Chapter 4 - The Shadow of Arthur Hayes
By eight o'clock that evening, the glass tower was mostly empty.
The cleaning crew moved silently through the hallways, their vacuum cleaners creating a low hum against the quiet night air.
I sat in my corner office on the 38th floor, staring out at the rain-slicked skyscrapers of Manhattan. On my desk lay an open manila folder—a private investigator’s file that had arrived by special courier two hours ago.
Inside were four photographs of my estranged father, Arthur Hayes.
Arthur had vanished seven years ago after embezzling three million dollars from a small regional bank in Ohio, leaving my mother and me with his massive debts and a trail of shattered promises. It was the reason I kept emergency cash in my bag. It was the reason I never trusted charming men who made big promises.
And now, according to the private file, Arthur had returned to New York.
And he had been seen meeting with Marcus Marlowe three days ago.
A soft knock sounded at my door.
I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The subtle scent of cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and rain filled the room before he even crossed the threshold.
Vincent stepped inside, closing the heavy mahogany door behind him. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only his vest and a white silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the dark, faint scar on his left wrist—a remnant from his younger, more dangerous days.
"You should be at home, Claire," Vincent said softly, walking over to the glass window beside my desk.
"I can't sleep," I admitted, closing the manila folder hurriedly.
Vincent’s sharp eyes caught the movement immediately. He reached out, his long, warm fingers resting over mine on the paper folder.
"Don't hide it from me," he murmured, his voice gentle. "I know Arthur is back in the city."
I pulled my hand back as if I had been burned, though my skin tiggled from where his fingers had touched mine. "You knew?"
"I've known since Tuesday," Vincent said, leaning his hip against the edge of my desk. "Marcus brought him to New York to use against you. He thought if he exposed your father's criminal record, he could force you to resign before the board vote."
"Is that why Evan proposed?" I asked, a sudden, horrifying realization dawning on me. "Did Evan know about my father?"
Vincent’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening into pure pitch.
"Evan thought that if he married you, he could 'protect' you from the scandal," Vincent revealed quietly. "He thought you would be so grateful for the Marlowe name that you would accept him without question."
A hollow, bitter laugh escaped my lips. "He wanted to save me. Just like he always did."
"Evan doesn't know how to love a woman like you, Claire," Vincent said, stepping closer until he was standing right beside my chair. "He sees a beautiful creature that needs a gold cage. He doesn't see the fire inside you that built this empire from nothing."
My chest heaved as I looked up into his eyes. The age difference, the corporate power, the scandal—everything that should have kept us apart faded into insignificance under the intense, consuming heat of his gaze.
"And what do you see, Vincent?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of the rain beating against the glass.
May you like
Vincent reached down, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw, his touch so warm, so reverent, that my eyes fluttered shut for a brief, electric second.
"I see the only woman who ever made me regret being who I am," he murmured.
