they always did.
He picked up the phone, this time for his PI, the one he kept off the books. His voice was flat as he eyed the second box that Rune had left.
"I need you to follow Eli for me."
Dorian wanted to know how she'd slipped out of the gilded cage he'd built for her. How had she thought that she could walk away from the exclusivity clause without getting burned? Rage burned in his chest. Eli? Was it Eli? Or maybe Finn?
Did she imagine she could stroll out of his world after a betrayal like that? His gaze drifted to the second box she'd left behind. He regarded it like a ticking time bomb, patient and dangerous.
Not yet.
He forced himself to go through the minutes of yesterday's meeting. Line by line. Motion by motion. Then he rose, walked to the break room, and poured himself a cup of coffee. The coffee was hot and he wondered, with a curl of distaste, why Rune was still drinking the stuff despite being pregnant.
Margo was there, but he ignored her. She'd have her walking papers today. She'd lasted two weeks. There'd never been a mention of anything personal in her contract, her sole purpose was to irritate Rune. Mission accomplished, though not in the way he'd intended.
Back in his office, he made himself wait another ten minutes. The box sat there, silent, waiting, almost willing him to open it. Finally, he went to it and hesitantly lifted the lid. It was filled with protective packing.
Underneath, something wrapped in cotton.He took it out, unwrapped it, and froze.
It was the scarlet vase he'd shattered a year ago.
She'd repaired it, or had it repaired. This had taken time and money. Silver seams ran through it, tracing the cracks like rivers on a map. Segments were missing. The repair was imperfect. The vase itself had never been perfect to begin with.
It had been made by a child's hand. He sat there, staring at it, at the silver glinting in the dim light.
Chapter twelve
Chapter 12
Rune was doing her last checks when Jane arrived.
Her landlady's voice was as gentle as the creak of the old front gate, her scarf tucked neatly under her pink-cheeked face. Hugh, her son, followed a step behind, hands in his coat pockets. He'd done all the repairs over the years, quiet and efficient, and was not one for long conversations.
