Page 9 of The Rebel Billionaire

“I’m fine,” I say, grimacing.

“I was calling to invite you to visit me tomorrow at my home. It will be good for us to meet face-to-face.”

I allow some of the tension to drain from my shoulders.

“I’d like that,” I say.

Seeing and talking to another human being, someone who knows the real me, will be liberating.

“Good. Ten-thirty?” she asks.

“I’ll be there.”

“No need. I’ll send my driver. I live outside New York City. It will be easier that way.”

“Thank you. I look forward to it,” I say truthfully.

“See you then.”

I drop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.

The silence closes in louder than before.

CHAPTER 3

HARPER

Benjamin, Sophia’s driver, holds open the door, allowing me to step out.

I look up at the sprawling house, with the river visible behind it.

It’s been many years since I visited the area outside New York City. Mum and Dad sometimes hired a house here in Fairfield County when Dad’s work trips stretched over the holidays, and the family suite at the hotel was too small to accommodate five growing children.

The front door opens as I approach.

An older woman steps out, her clothes and sleek silver bob immaculate. Sophia Bianchi.

After our call, I spent the evening researching the woman my mother has sent me to. She is an icon. A powerful, stylish, and well-respected businesswoman who, during her time as CEO of the St Clair fashion house, revitalised her father’s declining luxury brand by restoring its prestige and broadening its international appeal. For thirty years, she took the brand from strength to strength, until five years ago, when she handed the reins to her eldest son, Alessandro. It appears he, like his mother, is a powerhouse. Industrious, ambitious and one hell of a designer in his own right. Under his guidance, St Clair has continued to thrive.

“Brooke,” she says. “Welcome to Riverside.” Her eyes meet mine before travelling down my body and taking in my appearance. “Why don’t you come in?”

Lifting a hand to my wig, I smooth down any wayward strands.

I shoot her a glance and meet an assessing gaze.

“Mrs Bianchi. Thank you for inviting me to your beautiful home.”

Stepping forward, I hold out my hand. I might no longer be Harper, but manners were ingrained in me from the time I could walk and talk.

“Sophia, please,” she says, taking my hand in a firm grip.

She turns, and I follow her inside. We walk through a light and airy entrance towards the back of the house, where I’m faced with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering spectacular views of the cove beyond. Drawn by the view, I move closer, captivated by the backdrop.

Sophia stands beside me.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

“That’s an understatement. Frazer Manor overlooks green fields and woodland. It’s beautiful, but the blue sky and crystal-clear water are something else.”