Instigation Read online

  Since my parents had died, I’d been on my own, struggling to make ends meet as my student loans and seemingly never-ending bills began to pile up. I’d still been unable to find a job in my career field, and I was barely scraping by, living paycheck to measly paycheck thanks to my receptionist job. Much to Adrian’s chagrin, I insisted on keeping my apartment, mostly out of pride. I wanted to make my own way, not allow a man to pay the way for me. I balked the first few times he showed up with gifts. First, a Coach purse. Little presents here and there as a reminder that he was thinking of me. Once he even showed up with a Tiffany necklace—absolutely flooring me. Each time, I downright refused, knowing I didn’t deserve them, but then he’d give me that sexy pout until I gave in. He liked spoiling me. He wanted to do it, he insisted.

  So, eventually, I let him. Besides, I needed a new wardrobe, and he could afford to buy me one. I couldn’t exactly go out with him to business dinners and cocktail parties in my Levi jeans and a tank top from Target while he was dressed to the nines in Armani. He enjoyed pampering me, and I, in all honestly, loved being pampered. Especially by Adrian.

  Three months from the first night we met, he whisked me away to Paris for New Year’s Eve, and under the shining stars and fireworks, he professed his love just as the clock struck midnight, taking us into a new year, a new chapter of our lives. And I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I loved him, too. The rest of the trip was spent in the hotel room as he consumed me, mind, body, soul, and heart. I was no longer simply Gabriella Latham. I was Adrian Morningstar’s whole world, and I never wanted to be anything else.

  Not long after we got home, late one night, following a passionate round of sex, he pulled me into his arms and told me that he’d had enough.

  “Gabriella,” he began as his fingers entwined in my hair, tugging just enough to sting. “A woman as beautiful as you should not be worrying about silly things like paying the bills.”

  I raised an eyebrow, sighing because this wasn’t the first time we’d had this argument. “Silly things? You mean things like living? Making ends meet? Sorry, Mr. Ivy League, but not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouths.”

  “Move in with me,” he said, changing tactics.

  “What?” I asked, my heart fluttering.

  “Baby, you’re here almost every night anyway. If you move in, you’ll want for nothing. You won’t need to work that idiotic job, and you can pursue anything your heart desires.”

  “It’s not idiotic, Adrian. And I have my student loans to think about,” I protested, causing him to grip my hair even tighter.

  “Paid off,” he said nonchalantly, waving the notion away.

  My eyes widened, and I tried to move, but he wasn’t allowing it as he tightened his hold. “What?!”

  “Let me take care of you. You are mine, Gabriella, and if I have my way, you always will be. I’m a Morningstar. We always take care of what’s ours.” His tone was gruff, commanding even.

  Even though I wanted to protest, I knew not to fight with him. If anything, I should be grateful. Still, I was confused about his Morningstar claim. As far as I knew, his father hadn’t taken care of him in a very long time.

  Maybe it should have been a warning, but at the time, I found it romantic. Sexy, even. My very own American Prince Charming. He wanted to take care of me, and I wanted to let him.

  What a fool I was.

  I packed my apartment up and did as he wished, and for a while, I was in heaven. Here I was, a lonely girl with practically nothing, living like a queen, and I loved serving my king. However, over time, his possessive side increased tenfold. Being his was no longer enough. He wanted all of me. I wore what he wanted, when he wanted, and he used the excuse that he didn’t want other men looking at me when I was at work, which I didn’t do for much longer.

  Under his advisement, I quit my job and took over his personal affairs. At first, I’d refused, wanting to maintain some sort of independence, but then he’d switched tactics. He’d pulled me into his arms and lovingly kissed my forehead as he reminded me who he was. The ever-important Adrian Morningstar, to whom appearances meant everything. Especially around potential clients.

  What kind of man would they think he was if he wasn’t taking care of his woman? A man of his caliber wouldn’t have a receptionist for a girlfriend, so for appearances’ sake, I’d be doing him a favor if I’d quit. In turn, I’d be helping him, he argued. He’d let me be his right hand of sorts, an offer I couldn’t refuse. I didn’t know much about what he did, so the idea of getting to see it all firsthand was exciting. Then he put the cherry on the sundae when he offered to give me free rein in collecting artwork for his home. It would be my prerogative, he said—no expenses spared. I put my two weeks’ notice in the very next day.

  For a while, I enjoyed visiting art galleries and perusing their collections, trying to find the perfect reproductions to place on his walls. It was fun while it lasted, but unfortunately, it ended all too quickly. Being his right hand turned into being his personal assistant. I organized cocktail parties, did his scheduling, and was even able to do some graphic design. To my surprise, I found that I liked it. I enjoyed the freedom of working for him, and every look of pride on his face when I accomplished even the measliest of tasks sent a thrill of satisfaction through me.

  It was only the first time when I questioned him that the other side of Adrian appeared.

  I remember every single moment as if it were yesterday. He walked into the master bedroom, his skin damp and glistening from his morning shower. His back was to me, his muscles rippling and hard, begging to be touched. A sigh escaped my lips as my eyes wandered down his body, and I mentally wished for the towel to drop. He’d been out of town for the past week, and it’d been even longer than that since we’d last slept together. I was starving for him, craving his touch, needing his strong body to cover mine as he slid his delicious, hard cock inside me, fucking me hard until he made me come with his name on my lips. I needed the intimacy, to know he still desired me. Still loved me.

  He turned to me, a gleam in his eye. “I didn’t mean to wake you, Gabriella,” he said as his eyes roamed my naked body. It was how he requested I sleep—even when he was away. Usually, it was so he could wake me in the most sensual way, but last night, he’d forgone that, apparently. “Go back to sleep.”

  A frown formed on my face as I grasped the sheet and sat up, reaching a hand out, hoping to entice him into our bed. “I don’t want to sleep, Adrian. I’ve missed you.”

  He had the decency to look torn as he glanced from the bed to the clock on the nightstand. “I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart, and I promise to make it up to you, but I have to get to the office to tie up some loose ends from this trip. Tonight, I’m all yours.”

  With that, he turned and walked back into the bathroom, shutting the door to me. Not wanting to pout or go back to sleep, I hopped out of bed and decided to make myself useful. I entered our massive walk-in closet and began to unpack his luggage, sorting his clothes in piles—one I could wash and one that needed to go to the dry cleaner. I was humming along when I pulled out a white dress shirt and tossed it into the laundry pile. As I did, I noticed a red spot on the sleeve and another on the collar. Dread washed over me, and my mind jumped to conclusions—the same ones any woman’s mind usually would in this scenario.

  Lipstick.

  With trembling hands, I leaned over and picked it up, forcing myself to bring the offending material to my face for further inspection.

  It wasn’t lipstick.

  It was something worse.

  The crimson stain was blood.

  I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified. Why the hell would Adrian have had blood on his shirt? Had something happened to him?

  Calm down, Gabriella, I thought. Perhaps he nicked himself shaving. Yes, that must be it. My nerves calmed ever so slightly until my eyes fell back on the spot on his sleeve. It would explain the collar, but not the rest.

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nbsp; I have no idea how long I stared at the shirt, trying to muster up the courage to go into the bathroom to ask him what had happened, but deep down, I don’t think I wanted to know. Eventually, he came in to dress, stopping in his tracks when he spotted me holding the shirt. He muttered a curse then let out a deep sigh, one more of annoyance than anything.

  “Going through my things, sweetheart?” he asked. I was aware that it was one of his pet peeves, so I should have known better.

  “No, Adrian, I wasn’t,” I protested quickly. “I just wanted to get a head start on your laundry so I could wash, dry, and steam what I could and then drop the rest off at dry cleaning. I saw this, and I thought . . .” I said, trailing off, not wanting to actually say the words out loud.

  “You thought what?” he asked, his voice low yet remarkably calm.

  “I thought it was lipstick,” I admitted, letting out a deep breath and looking down at the floor, ashamed I’d have even had such a thought. Was blood better than lipstick? I didn’t even want to entertain the question.

  Adrian crossed the room, his long legs swiftly bringing him to me. His thumb and forefinger nudged my chin until I was looking up at him. I couldn’t quite read his expression. It was a mixture of amusement and humor with flashes of anger I thought he was trying to mask but wasn’t doing a magnificent job of it.

  “I once told you that you’d never be one of many. Do you believe me a liar now?” he asked with a stern voice, almost daring me to call him such a thing even though we both knew better. Or so I thought at the time.

  I shook my head, still ashamed as I remembered the day he’d told me that I’d be his one and only. He might have had mood swings from time to time and spent many a late night out, but he’d never given me reason to believe he’d strayed before.

  “Use your words,” he insisted, again reminding me of that first day he’d told me that I’d be only his. Those three words sent a shiver down my spine.

  “No, Adrian,” I whispered. “You’ve never lied to me. I don’t believe you’d start now.”

  “You don’t believe?” he challenged, arching an eyebrow.

  “I know,” I was quick to amend. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me. Plus, it’s not lipstick. I never should have believed it was.”

  His eyes flashed, and I instantly regretted my words. “What is it, then?” he asked as if he didn’t know. It was another invitation to challenge him.

  His demeanor was one of a calm man, but his eyes were menacing, and I’d never seen him like that. Adrian’s always been a mystery, but this new interrogative man? I didn’t recognize him.

  “Bl-blood,” I choked out, setting my chin and not allowing my gaze to falter even though I wanted nothing more than to break our connection. I didn’t wish to see the truth in his eyes.

  “Do you want to know what it’s from?” he asked, his eyes boring down into mine, his expression unreadable.

  Did I? Of course I did, but at what cost? He smiled villainously at my hesitation and gave me a quick, curt nod of approval, before I could even respond.

  “Good girl. After all, you know what they say about curiosity, Gabriella?”

  I swallowed hard but somehow mustered up an amused grin. “It killed the cat?”

  His jaw clenched as his eyes darkened. A grim expression covered his face as he tilted his head and watched me. “A child’s tale. The punishment for such avid curiosity is far worse,” he informed me, and I waited for a smile to break out on his face, for him to tell me that he was joking, but he never did. It was unsettling, to say the least. “Ensure your curiosity doesn’t get the better of you in the future.”

  Without another word or a kiss goodbye, Adrian walked out of the closet, leaving me to wonder what the hell had just happened, what the hell he’d gotten into while he had been gone, and what the hell he’d meant about curiosity.

  It’s not that he’d scared me or even made me fearful in any sense of the word. Still, his demeanor had been unnerving, and the fact that he had bloody clothes and no explanation was entirely off-putting. As much as I tried to wipe the memory from my mind, I failed to do so, all sorts of scenarios running through my head. Eventually, I forced them away, rationalizing that, if he wanted to tell me, he would. And as long as he wasn’t hurt, then it didn’t matter.

  Wondering if he’d been the one to hurt someone kept creeping into my mind though. It was a thought that’s been niggling at the back of it ever since, no matter how much I don’t want to believe that it could be true.

  When he returned that evening, he placed a tiny, blue box in front of me on the counter, his apology without having to say the actual words. At the time, I didn’t want the box, but I also didn’t want to disappoint him, so I opened it and thanked him profusely for the sparkling diamond earrings. So profusely that I soon found myself on my knees, on the cold, hard tile, appropriately showing him just how grateful I was.

  Hindsight really is a bitch.

  Things continued as if nothing had happened, and I never saw another drop of blood anywhere near the Morningstar estate again. I tried my hardest to push the incident out of my mind as I settled into my new role as Adrian’s personal . . . whatever. If I wasn’t working, I still wanted to make sure I was earning my keep. Adrian always returned to a spotless home, a ready meal, and a completely willing me. He wanted for nothing.

  Until he apparently wanted more.

  I am no longer enough. But just when did that happen? Where did we go wrong? What had I done and why did he find my lacking?

  Thinking back on it, I know exactly when things began to change, and it was well before the blood incident.

  Ever since he received a phone call six months ago from his estranged father, he’s been distant. He was summoned home, and I barely heard from him while he was gone. I chalked it up to family strife; they’d been estranged for as long as I’d known him. He hadn’t wanted to leave, yet it seemed as if he’d had no choice. That in itself was unnerving. The Adrian I knew answered to no man.

  Except, I was learning, if said man was his father. Estranged or not, he begrudgingly packed a bag and met the private plane within an hour of his summons.

  When he returned, it was as if a stranger had taken over his body. His whole demeanor was different. Gone was the suave, sophisticated, highly sexual man who claimed to love me and couldn’t keep his hands off me for a day, let alone an entire weekend. In his place was a cold, aloof stranger who barely noticed I was even around. He was the man who’d warned me about curiosity, only exponentially distant and cold. My Adrian was gone, and I had no idea how to find him again.

  He started having to travel more for business. His phone calls home were few and far between. And when he was around, he was on edge, twitchy, and irritable. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he’d developed a drug habit. But that’s the thing. I did know better. Adrian Morningstar was a control freak, and aside from the occasional drink, he allowed no substance to impair his judgment.

  I was at a loss. I wanted my Adrian back, not this stranger I didn’t even recognize. No matter how many times I asked what was bothering him, he wouldn’t give me an answer. Those were the times he noticed me, and he always silenced me the same way—with sex. Even that was different. His heart was no longer in it, and I could tell he was only going through the motions, giving me just enough satisfaction to keep me around. Then again, where would I go?

  Now, I guess I know why. Maybe my Adrian wasn’t a liar or a cheat, but that man is gone. This one? He is everything I swore I’d never fall for. A man I’d never stay with. A man I can’t stay with.

  IT’S INEVITABLE. IT HAS been for some time, yet I haven’t allowed myself to believe it. But as I recall those incidents, I know that it’s time to go. My heart leaps into my throat as I hear the shower turn off. After jumping to my feet, I rush to the closet, grab my favorite Coach duffel bag, and quickly stuff enough clothes for at least a weekend away. I have no idea where I’m going, but I know that today has to be
the day. I can’t live like this any longer, and the sooner I leave, the better off I’ll be. And the less of Adrian’s I take, the better.

  As I return to the room, something catches my eye. I look down and see the pair of panties lying there. After scooping them up, I walk downstairs and set my bag on the counter, positioning the tiny scrap of infidelity proof next to it. Taking a seat, I square my shoulders and try to muster up the confidence to tell Adrian that it’s over.

  The thought runs through my mind, and I feel hot tears starting to well up in my eyes. All of those times I’ve thought of leaving, I never actually thought I would. I never truly believed that our whirlwind romance had fizzled out as quickly as it had ignited. I push my emotions down, telling myself that I can break down later. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  “Gabriella!”

  His loud bellow jolts me out of my thoughts, and my heart races while I wait for the impending confrontation. As the sound of his footsteps draws near, nausea roils in my stomach, and I brace my hands against the counter so hard that my knuckles turn white. I’m not ready for this breakup, but I suppose I never will be. A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed I’d be here, in this position, ready to walk away from him, but the reality is that he walked away and checked out of this relationship first.

  “Oh, there you are,” he states, frowning when he sees me sitting there. His eyes narrow as he shakes his head as if I had the gall to not have come running the moment he beckoned. “What are you doing? You know what time my flight is and you were supposed to finish my packing.”

  “I’m not your servant, Adrian,” I inform him, practically choking on the words. Because, if I actually examine our relationship, that’s exactly what I’ve become.

  He chuckles as if he disagrees, and my eyes narrow as I await his response. “I’ve never treated you as such, but if you’d like to continue to make ridiculous accusations, I can start. Might I remind you, Gabriella, that you were the one who woke me with a morning blow job then climbed on top and rode me like a wild mustang even after I insisted I didn’t have time. We both know that that’s why I’m running late. It seems only fair that you’d help ensure I don’t miss my flight. Yet here I stand, my luggage not packed and the minutes ticking away.”