The Manor, The Dog, The Debt

My phone vibrated.

A text from Hobs.

[It was an accident. Becca is more shaken up than anyone. I'm staying with her at the manor tonight. Now that the deed is signed, I'll have the lawyers finalize it tomorrow. Don't be upset. I'll make this up to you and love you even more.]

I didn't reply.

I collected Cody's ashes. My gaze fell to the engagement bracelet on my wrist, and the irony was crushing.

Love?

To hell with his love.

Hobs knew how much this would gut me, and he did it anyway.

It wasn't a mistake. It was a choice.

He had chosen to hurt me, and he had done it with surgical precision.

It was unforgivable.

I kept the appointment I had made that afternoon. Then I spent the evening packing my bags and walked out of the apartment we once shared for the last time.

I unclasped the Cartier bracelet—once a symbol of our love—and tossed it onto the vanity.

The bracelet was trash. Hobs's love was worth even less.

My phone buzzed again.

A flight notification.

[Dear Ms. Blair Sinclair, your ticket for flight BA1516 from New York (JFK) to London (LHR) has been successfully issued. Departure: 10:15 AM, the day after tomorrow. We wish you a pleasant journey.]

Another buzz. An email from an unknown address.

[Miss Sinclair, I've looked into it. There are no insurance claims or medical records for any skiing accidents in Europe under the name Becca Davis.]

I read the email, a cold certainty settling in my gut. But with the transfer deed in effect, I had already lost the manor.

A few days later, Hobs cornered me on the street.

Seeing my glacial expression, he asked tentatively, "The deed is finalized. Are you still angry?"

"I wasn't taking her side. Becca is sponsored by one of my charity projects; we've known each other for a while. Seeing her in that state... I just felt sorry for her. That's why I…"

"I've found a new penthouse on Central Park West. Better location, better view. I'll buy it for you as compensation. I already promised you, from now on I'll…"

Hobs didn't get to finish.

Becca rolled up in her electric wheelchair, interrupting him eagerly. "Blair, I was just looking for you!"

"Hobs was worried about how people would see me, so he's holding a charity party at the manor tomorrow. It's a housewarming, and a way to clear my name."

"Since you're moving your things out tomorrow anyway, you should come!"

Becca had barely finished when Hobs chimed in.

"Exactly. Becca's situation is awkward enough. If you're there, it will help dispel the rumors."

I frowned, a cold laugh escaping my lips.

"Clear her name? How? The facts are the facts. She was born while my parents were married. If her mother wasn't a mistress, what was she?"

With that, I turned and walked away.

Becca's face flushed with fury.

She bit back a curse, then turned to Hobs, her expression shifting instantly to one of feigned fragility.

"Hobs, is Blair still mad at me?"

"It's all my fault. I should have just stayed in Europe, a useless cripple. It would have been better if I'd died... then I wouldn't be a nuisance to anyone."

Hobs patted her shoulder comfortingly.

"What right does she have to be angry? I've more than compensated her."

"Don't worry about it. I'll handle things tomorrow."

Handle it.

It was a thinly veiled threat, and I heard it loud and clear.