The cravings to have her back, to run my fingertips along her pale skin, to hold her, were almost unbearable.
My head was swimming with possibilities. Of what had happened, of what I wanted to happen. Every single thought I had revolved around finding Violet, bringing her back to the Windsor Manor where she belonged. By my side, as was her rightful place.
I missed her, as hard as it was to admit, and the only thing left of her was her room. Aimlessly, I wandered down the hallway from my study, coming to a stop in front of her room and seeing a figure moving in there with swift motions. My hopes soared, but as I stepped into the room, I realized it was just the maid, Belle, faithfully cleaning Violet's room as if its inhabitant had just ran out to run an errand, and not disappeared without a trace.
"Oh, Mr. Windsor," Belle muttered, giving me a curt bow. "I didn't see you there, so sorry, didn't mean to bother you."
"It's alright, Belle." I lay my hand on her forearm, only noticing then how badly she was shaking. "I know this has impacted you too. You must be worried sick."
"We all are, Sir," she confided in me, nervously biting her lower lip as her eyes danced across the room. "Oh, everyone's so worried about Miss Cabot. Everyone in the kitchens, every member of the staff... She's so sweet and kind, everyone likes her."
Including me, I added in my head bitterly as my thoughts swirled with inexplicable jealousy. Of course everyone liked Violet. What was not to like? She was a stunning, sweet young woman. She was only bratty for me, at least from what I'd seen. The memory made the corners of my lips twist upward, but the moment I remembered what was happening, my expression hardened yet again.
"Keep dusting," I told Belle. "I'm just going to take a quick look around. Try to see if I can find another clue."
She nodded wordlessly, returning to her task as I paced the room.
I looked in her closet, filled to the brim with beautiful clothes I'd bought for her, heels that would elongate her legs and jewelry any woman would be jealous of. There was nothing here that would hint at her whereabouts, nothing out of place. Belle had kept the room clean as ever, as if Violet would return to her rightful home any second now. It fucking hurt, because I had no idea when - or if - she'd be back.
A stack of dirty books caught my attention then, and I walked over to the loveseat in the corner. The stack was in front of the seat, a sharp contrast to the rest of the room that was spotless and tidy.
I examined the books, wondering out loud, "What are these doing here?"
"Oh, the books." Belle approached me, still fearful and hesitant, as if she were afraid I'd snap under the weight of all that pressure.
She needn't have worried. I was saving all my pent-up aggression for Peterson. Once I finally got my hands on him, he was fucking dead.
"One of the gardeners found them scattered over the driveway, right after Miss Violet disappeared," Belle went on, making me knit my brows together in worry. "I assumed the books belonged to Miss Violet... the name inside says Cabot. I never looked at the rest, I didn't think it was my place."
Damn right it fucking isn't.
"Why did nobody tell me about this?" I barked at her, and she instinctively took a step back, paling with fear. I forced myself to calm down, saying, "Doesn't matter now. I'll look through them."
"I'm sorry," she managed sheepishly before leaving the room in a hurry. I could hear her breath of relief the moment she closed the door, separating us. She really is fucking scared of me.
I lifted the journals into my hands, the whole stack, at least seven or eight of them. Carrying them out of the room, I headed for my office and piled the books high up on my desk before picking up the first one.
A quick look inside proved these were notebooks filled with pages upon pages of flowery handwriting. They couldn't have been Violet's - the paper was thin and yellowing, obviously older than anything my plaything would have owned. I furrowed my brows, staring at the scribbled pages and trying to decipher the story those journals had to tell.
This could be a clue. A fucking important one.
And while I waited for Jasper to make sure the liquidation was processed, I had enough time to start going through the journals one by one. Anything to get me a step closer to finding Violet.
I began reading.
Diary of Brynne Davenport - March 4th, 1989
It's been a few days since I got flowers from my secret admirer. I still have them in my bedroom, though they're starting to wilt. I don't think I can bring myself to throw them away, though. I'm going to keep them forever, even though I'm not sure where things are going with Mr. Admirer.
I want to like him, I really do... but there's just something about Mr. Romantic, something that pulls me toward him like an irresistible magnetic force. It's so hard to fight it, and it gets harder with every second I spend in his company.
It quickly became obvious the diaries belonged to Violet's mother, and I furrowed my brows. I wasn't sure how reading her entries would help me find her daughter now, years later, but I had nothing else to do, except wait for the caller from the other night to make good on his promise. So I kept on reading, hoping I would find more in Violet's mother's diary, another hint perhaps, or at least the names of the two men who'd been pursuing her.
I read some of the entries prior to the one I'd first opened the page on, then went back to March 4th. By then, I was invested - I wanted to know who the two men courting Violet's mother were. I assumed one of them was Hugo Cabot, though there were no hints to his true identity. For whatever reason, Brynne kept their names hidden - perhaps out of fear somebody would find her diary. It seemed as if she had quite strict parents.
Diary of Brynne Davenport - March 5th, 1989
I asked Mr. Romantic today why he didn't get me anything for Valentine's day, and I think I may have poked the hornet's nest with that question.
He took me out in secret. I climbed down the tree next to my bedroom and snuck out with him, and I didn't regret anything at all. Mr. Romantic is so thoughtful, so it surprised me he hadn't done anything for me for the most romantic day of the year. But he seemed annoyed by my question. He asked me if I got anything from other people, and I had to tell him about Mr. Admirer. He didn't like that one bit. In fact, he got jealous! I know I shouldn't get excited about that, but it made me feel so wanted to know two men were after me!
Two handsome, successful older men who both want me... What more could a girl want?
Anyway, Mr. Romantic told me he didn't believe in Valentine's Day.
It shouldn't have upset me as much as it did, but I couldn't help myself. What's so terrible about celebrating the holiday with someone you have feelings for? But Mr. Romantic was adamant. He doesn't believe in Valentine's Day and he never will. It really made me sad. A future without a single Valentine's Day celebration doesn't seem so exciting now... but Mr. Romantic is so dreamy. I can't help but think about him when I'm all by myself...
I closed the diary and put it aside. There were only a couple pages left, but something was nagging me, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.
The thing about Valentine's Day. I'd heard it before. I remembered my father saying it to my mother when I was younger and she got upset about not getting flowers on the day that was so important to her. And all those years ago, my father had uttered the same words Brynne Davenport wrote about in her diary from decades ago.
I don't believe in Valentine's Day.
My heart began racing as I started to put the puzzle pieces together.
It was obvious one of the men in Brynne Davenport's life was Hugo Cabot. But the other... the other man was none other than my father.
As soon as I came to that realization, it was as if everything clicked into place instantly. It was my father. Dominic Windsor was Mr. Romantic.
I returned to the diaries with new found vigor, flipping through the pages, eager to find out what happened. This, I now realized, was the real reason behind the animosity between mine and Violet's fa
thers. They were divided by the love they shared for the same woman. A woman who was long gone by now.
Diary of Brynne Davenport - April 3rd, 1989
I've been spending more and more time with Mr. Romantic lately. Mr. Admirer is still eagerly pursuing me, but I feel myself pulled more and more toward the other man. I want him. I need him. When he touches me, my body comes alive. There's something in the way he looks at me... Like I'm his most prized possession. Like I belong to him already.
I've been holding back, not letting him have more than a kiss or a feel when he takes me home. But I think I'm ready to let him have so much more. I've been ready for a long time now. I haven't slept with a man before, but it's going to happen tonight. And I can't wait.
I turned the page eagerly. There was only one entry left, and my eyes were glued to the page as I kept on reading, sickness rising in my stomach as the words danced on the page in front of me.
Diary of Brynne Davenport - April 4th, 1989
Last night was the worst night of my life.
I had spent so long anticipating it, working up my courage to spend the night with Mr. Romantic. Now I know I had been mistaken. I never should have trusted him. I should have known how things would end. I'm no longer the foolish girl that walked into Mr. Romantic's bedroom and naively admired his expensive artwork, the furniture that must've cost a fortune, and the view that was worth millions in itself.
Mr. Romantic is not a nice man.
I went to his place with every intention of letting him have my virginity.
I dressed up pretty, I sprayed myself with perfume, my makeup and hair were perfect. Mr. Romantic complimented me on my appearance throughout dinner, telling me how beautiful and desirable I was. I felt on top of the world. I felt beautiful, and special.
That ended the moment he took me to his penthouse apartment after dinner.
When Mr. Romantic closed the front door behind us, he locked it. He turned to face me, and this time, his eyes were burning with dark intent, and not the sweet, gentle feelings I'd thought we shared for one another. That all went out the window when we were alone.
I'm writing this down now because I refuse to forget what he did to me.
Even years later, I want to remember the anger I feel today, the upset he caused me, the fear and sadness. Mr. Romantic, my ass. His name is Dominic Windsor, and he is a monster.
I felt chills go down my spine as I read Brynne's cryptic words. I kept reading, unable to tear my eyes off the page. I needed to get to the bottom of this.
Yesterday, Dominic Windsor stole my virginity. He didn't ask me if I wanted him, and he took it despite my protests. My fists hammered his chest as he fucked me. He told me twenty no's and a yes still means yes. And I will admit, I wanted it. I wanted it until the light in his eyes went out. Until he stopped making love to me, and started hurting me.
His touch was punishing and cruel. Dominic didn't care if he hurt me. I knew then and there he never intended to marry me. All he wanted was my innocence. To cradle it in the palm of his hand, to crush the last shred of dignity I had left under his strong fingers. And he did. He took everything away from me. He left bruises and marks all over my body, and it took me until today to realize he took advantage. Used me. And I'll never forgive him for it.
My name is Brynne Davenport, and one day, I will have revenge for what that man did to me.
Dominic Windsor, I'm coming for you.
Softly, I closed the cover of the notebook. I was glued to my seat, eyes scanning the room for a sign on what to do. My father had hurt Violet's mother. And now, decades later, I was hurting the girl that could have been my half-sister if things had gone differently. Luckily, the timelines didn't add up - Violet was born years after the events described in Brynne's notebook, but it still made me sick.
What my father did to that woman - back then, nothing but a young, vulnerable girl - was unforgivable. One day, he would pay for his actions. But first, I needed to find Violet - and thanks to her mother's diary, I had a good idea of who was behind her disappearance.
A quick internet search on my phone revealed the date of Brynne's wedding with Hugo. It was less than a month after she slept with my father, according to her diary. This meant Hugo Cabot was the other man Brynne had written about in her diaries - Mr. Admirer.
It quickly becomes obvious my father had a motive - motive that would be enough to make him care more about bringing Hugo Cabot down, than being there to gloat about it.
I got up from my seat and tracked down Jasper in front of the office.
"Cancel the transaction," I told him, and when the words left my lips, his shoulders sagged with relief.
"Good thinking, Sir," Jasper replied curtly, and I managed a smile. It must've been my first genuine smile in the days since Violet's disappearance. Finally, I felt like I was getting closer to getting my princess back where she belonged. "Are there any more leads on Violet's disappearance?"
"Yes," I muttered, checking to make sure we were alone in the hallway. God forbid somebody overheard us - this could get messy. "I know who has Violet."
"Who?" Jasper furrowed his brows, staring at me with expectation.
"It's my fucking father," I ground out.
Jasper's mouth set in a thin line. He didn't comment, merely nodding before he spoke up again. I admired him for it. The man was all business.
"Since the caller that demanded money masked their voice... Just like Peterson did... There's a good chance the two are working together."
"You're right," I muttered. "You're fucking right. Especially if it really was Georgia who convinced Violet to leave."
Jasper nodded slowly, his eyes darkening to the point of blackness. "What's our next move, Sir?"
"We're bringing those bastards down." I nodded at him. "Whatever the hell we have to do, they're going to fucking pay."
Ten
Violet
The ropes were no longer around my wrists. They still ached, and I was very much a prisoner, but I was headed somewhere I had never been before--Sloane Manor. That would put me closer to civilization and closer to freedom. I told them I would sign my name on Connor’s contract, but I had no intention of going through with it if I had a chance to escape.
“She will ride with us.” Winter motioned to her car when we got outside.
“What about my car?” Connor gave her an apprehensive glance. “Someone might see it…”
“One of my bodyguards will handle it.” She waved him off.
Winter didn’t come alone. She had an entourage--none of them batted an eye when I was led, bruised and battered, to her waiting car. I couldn’t believe so many people could be complacent in the face of such cruelty, but I had been rather surprised when so many of my father’s business partners stood by and watched what Devlin did to me. The entire world was fucked up--I didn’t even get the opportunity to be a spectator before I was an unwilling participant in all of the awful things it had planned for me.
I wonder what my mother would say if she was still here--knowing that both of her daughters had been subjected to these awful fates.
I was led to Winter’s sedan. Her driver held the door and Winter pushed me inside. I was still naked--not even a blanket to cover myself with. Her driver and her bodyguards all looked like hulking beasts that would kill or devour me if given an order by their Mistress. Were they all under the same spell as Connor? Would they start trembling if Winter snapped her fingers?
“No, you will sit on the other side of me.” Winter put his hand on Connor’s chest before he could climb inside. “You don’t get to play with your new toy until she signs the contract--that’s the deal.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Connor cowered and let her get in first.
There was no way I was going to escape, even if I opened the door and ran. I was still too weak and weary. I just had to wait, get my strength, and try to make a break for it when the time was right. Once we were seated, I was against the door with Winter to my right and C
onnor on the other side of her. She looked so tiny when she was seated--yet obviously strong enough to have the car flipped with all of us inside if she wanted--just with a whisper from those sinister lips.
“We’re going to have to do something about that wrist.” Winter reached over and pushed her nail into my wound, which caused me to flinch. “You may need a plastic surgeon--the only scars that should adorn your body are the ones Connor leaves on it.”
“He did this…” I pulled my hand away.
“No, he tied you up. You’re the one that chose to try and escape. Every mark was put there by your insolence, but soon enough, you’ll learn how to wear those marks for his pleasure.” Her lips twisted into a smile. “But it’s not all bad--he’s actually quite useful to have around--aren’t you, boy?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Connor nodded.
“Why don’t you show her?” Winter pushed her legs apart. “I’m sure she’d like to see how good you can be--maybe that’ll ease some of her concerns about what you’re going to do to her after the contract is signed.”
“As you wish, Mistress.” Connor moved his hand to Winter’s thigh.
“Your tongue, boy.” Winter slapped his hand. “I have toys that are better than your filthy fingers.”
I scooted as far as I could to my side of the car as Connor crammed his frame into the floorboard between the seats. It was a large car, but not nearly big enough for him to fit comfortably. He didn’t seem to care.
“Watch carefully, dear.” Winter put her hand on my thigh. “You’ll be doing this for me as often as he does--his property is my property. Isn’t that right, boy?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Connor started kissing his way up Winter’s thigh.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even know what to say if there were words that could express how I felt. Connor stripped Winter’s panties off and kissed his way to her pussy. She leaned against me and closed her eyes. I didn’t want to be near her--especially while he was pleasuring her--but it didn’t seem that I had a choice. I had a front row seat to the most disgusting show on Earth.
Devil’s Sinner: Fallen Dynasty Book 3 Page 6
