Sydney had managed to avoid New York's social scene for the better part of a decade.
So why did I agree to go?
Anxious, she fidgeted with her Gucci clutch and continued to stare out the window onto the busy Manhattan street. The reflection that stared back at her belied the terror that clutched at her chest, making it difficult to breathe.
What if someone recognizes me?
The closer the taxi got to their destination, the more paranoid she became. For a split second, Sydney considered asking the driver to turn around, then instantly changed her mind.
This is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. What's the worst that can happen?
Memories that still haunted her dreams rushed to the surface, a gentle reminder of just how bad things could get. Not for the first time today, she questioned her aunt's and cousin's reason for pushing her to join them; not to mention her sanity for agreeing to attend. They, of all people, understood her reluctance.
Sydney's attention was diverted by the woman staring at her through the window. Her face, poised in a perfectly upright and still position, gave no indication of the secrets that lay behind her smile. Neither warm or cold, as with the remainder of her countenance, it encouraged distance. The soft, twisted, chignon, reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn's stylish up-do, complemented the flawless and understated make up. There wasn't a hair or smudge out of place. Familiar almond shaped eyes stared at her in wonder; the only chink in the armour that kept the world at bay.
Startled, it took Sydney a moment to recognise her own reflection. She had hidden herself deep behind the person she had become, and was now a stranger to the girl she had once been. Inwardly chastising herself for dwelling on a past better left in the past, she focused on her surroundings and checked the time.
Shit, I'm late.
As they pulled up to the main entrance of the Roosevelt Hotel, Sydney rechecked her outfit. If she blended in, and no one noticed her, perhaps she'd come out of this unscathed.
The taxi driver eyed up the smattering of paparazzi that loitered outside of the iconic landmark. "You one of them rich and famous?" he asked as he glanced at her attire.
Sydney handed him the fare and smiled apologetically as she shook her head, relieved that he had no inkling of the price of her Chanel gown.
"Not even close," she said, "my boss cancelled at the last minute and gave me his ticket. I'm only a Personal Assistant."
The cabbie glanced appreciatively at the ten-dollar tip. "Well, don't you be scared going in there." He indicated towards the photographers who had pounced on a minor celebrity. "They 'ain't any better than us."
Thanking the taxi driver for his kindness, Sydney steeled herself and made her way to the entrance of the hotel. She was determined not to let anyone detect the fear that was a constant companion when she felt exposed and vulnerable in public. Years of conditioning kicked in, and she schooled her features to appear disinterested and unapproachable.
Sydney glided through the revolving doors, thankful the paparazzi's focus was otherwise engaged. Waving off a white-gloved porter, she made her way up the short flight of stairs towards the central reception area. As she took the second set of stairs to the mezzanine floor, she glanced at the hotel patrons that relaxed in the lush, resplendent chairs dotted around the main lobby. The familiar indications of wealth reflected in the way they presented themselves to the world.
Subconsciously running her hands down her gown to ensure everything was in place, she followed the distinctive brass plated signs that lead the way. As she ascended the red and gold carpeted stairs, she forced herself to practice the chakra breathing exercises Stephen insisted she learnt.
Breathe, just breathe.
Her pulse slowed with each cleansing intake of oxygen. By the time she had reached her destination, she was in control and ready for anything. Almost.
Sydney re-checked her watch as she entered the Grand Ballroom. She's going to be upset.
As she scanned the crowded room, a sea of faces dressed in Dior, Vera Wang, Chanel, and Versace, laden with jewels of every shape and size swam into view. None of which included the one she was after.
When she moved further into the ballroom, Sydney couldn't help the genuine smile that pushed through to the surface. Of all the buildings in New York, this one had to be her favourite. The ballroom, restored to its former glory, boasted an original Swarovski Chandelier which hung gracefully from the gold gilded twenty-seven-foot tall ceiling. Surrounding the room, halfway up, was an ironclad balcony which framed enormous arched windows that looked out on the street below.
Sydney closed her eyes and imagined the room during its heyday in the Roaring 20's. She could almost hear the walls echo long lost memories of Guy Lombardo and his orchestra playing 'Auld Lang Syne' for the first time. Little did they know; it would become a nations unified anthem once a year.
A waiter bumped into to Sydney and brought her back to the twenty-first century. Careful to keep out of the main thoroughfare, she weaved her way through the room. This evenings gala boasted a guest list of five hundred of New York society's finest and she wanted to make sure she avoided all five hundred, bar three. Before she had a chance to get far, an annoyed voice called out, "You're late."
Sydney spun around, expecting the worst, only to discover Grace was smiling mischievously at her. "Oh Grace," Sydney exclaimed as she took in the vision of her older cousin, "you look gorgeous."
It never ceased to amaze her how regal and stunning Grace always appeared. The fact that her cousin, who was more like a sister, also boasted a truly loving and sweet nature, only added to her overall charm. Sydney often wondered how Grace survived the cutthroat and competitive nature that made up the New York rich and famous. Sydney knew only too well how vicious and unforgiving the upper echelons could be.
Grace beamed and pulled her into an embrace. "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself. I was worried," Grace said as she stood back and continued to hold onto Sydney's hands. "I thought you'd decided not to come."
Sydney grimaced. Grace knew her too well. "To tell you the truth," she admitted, "I couldn't come up with an excuse that you would believe."
Grace, who had yet to let go of Sydney's hands, applied the lightest of pressure and gave her an encouraging smile. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I know this is difficult for you. But mom and I think it's time you come out of your self-imposed hibernation."
Not willing to have this conversation, no matter the good intention, Sydney changed the topic. "Where is your mom?"
Before she knew what had happened, Grace grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards a small group of women on the other side of the room. Sydney trailed behind at a cautious pace as her eyes darted into the crowd, apprehensive in case she was recognized.
"Look who I found," said Grace as she came up behind her mother.
Ivy turned to face them and a smile emerged when she saw Sydney. "Honey, we were starting to get worried."
"Sorry," apologized Sydney.
After everything her aunt and uncle had done for her over the years, she hated to disappoint or have them think she wasn't appreciative of their support. From a short distance away, Uncle Victor winked and continued with his conversation. No doubt, using the fundraising gala as an opportunity to forge new business deals.
"Ivy, aren't you going to introduce us?" The voice, cultured and refined, came from somewhere in the group of ladies Ivy had been speaking with.
Sydney froze. Panic set in as her gaze locked onto her aunt's.
Oh God! I knew this was a bad idea. She had been so focused on the stress of turning up, she hadn't contemplated the fact she may need to actually speak to anyone.
Ivy winked at Sydney and turned back to face the women. "Oh, where are my manners." Ivy was now back in socialite mode. "May I present Victor's and my, niece, Sydney Regas."
Grace darted an amused glance in Sydney's direction. For those outside the inner sanctum, both Ivy and Victor used his name first when introductions were made. It wasn't their problem if the person assumed she came from Victor's side of the family, just because his name came first in the introductions.
When Sydney's life blew up a decade before, they had all been burnt to some degree. Any indication that she was Ivy's niece, would provide a reminder of the only possible way the connection would relate. Her aunt Ivy was old money, and while old money could forget some things, others were a stretch—even for them.
Ivy leaned inward, towards the small group of women, and lowered her voice. "I am assuming ladies; I can trust your discretion in keeping this next bit of information to yourselves."
Sydney's eyes shot open as dread welled from somewhere deep and threated to consume her. She struggled to draw breath as she sought the nearest exit. How could she betray me like this?
"One of our donors this evening has sent his executive assistant in his stead. Sydney has brought us a sizeable cheque, signed by none other than DB Myers," Ivy declared in triumph.
Sydney exhaled as relief spread through her body, Oh, thank God. An instant later she was ashamed at the assumptions she had jumped to.
All eyes swung to the new arrival. Sydney smiled nervously at the women as they descended on her like locusts. For the next thirty minutes, she was bombarded with questions about her elusive and infamous employer.
What's he like? I heard that he sleeps in a hyperbaric chamber. Why doesn't he do public appearances? Is it true that he has a different woman every night? I heard it was three at the same time!
Sydney flashed Ivy a silent thank you as she fielded the myriad of questions that were fired in quick succession. Her aunt had successfully diverted attention away from her, and on to DB Myers. Best-selling author, whose novels had been turned into successful movies. Each one, a major hit at the box office.
While the women were reenacting the Spanish Inquisition, there was no way they would remember her name or what she looked like. All they would recall was they had inside information on a celebrity.
It did not take long, however, for Sydney's patience to wear thin. The women had obviously spent far too much time reading gossip magazines and each voiced an opinion on the elusive writer. The moment the wife of a prominent property mogul declared she had met DB, Sydney was ready to snap.
She was grateful when Ivy pulled her away before she could no longer hold her tongue and lash out at the unsuspecting jewel encrusted know-it-all.
Ivy waved her hand dismissively when Sydney expressed her thanks. "Don't worry about it, it gave them something to gossip about," she said with a wink. "Besides, I hope you brought a small donation to not make a liar out of me."
Sydney reached into her clutch and waved a cheque in the air, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I wouldn't dream of sullying your reputation."
Ivy took the note, and was about to fold it in half, when she noticed the amount. The smile froze on her lips and was replaced with concern, edged with shock. "Sydney honey, I can't accept this. It's too much." Her voice was low enough they could not be overheard.
"No, it's not," argued Sydney, "it's for a good cause. I know you've lost some much-needed funding recently."
Ivy's face softened. "Are you sure? You've always been far too kind-hearted. I would hate to think you can't afford this." Ivy reached out and placed a hand on Sydney's cheek, tears welled as she said, "You've already got enough on your plate."
Sydney brought her hand up to cover Ivy's. She didn't want to be the reason her aunt suffered another attack. Her parents were already responsible for her condition in the first place.
"I've just signed another three-book deal, the royalties are rolling in from the movies and merchandising, not to mention the next film is due out in the fall. So I think I can afford to give some of it away. Besides..." She winked and a huge grin wiped across her face. "What's the fun in being DB Myers, recluse, and sexual pervert if I can't spend his money."
Ivy's expression, full of love, was gratefully accepted by Sydney. "We are so proud of you. Don't you ever forget that."
Once Ivy excused herself to register the donation, Sydney had time to think. She was thankful she had agreed to attend. It was well worth the stress to witness her aunt overjoyed that she had at last ventured beyond the limited range she had tethered herself to.
She was fortunate to have Ivy, Victor, and Grace in her life. Without them, she didn't know how she would have survived her teenage years and, more importantly, through the calamity that began in her final year of college and the aftermath beyond.
Mindful a woman standing alone might be noticed, Sydney grabbed a glass of Champagne from a passing waiter, and made her way up the stairs to the empty balcony. Both Grace and Ivy were joint hostesses at this evening's fundraiser and, as such, had duties they needed to perform. It would be awhile before they were free again.
Even though Sydney preferred to donate to charities and foundations that fought against corruption and promoted human rights, she was always willing to help out with Ivy and Grace's projects. It helped that this evenings charity was one she also supported.
Her aunt and cousin were both involved in a foundation that worked with inner-city schools. The organization provided much-needed resources for underprivileged students. The annual gala was their primary source of funding, and Sydney knew how important it was to both women. In another lifetime, she would have been working alongside them. But destiny often had a way of interfering with what could have been.
Sydney leaned on the railings and began one of her favorite pastimes. People watching. The amount of information individuals revealed when they didn't know they were being observed was priceless. Many of her more colorful characters had evolved from her observations of others.
Oh, come on, who am I kidding? I'm just a closet stalker with no life of her own.
The room was littered with Wall Street moguls rubbing shoulders with political heavyweights. Central Park princesses attempted to gain the attention of a celebrity, hoping for the added exposure. Married socialites draped over the arm of people, not their spouse, walked through the place without a care in the world. The level of power and influence events such as these wielded never ceased to amaze her. Sydney wondered just how many deals would be brokered this evening.
Just as long as they reach into their very deep pockets, who am I to judge?
The smile died on her face as a familiar dull ache reared its ugly head. Left to fester and wallow, it fed off the part of her soul that cried out for something it would never have a chance to meet. Sydney felt a pinprick behind her eyes and her vision blurred. Blinking rapidly, she forced her ever present companion to the back of her mind. Although she was surrounded by people, she was alone, drifting on an endless sea of nothing.
For the most part, she was resigned to the way things had turned out. However, that didn't stop the empty and hollow feeling that overwhelmed her each time she allowed her mind to dwell on what she would never have.
You should be happy with what you do have, she growled at herself as she brought her wayward thoughts under control. There are countless others who have it far worse than you.
Sydney returned to her stalking, and passed the time spinning theories on guests that stood out. Hidden behind her little window on the world, she felt safe. The crowd below was too engrossed to notice her leaning on the balcony rails taking note of some of their peculiar habits.
"I don't think you should have done that," Sydney remarked under her breath.
A man she had dubbed, Mr. Foot-In-Mouth, had, by her count, managed to offend five women and was now working towards a sixth.
Sure enough, Foot-In-Mouth's arms flailed as he backtracked whatever came out of his mouth. The woman, too polite to stab him in the foot with her shoe—as per the previous victim—glared at him a moment before making her excuses and placed some distance between them.
Sydney, caught up in her game, chuckled at the man's latest failure. "Boom...and there you go."
As she followed Foot-In-Mouth's hunt for number seven, she was drawn to a small group she hadn't noticed before. Curious, she took stock of the new players.
The women's backs were to Sydney, which made any level observation difficult. She took a moment to consider the man nearest them. Unlike the majority he shared the ballroom with, his smile appeared genuine and animated. He clearly had money—there was no way his suit, a perfect fit, came off the shelf. She cocked her head and studied his face. It was striking, but too pale for her tastes. "I'll call you Mr. Nice."
Sydney's gaze locked onto the last member of the entourage. "Well, hello handsome."
From her vantage point, it was clear she wasn't the only female in the room to notice him. The subtle and not so subtle glances thrown his way was comical.
"Get in line ladies."
Sydney narrowed her eyes and returned to the man. She had to admit, the term 'Man' suited him to a tee. There was no other way to describe him.
Her fingers ached to reach out and discover whether his short, wavy dark hair felt as soft and inviting as it looked. Full, sensual lips were framed by a strong jaw. A hint of a five o'clock shadow only further served to emphasize his masculinity. While everything about him screamed corporate, his rugged looks and bronzed skin reeked of someone not shy of the outdoors or physical labor. As with his friend, his suit fit him like a glove and Sydney wondered what secrets it covered.
The man, a head and shoulders taller than his friend, remained tight lipped as he stood ridged and at attention. His stern, haughty exterior reflected his displeasure at being there.
"So why bother, if you're only going to make lives difficult?"
She followed the small group's path as they wandered further into the ballroom. Mr. I'm Handsome but a Jerk, lead the way. His confident stride as he crossed the room made it appear as if he owned the place. Sydney was surprised when they stopped not far from her current position.
As she continued stalking the group, Sydney held back a smirk. It was evident that she and the tall, suave stranger had something in common. They both would prefer being elsewhere.
"At least I'm not acting like a self-entitled jerk."
So why are you here? She had to wonder.
As she moved her gaze back to the dark haired stranger, Sydney was surprised to discover her uncle had materialized at his side. From the way Victor shook his hand, she knew that Mr. Handsome must also be Mr. Wall Street. Victor, only ever used that look when he was attempting to court someone with financial influence.
She lost interest in Mr. Handsome Jerk of Wall Street being romanced by her uncle, and returned to study the small group with him. Mr. Nice appeared affable and approachable enough. A genuine smile always emerged as he acknowledged people who waived or spoke to him. The two women at his side, Sydney wasn't so sure about. While they smiled and nodded when spoken to, it was their conduct afterwards that concerned her.
Her interest was piqued as a young Central Park Princess approach the group not long after her uncle had left. Sydney held onto the railing and leaned forward to get a better look. "Fun's about to start."
Sydney had seen her kind too often over the years. Daddy's wealth gave them a sense of entitlement. Every desire, need or want could be brought. Right now, the young diva had her sights set on Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome.
If he wasn't so much of a jerk I'd feel sorry for him.
A moment later Sydney erupted into hysterics, unable to hold back her laughter as he threw the diva a withering glare that would have felled a Wilder Beast. Her ability to remain silent was destroyed as the woman, who had now latched her arm onto his, failed to take the hint and continued to bat her eyelashes while she leaned forward to provide him with an optimal view of her cleavage. All this, while attempting to engage him in conversation.
Talk about multi-tasking.
Mr. Tall Dark and Handsomes discomfort became more pronounced each time the diva touched him in a suggestive manner. If possible, his level of disdain rose. She didn't know whether to applaud his higher standards or berate his egotistical attitude.
Sydney frowned as a thought took hold. He must be gay.
Letting out an unlady-like snort, she continued to chuckle as his overt irritation fell on deaf ears. Little Miss. Silicon continued to hang off his arm as her lips moved a mile a minute. Once she had tugged on his sleeve one too many times, Mr. TDH extricated himself from the vixen's clutches. The move, not unlike a cockroach been removed from somewhere it didn't belong.
Sydney was mortified when he glanced upwards and caught her laughing at his expense.
Like a deer caught in headlights, she was trapped, unable to look away. A rush of guilt at being caught out surged through her as the awkward moment continued. If her sudden rise in temperature was anything to go by, her face was stuck somewhere between red and bright red.
Sydney braced herself, positive she was about to be hurled one of his disgusted glares. Unable to hide, there was no choice but to match his piercing scrutiny. The double take performed a moment later, would have been comical, had she not been caught by surprise.
Mr. Handsome's face lost its harsh edges as he let his guard down. He rolled his eyes and threw a self-deprecating smile her way; the resulting grin exposed dimples the wider it became.
Sydney's breath hitched in her throat. She was rocked at the transformation in which the change in his demeanor made. If she thought he was gorgeous before, nothing could have prepared her for what lay beneath the icy exterior he presented to the outside world. His lips, which until a moment ago, was frozen in a perpetual disapproving frown, were now curved into a disarming smile.
Every assumption she had made about him, flew out the window. Sydney recognized the wall he erected and hid behind; they had the same foundations as hers. At some point, his soul had been put through a blender. Whether it had been crushed by the woman he loved or shattered from an incredible loss or wrong, she had no idea. But, brick by brick, the wall went up; and he lived his life making damn sure no one could see how broken he was.
I know exactly how you feel.
Managing to gather her wits in case she embarrassed herself any further, Sydney threw him a sympathetic grin for his current predicament. He shrugged his shoulders; he was used to it.
Their shared amusement was broken a moment later when she heard her name called.
Grace was halfway up the stairs, attempting to gain her attention. By the time Sydney joined the others, Mr. Wall Street and his entourage had vanished.
"What are you looking for, dear?"
Sydney's head snapped back to face her aunt. "Nothing. Just enjoying the atmosphere." Where the hell did he go?
The better part of the last thirty minutes had been spent making it appear as though she was listening to the conversation between Ivy and Grace. In reality, Sydney's focus had been otherwise engaged.
Disappointed she was unable to locate the current whereabouts of Mr. Very Hot and Spicy, Sydney concentrated on getting through the evening without being noticed.
"So when does the auction start?" she asked.
Sydney was sharing a joke with Ivy and Grace when they were interrupted by someone clearing their throat.
"I' m sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Demetriou, but I have been charged with passing on a message." The voice soft, and very British, came from behind her.
Ivy glanced up, an expectant smile as she glanced over Sydney's shoulder.
The Englishman's hand came into view and held out an envelope. "My grandmother sends her regrets that she couldn't attend this evening, and requested that I deliver this to you."
Ivy accepted the wax sealed donation. "Thank you," she said warmly. "Whom, may I ask, is your grandmother?"
Sydney turned to take a better look at the Englishman and nearly dropped her glass in the process. Mr. Nice, the affable friend of Mr. Wall Street, stood less than a foot away.
"My apologies, where are my manners?" he said, "Mason Van der Brink at your service. My grandmother is—"
"Oh my goodness," Ivy said, before he could finish. "You're Elizabeth's grandson."
Ivy interrogated him on his grandmother's health. Once she was sure that there was nothing seriously wrong with the matriarch of the Van der Brink family, Ivy introduced the very proper Englishman to the others.
Sydney couldn't be certain, but when Mason was presented to Grace, she was sure her cousin's face grew flushed. When he held Grace's hand, a fraction longer than necessary, Sydney couldn't help the corners of her mouth twitch.
Mr. Nice, meet Miss. Nice. If you hurt her—I'll kill you and destroy the evidence.
Instead of excusing himself, Mason joined their conversation. It didn't take long for them to discover that he had recently taken over control of the US operations of the Van der Brink's extensive business empire. Having run their European-based business for some years, he had been summoned to run the larger operation.
They hadn't spoken long when Mason looked up, only to break out into a broad smile. He raised a hand in the air and indicated for whoever he had seen to join them. "I'd like to introduce you to a friend if you don't mind," he said.
Sydney nearly choked on her champagne.
"Are you okay," Grace asked as she tapped Sydney on the back.
Bobbing her head frantically, Sydney cleared her throat. "Yes, just went down the wrong way, that's all."
She followed to where Ivy and Grace's attention now lay.
Grey. His eyes are grey.
"Ladies, I'd like you to meet Ethan MacMasters." Mason clapped his friend on the back. "Mac, to his friends."
Starting with her aunt, Mason introduced each of the women he had just spent the better part of forty-five minutes becoming acquainted with. As with the Englishman, Ethan's manners were impeccable as he greeted both her aunt and cousin. Unlike Mason, he was American born and bred.
His manners, however, halted the moment they were introduced. Instead of a gentle handshake as he had with the others, he stiffened the moment he heard her name. The disarming smile was gone in an instant, replaced by a thin line that indicated he had just come in contact with something distasteful. Steel grey eyes turned stormy and she was on the receiving end of a cold nod. Sydney began to wonder if the moment they had shared earlier as strangers was a figment of her imagination.
What the hell just happened?
Her temper now riled, she raised her chin in defiance at the slight. Two can play at that game.
Sydney was on a slow burning simmer as the night wore on. Ethan's arrogance hadn't let up. Not once had he spoken to or acknowledged her. When pushed, he'd engaged in conversation with the others, but never struck one up himself. He was an alpha male, so would have no problem taking command of any situation. What had happened to switch him back to the haughty and aloof jerk?
Sydney groaned inwardly when Mason took Grace onto the dance floor, leaving her and Ethan standing uncomfortably close to each other. She was stranded. Ivy, caught up with her duties, wouldn't be back for a while, and Victor was nowhere in sight.
She swiped a full glass of wine off a passing waiter. I'll need another drink if I'm going to get through this in one piece.
The stiff, uncompromising and impossible jerk stood ramrod straight. From the glances she risked without getting caught, whatever was going on in that messed up head of his, had turned to fury. His jaw was so tight; she was sure it was ready to break.
"I think your other friends are looking for you," Sydney lied, indicating the direction she had seen them last.
Please get the hint and leave.
His closeness was awkward to say the least, and she couldn't understand why he still remained by her side.
After another five minutes of silence, she tried another tactic. "When they come off the dance floor, I'll let Mason know where you are."
"What? And leave you to defraud another helpless victim." Ethan's tone, hard and unforgiving, cut her through to her core. "You, and the rest of that crooked family of yours, will be made to pay for what you have done."
Sydney's heart stopped and she forgot to breathe. She struggled to remain upright when the room moved in and out of focus; fire ripped through her chest and scorched everything in its path.
Dear God! This is not happening. Please don't let this be happening. How did he recognize me?
Pain from her lungs, protested the oxygen deprivation and she hauled in a desperate gasp for air. In danger of hyperventilating, Sydney mustered as much dignity as she could, and strode purposefully towards the restroom.
I will not let them see me cry.
It took Sydney the next half hour to calm her nerves enough to leave the cubicle she had locked herself in, and another fifteen minutes of washing and rewashing her hands before she was willing to venture back out. Distraught wasn't the word for it. This was her worst nightmare.
How does he know?
Ready to flee the building, Mason's distinct accent broke into her troubled thoughts, putting a stop to her escape.
Shit!
Frantically searching for cover, she ducked behind a large banner. There was no way she could face them. Not now. Not ever.
"Good lord man, do you ever relax?" Sydney shrank further into the shadows. Mason stood a little too close to her hiding spot. "I think this has been a very enjoyable evening. I don't know why you didn't want to come."
From the unflattering noise his companion made, it was clear he thought the opposite.
Sydney clenched her fists. Why did you come if you were only going to upset everyone?
"New York may have more to offer than I initially thought" Mason trailed off. "Some of the people I have met this evening have been rather welcoming and friendly. Nothing like you led me to believe old boy."
I knew I liked you.
"You are too trusting," Ethan complained. "Though Demetrious's daughter seems genuine enough."
Mason agreed. "She is very captivating don't you think? But I must say old chap, you were a bit rude to her friend. What the bloody hell got into you? That's sort of behavior is just not cricket."
Yeah, you tell him.
"You do realize who she is, don't you?" The words were thrown out in anger.
Sydney's heart stopped beating, and she broke out in a cold sweat. God, he really does know!
"What are you talking about?" Mason asked, clearly confused by his friend's declaration.
Sydney closed her eyes, knowing what was coming next. She waited for the words that would undoubtedly seal her doom.
"Her father is David Hutton. The David Hutton," Ethan grated out. His tone, bitter and damming, crashed into her as if she had been physically assaulted.
He knew. Sydney's shoulders sagged in defeat.
There was a pregnant pause before Mason replied. "Gordon Bennet. You are joking aren't you?"
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📎A/N. So what did you think of the first chapter?
...Wonder what Sydney is hiding?
...And what's Mac got against Sydney's father?
Till next chapter. Take Care...
❤ ℳ