Gritting my teeth so hard I almost broke my molars. After a deep breath, I called her cell. The call went to voicemail, and I felt like jumping in my car and driving the fuck over there. But I knew I needed to bide my time. What the fuck had that chump said to her? The whole situation was giving me whiplash.
As I sat in the car, I messaged her again. It was the only thing I could do as she wasn’t taking my calls.
Answer your phone, Storm.I messaged and then tried again. Nothing. Fucking stubborn little bitch.You said you trusted me.I pointed out.
Her reply was swift for someone who was ignoring her phone.It’s too late.
Please, Teacup. Wait for me. I have a plan.I messaged, my thumb so forceful I was surprised I didn’t crack the glass. I had to leave it there before I threw my cell through the windshield of my car.
Fuck, what a day. I felt exhausted and emotionally drained.
As I fired the engine, I received another message. Sliding my phone out of my jeans, I prayed that it was from Storm, but it wasn’t.
It was from Mia.I have something you have to see.
What?
It’s from Armitage.Brice Armitage was the PI she had hired for me.
Cut to the chase, Mia, I don’t have time.
Putting the car back into park, my eyes narrowed at the screen as a bundle of images appeared.
Holding it towards my face, I tried to work out what I was looking at. What the actual hell? The shot was dark, showing two people in a compromising position. I looked closer, something indescribable roaring in my chest.
It became much clearer as I recognized who was in the pictures.Fucking Victory.
The widest of smiles spread across my face. I didn’t even care that it caused my busted lip to open again.
I fired off another message to Mia.Do you have more?
Yes. There are loads more. I have the originals.
Keep them safe and to yourself for now.I replied.
Yes boss.Shit, if things did not go to plan with Dominic. I now had a plan B.
Glancing at my reflection in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t stop the words spilling from my mouth.
“Got you,motherfucker!
SEVENTEEN
STORM
The night of the wedding rehearsal came way too quickly.
It felt like my entire adult existence had led up to that point, revolving around that all-consuming, dreaded goal of becoming Mrs. Jasper Dean Remmington the Third. And I was exhausted.
The last two days had felt like I was living in a dodgy Daytime TV show. Daddy had been away on business which had given my mother free rein to fawn all over me: something she never did. As far as my mother was concerned, I wasn't a daughter. I was the center of the "Society Wedding of the Decade." She didn't care that the groom felt like a stranger or that my heart was a cold stone in my chest. In Rachel Summers’ opinion, love was a secondary currency; prestige was the only thing of importance.
Her marriage to my father had been of a similar vein, and so she more than understood the concept of arranged unions. What was sad was that she and my father had been in love once, before she’d found out about his infidelity. I knew without the shadow of a doubt that I would never love Jasper. Once, I had thought we could be friends, but as he had revealed his true colors to me, layer by ugly layer, all I felt was pure loathing.
As for my friends, I was none the wiser as to what they were up to.
At my last dress fitting, both Harper and Molly, whom I had chosen as my bridesmaids, behaved oddly, almost withdrawn. I asked them numerous times what was going on, but they’d changed the subject, saying how stunning I looked in the off-the-rack Vivian Westwood I had chosen to wear for the big day.
Phoenix had been absent at supper both nights, saying he’d been called into work, which I knew was a lie when I saw him and Hudson talking at the bottom of our driveway. That had left me, Jasper, my mother, and a couple of her friends to dine at the house. My husband-to-be ate most of his meal while working on his laptop with little to no eye contact.
