Chapter 4: Finding Forever: Chapter 3

Fern stared up into that darkly handsome, furious face, her hand absently massaging the spot where he had grabbed her. It didn’t hurt—far from it—but a tingle radiated slowly outward from what had been the point of contact, and it washed her whole body with uncomfortable warmth.

“I know how this must look,” she murmured, finally finding her voice, after the silence between them had stretched on a beat too long. “I’m not playing at anything. But… but I do need your help.”

She was proud that she’d managed to say that much with only the slightest tremble in her voice.

“You knew who I was. At the gala.” His voice was steely but his words made her frown in confusion.

“Of course, I told you so, remember?”

Now it was his turn to frown, just a brief flickering of his brow before his expression smoothed over again, replaced by that beautiful emotionless mask, while his eyes burned into her face.

“You knew about the deal,” he elaborated. “Was our meeting a set up for one of Abernathy’s ploys? A way for him to undermine the contract?”

“No. I knew he was in negotiations with your company, as well as the Goldings. And, I think, Alba something? But I didn’t realize that he’d settled on a buyer. He seemed to be having too much fun toying with all the interested parties.”

“Golding Engineering and the Alva Group?” he repeated, his face no longer emotionless, now settled into a thundercloud.

“Yes. I wasn’t supposed to know even that much. He doesn’t tell me anything. He says it’s nothing for me to concern myself over. But he’s dismantled several of my mother’s—my—assets in the past and sold them off as spare parts. He thinks I’m unaware of what he’s done. But even if he did know I knew, he wouldn’t care. What I think—what I want—is not important to him. Lambecrete is one of Lambert Holdings’ biggest and most profitable companies. It was my mother’s pride and joy, and he’ll use it to leverage what he really wants from you and your family.”

He watched her intently, eyes narrowed as if was trying to gauge her truthfulness. He folded his arms across his impressive chest and leaned back against the door. She only now noticed that he was wearing light gray sweatpants and a short sleeved white T-shirt. His feet were bare. The sight of those long, narrow feet did strange things to her stomach, and she swallowed and hastily diverted her gaze back to his broody face.

He didn’t seem to notice her momentary distraction, and definitely didn’t seem too aware of her flushed cheeks. Instead, he remained focused on her last statement. “And what does he really want from us?”

“Your name. Your influence. Your connections. He wants to be you. He wants the respect and influence that goes with being a Hawthorne. And as far as he’s concerned, the only way to achieve that is through marriage. Yours. Or your brother’s. To Toni or Allie.”

He made a scoffing sound and shook his head curtly as if in rejection of that idea.

“Not fucking likely.”

“He believes he has you exactly where he wants you. If seven months of negotiations didn’t scare you off, then he likely thinks you’re willing to do anything for this deal.”

“He’d be wrong.”

“Do you want Lambecrete?”

His gaze bored into her face with laser-like intensity and she shifted uncomfortably beneath that piercing stare. “Not that much.”

“If you help me, I can ensure you get it.”

“Help you how?”

She swallowed enfolding her arms around her body and taking a few steps backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She sat down and inhaled deeply.

“My mother died when I was twelve. She loved me, she wanted to protect me. I know that. Part of that protection was entrusting my inheritance to someone she believed she could trust, someone who would always put me first. She’d been married to Granger only a couple of years at that point. We had no other family and she didn’t want to leave me and my interests in the hands of an impersonal board. I know she did what she thought was best. She put my inheritance in trust until I was twenty-five. Or married. Whichever came first. With the caveat that—if Granger did not think I was ready to manage my own wealth at the age of twenty-five—he could extend the period up to an additional five years.”

She swallowed heavily, shuddering as she considered how Granger had abused her mother’s trust—literally and figuratively—over the years.

“I’m twenty-seven. Suffice it to say, to the surprise of no one at all, Granger did not think I was ready to manage my own wealth two years ago. But he’s getting desperate, he’ll lose control of my money in just under three years. And he’s now been hinting at me marrying—” Her voice broke on the last word and she shook her head. “Marrying his nephew… Richard. Once I marry I—supposedly—will have control of my own funds and assets. But I know… I just know that if I marry someone like Richard—someone firmly in my stepfather’s corner—Granger will find a way to take that control away from me. He and his daughters have been trying to undermine my self-esteem for years, making me feel small, incompetent, stupid, incapable at pretty much everything I do.” She privately acknowledged that they had been more successful than she would’ve liked. Even though she’d known what they were doing, the relentless mockery, criticism, and negativity had eaten away at her dignity and self-confidence. Like slowly dripping acid corroding away at metal. She hated that they’d done that to her, hated that she’d allowed it.

“He’s kept me hidden away at a boarding school for fifteen years,” she continued, bitterness seeping into her determinedly unemotional voice. “First, as a student, and then I was strongly encouraged to stay there as a teaching assistant. He refused to release any funds for my college tuition—stating it would be wasted on someone with my mediocre intelligence. He has absolute and iron clad control over my life. I have no doubt that if I marry Richard, I would lose what little agency I have left.

“But… I can marry someone else. That night, at the gala, it was the first time I’d ever been allowed to attend any kind of function without him always hovering and controlling whom I spoke to or interacted with. He had to cancel at the last minute, but he thought because my stepsisters were there, I’d be more closely monitored than I was. I absolutely knew who you were, Niall Caden Hawthorne, and at first—even though I knew my stepfather pretty much despised you and your family—I believed that you cut from the same cloth as Granger and Richard…” He made a disgusted noise, but his glowering gaze never deviated from her face.

He’d shown very little reaction or emotion while she spoke and Fern worried that everything she was saying was falling on deaf, unsympathetic ears. Maybe he didn’t care. Why should he? She was a stranger to him and perhaps she’d chosen unwisely, but at this moment in time, she had little choice but to follow through. Because if not Cade Hawthorne, then whom? She had absolutely no other options.

“But you’re not like them, are you?” Her question was almost pleading. “I sensed it that night. I could tell that you were different. You’ll help me.”

“How am I supposed to help you?” he suddenly grated out, his voice harsh, curt, and more than a little terrifying. “And—more to the point—why should I? Because we had sex? That’s a lot of baggage to pin on a guy for a quick, mediocre fuck.”

She swallowed again, trying not to flinch at his words. It was nothing she hadn’t expected.

“I can give you Lambecrete.”

“We’re on the verge of finalizing the deal for Lambecrete. I don’t see what incentive I have to help you if that’s the only thing of real value you have to offer me.”

“For two hundred million pounds!” she pointed out, her voice shaking with fear and frustration. “And rest assured, there will be so many strings attached to that deal, you’ll be trying to unravel your way through all his bullshit for months to come still. If I were to marry, Granger’s trusteeship falls away and my assets will be released into my name.”

“If you were to marry me, you mean?” His voice dripped with cynicism and she flinched.

“Yes, of course.”

“And how exactly does that make you different from Granger? From your sisters?”

“They’re not my sisters,” she corrected stiffly. “And I’m different because I’m not looking for a permanent arrangement, Cade. Marry me and Lambecrete is yours. No strings, no hidden clauses. All I ask is that the marriage lasts three years. Until I’m thirty. If we divorced before then Granger would find a way to regain control of my trust. You’re an attorney, right? You write the terms of our marriage contract; you make sure you get the best deal possible out of this union. Lambecrete at no cost whatsoever. All I want is the clear, written stipulation that you’ll leave everything else alone.”

“Why would you trust me to leave the rest alone?”

“Because you don’t need it. You don’t want it. I’ve done my due diligence. You’ve got your own money, much more than I stand to inherit. The only thing you and your family want from me is Lambecrete, and I’ll happily gift it to you. Call it my dowry.”

“Look, this is⁠—”

“It’s a lot,” she completed for him. “I know it is. Marrying a stranger. You know next to nothing about me.”

“Yeah, and why is that?” he asked, his eyes diamond hard and glittering with suspicion.

“Like I said, he kept me hidden. He controls every aspect of my life. I can’t even buy new clothing without his explicit consent. I-I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t really know how to do anything useful, aside from running this house. Nine years ago, I tried to leave. I had a friend; one he knew nothing about—someone from school. She said I could stay with her while I looked for work. That…” She paused, the memory leaving a bitter tang of sadness in her mouth. “Well, it didn’t go so well.”

He sighed explosively and palmed the nape of his neck, which he massaged, while glowering at her from beneath the silky black hair which had fallen over his forehead.

“This all makes zero sense…” he pointed out. “Far be it from me to look a so-called gift horse in the mouth, but you don’t have to marry anyone. He can’t force you to marry Wilson. We’re not living in the 19th century. Just wait it out, for fuck’s sake. Why the urgency to marry and marry now?”

She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell if what she heard in the question was disbelief or genuine curiosity. Who could blame him for being dubious? It truly was all so gothic and ridiculous. Her stepfather had already started to seed doubt about her mental and emotional competence in his social and business circles, she knew that. Knew he was paving the way for when her beleaguered husband—Richard—would have to tragically commit her to a stylish institution somewhere and leave her to slowly rot away and go truly crazy. The thought of it terrified her and she was desperate for this man—her first, last, and only hope—to believe her.

To help her.

She had one last card to play. The ace up her sleeve… the answer to his question. The real reason behind her desperation. But she was terrified. Reluctant to use it because it felt like a low blow.

It felt like entrapment.

She wanted him to choose to help her, not feel coerced into doing so. Still, as she stared into his skeptical eyes, certain he was about to reject her offer, she knew that it was now or never.

“Because when my stepfather finds out that I’m pregnant, he’s going to have exactly the leverage he needs to force me to marry Richard.”

She instantly wished the words back. Especially when he recoiled from her in absolute horror.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, his voice low and menacing.

No backing out now.

“Yes, pregnant. I’ve kept it from him so far, but I’ll start to show in a couple of months and then he’ll have me. Because—” Her own voiced lowered now, filling with promise and threat. “I will do anything to protect this baby from him. But make no mistake, if I stay, he’ll find some way to use that protective instinct against me. Possibly by threatening to have me declared an unfit mother and finding a way to have the baby taken from me if I don’t do what he wants of me. And what he wants is for me to marry Richard. For me to cede control of my inheritance to them. I know what he’s capable of. I’ve seen it. And this pregnancy makes me vulnerable because I’d give in and do what it takes to keep the baby with me.

“God knows, much as I’d love to, I can’t simply leave and raise it by myself, not without a job or money. The last time I tried to leave and fend for myself—like I said before—it ended badly. Very badly.”

She wasn’t sure he’d absorbed much of what she’d just said, he was still staring at her like she was some kind of wicked monster.

“And I guess you’re about to tell me that I’m the father of this supposed baby?” The cynicism in his voice was acrid enough to eat through steel.

“You are,” she whispered when the protective surge of adrenalin waned and left her sounding as timid and afraid as she truly felt.

“You didn’t need to stoop to this pathetic level, Fern,” he told her, the words layered in contempt. “I’m taking you up on your offer. So, I’m going to try and forget you invented this ridiculous lie.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. She was relieved he was willing to go through with her mad scheme, but appalled that he believed she would stoop so low as to fabricate a pregnancy. Especially since that was her motivation for taking such drastic action in the first place.

She was confused, uncertain… not sure how to proceed. Because while his agreement was exactly what she’d wanted, she’d never once thought he wouldn’t believe her about the pregnancy.

But now she was also terrified that if she pushed the matter, he would be so disgusted at her for sticking to the “lie”, he’d back out completely and leave her and her baby vulnerable to Granger Abernathy’s machinations.

“No more fucking lies, right? If we’re going to do this, I demand honesty between us. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper and she swallowed dryly. She wouldn’t push her luck, not when he was giving her what she wanted. She’d bring the pregnancy up again later, when things were less volatile. For now, she simply couldn’t afford to alienate him.

He gave her a look of such acute dislike, it rattled her to her core. But she reminded herself that she didn’t need him to like her. Not really. She needed him to help her get back what was hers. Because with a Hawthorne in her corner, Granger wouldn’t be able to touch her or her baby.

Things moved quickly after that, Cade dragged her to James Hawthorne’s room where—after his father asked him about a dozen times in a dozen different ways if he was sure he wanted to do this—they covertly drew up a plan of action. Fern had appreciated that about Mr. Hawthorne. She’d assumed he was just another controlling bully, but he made it clear that he did not expect his son to marry for the sake of the deal. In fact, he’d seemed concerned that Cade was willing to make such a “sacrifice.” And even though Fern hadn’t appreciated being considered some kind of punishment, she had been touched by the man’s obvious concern for his son’s happiness.

Only after Cade had insisted—a dozen times—that he was happy to screw Abernathy over like this (his exact words), had James Hawthorne got on board with the plan. He’d arranged for them to leave immediately—in the middle of the night—citing a business emergency, promising Granger that they’d wrap up the deal within the week.

They had to sneak Fern out by less conventional means—picking her up round back at the staff entrance to the kitchen, where she’d stood waiting with a single suitcase. She was huddled between Francois, the hulking French chef, and Stanford, the butler who’d been more of a father to her than Granger ever was.

Standing silently behind them was the entire household staff, some openly weeping, while others wiped surreptitiously at their faces. They would all cover for her over the next few days. If Granger or the sisters even bothered to look for her.

By the time her stepfamily realized Fern was missing, it would be too late. She’d be free of them. Even if it felt like she was only exchanging one prison for another. At least in her brand-new gilded cage, she could fool herself into believing that she had more control over her destiny.

She hugged Francois and Stanford goodbye and whispered quiet farewells to everyone else. They wished her luck and then she was silently whisked into the dark interior of a luxurious Maybach provided by the Hawthornes’ security company.

Nobody spoke on the drive to the airport.

Only after they were on board the private jet, winging their way to an unknown destination, did she allow herself to relax. Her hand dropped to her abdomen and she silently promised her baby that she would never allow him to be placed in harm’s way again.

“She’s an odd wee thing,” Cade’s father murmured, his gaze glued on the small sleeping figure curled up on the two-seater across from them. Cade, who’d been going over the legal paperwork she’d provided regarding her trust fund and inherited assets, looked up his dad over the rims of his reading glasses.

“Hmm,” he agreed, too exhausted to speak. She was right, Abernathy had screwed her over and vastly overreached his duties as the executor of her mother’s estate. He suspected the fucker was on the verge of applying for a conservatorship on her behalf. He didn’t know from where she’d swiped these documents—probably her stepfather’s safe—but she was clearly sneakier and more resourceful than Abernathy had given her credit for. It infuriated Cade when he discovered that the bastard had already begun laying a trail of breadcrumbs pointing to her incompetency due to diminished mental capacity.

It was all bollocks of course. While Fern was afraid and desperate, she was not mentally or emotionally incapable. And yeah, maybe Cade had only known her for a hot minute, maybe Abernathy wasn’t a sneaky motherfucker trying to steal his stepdaughter’s inheritance out from under her, but somehow Cade doubted he was wrong about her.

“He was going to have her committed,” he finally told his father, and the old man’s gaze sharpened in concern as they flew back to the sleeping woman.

“You don’t think she⁠—”

“No, Dad… I don’t. You met Abernathy, he’s a worm. He wanted her money, control over her assets. And in just three years he was going to lose that control. He was trying to fix it so that he never would.”

“This doesn’t have to fall to you, Niall. You don’t have to save her like some knight in shining armor.”

“It’s a business deal like any other, Dad. Better even. We get a two hundred-million-pound company for nothing, and get to play the heroes while doing so. She needs our protection, we get her company. After that we all go our separate ways. No fuss, no mess. I’m okay with that.”

“What if you meet someone, fall in love in the next three years?”

Cade’s eyebrows flew to his hairline at the unexpected question, which—as far as he could tell—came from a place of genuine concern.

“If it’s the real thing…” he said slowly, his voice thoughtful. “It’ll keep.”

“I never wanted you or your brothers and sister to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of this company,” his father said fiercely. “If Gideon had listened to my demands all those years ago, he would never have met Elizabeth Finch, and he’d be miserable right now. I want the rest of you to have what Gideon has.”

The vehemence and emotion in his father’s voice shook Cade and he sent the older man a searching look.

“Dad? Are you okay?”

“Oh, fuck off, Niall,” his father blustered, his cheeks going ruddy with embarrassment. “I’m not dying or anything. I just want you all to be happy, aye? And I don’t think marrying this wee mad lass is going to make you happy.”

“It won’t be permanent. And getting Lambecrete will make me happy for now.” Because obtaining Lambecrete had always been Cade’s vision more than his father’s

The older man stared at him sadly before sighing and shaking his head.

“Well, then I suppose she’ll soon be our wee mad lass, aye?” his dad said, his voice soft. “And we take care of our own. I dare Abernathy to try and come for her then.”