12

Giselle’s eyes were swollen, her throat dried from hours of crying.

The walls of the bedroom felt like they were closing in, Chase’s lingering scent made her weak and sick to her stomach in a way.

She needed fresh air.

She stepped out of the room and into the hallway, her footsteps silent as she walked.

She didn’t expect anyone to be there.

But as she turned the corner toward the staircase, a shadow moved.

Richard was leaning against the railing. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore. His white sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms, and his tucked in white shirt freed. But there was something about his tardiness that Giselle liked, perhaps it was the way it made him less intimidating, more like the man who had pulled her into his bed several nights ago.

"Going somewhere?" Richard asked gently, his voice was a low vibration in the quiet hall.

Giselle jumped, clutching her chest. "Just the garden. I am going to get fresh air."

"Understandable, you could use a breath of fresh air." He straightened up, stepping into her path. He didn't move away.

He stood close, just so close enough that she could feel the hot air from his nostrils on her face and the heat radiating from him.

"I heard what happened earlier and I’m so sorry you had to hear all that. My son has a mouth that outruns his brain." He said softly, very apologetically.

"He hates me, I dont know why," she whispered.

"Oh No he doesn’t, He’s just being a fool," Richard countered. He stepped closer, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her heart skip.

"I told you before, Giselle. I always protect what belongs to the Hemingways. And right now..." He paused, his gaze dropping to her lips before dragging back up to her eyes. "You are a Hemingway."

The way he said “you” made her skin prickle, Goosebumps shooting out. It didn't feel like he was talking about her legal status as his sons wife. It felt like he was claiming her, her breath, her very body.

"Do you..." she started, her voice trembling. "Do you remember something?"

Richard’s expression shifted. A flicker of frustration crossed his face.

"Maybe I am getting old. Every time I look at you, I feel like I’m chasing a ghost. I’ve seen those eyes before, Giselle. I’ve felt this pull before. I just can’t place where I know you."

Giselle looked away, her pulse racing. "You’re mistaken. You’re just tired."

"Am I?" He reached out, his fingers grazing the side of her neck. It was a brief touch, but it felt like a brand.

“And to add, people do have doppelgängers, you may have come across mine” she added.

"Take a walk with me. The air will do us both good." He said.

They walked down to the garden in silence.

The scent of blooming jasmine serenaded them as the night crawled in.

Richard led her to a stone bench near the fountain.

"I wasn't always this cold," Richard said suddenly, looking out at the dark trees. "When I was Chase’s age, I was just like him. Arrogant. Blind. I had a woman who loved me—Chase’s mother. I took her for granted. I put my dad’s company first, my ego second, and her last. That woman deserves better and she knew it, so she left."

Giselle watched him, mesmerized by the vulnerability in his voice. "Is that why she left?"

"I became so unbearable it drove her away," Richard admitted, his voice reeked with remorse. "I was the reason she walked out that door. I thought I was going to get over her but never did, and I let my pride blind me . By the time I realized what I had lost, she was gone. And then a few years down the line, she died. I never got to say I was sorry. If I had just let go of my pride, maybe she would still be alive, I had the resources to save her from cancer."

He turned to look at her, his eyes shining with a pathetic glint.

"Now I watch my son making the exact same mistake. I see him throwing away a woman who actually cares about him. I haven't let another woman in since his mother left. I didn't think I had it in me to be drawn to anyone enough to want to marry them . Until now."

Giselle felt a surge of forbidden attraction. The guilt was there, but the pull was stronger and she could not explain these intricate details to him. "Sir, I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry you went through that."

"Don't be sorry for me," he murmured, leaning in. "Be happy for yourself. Life is too short to waste on a man who treats you like a burden. Do what makes you happy, Giselle. Whatever that is. Whoever that is."

"I... I want to be happy," she breathed.

"Then start now." He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, his touch lurking with a hunger that was no longer a secret to Giselle, even though he was presently oblivious. "You have a fire in you, Giselle. Don't let my son blow it out."

The energy between them was electric. Giselle’s mind was screaming at her to run, but her body wanted to melt into him. The thought of Chase upstairs, indifferent and cruel, made Richard’s warmth feel like a warm embrace.

"I should go," she whispered, even as she leaned into his hand. "I can't... my head is spinning."

"Go then," Richard said, his voice a dark caress. "But remember what I said. You belong to the Hemingways. And I take very good care of what is mine."

Giselle stood up, her legs shaking. "Goodnight, Sir."

"Goodnight, Giselle. Dream of something better than my son." He said, “And might I add, you can stop calling me Sir. I learnt your dad is late. I am your dad now, so call me Daddy”

“Oh okay Sir..sorry…sorry…Daddy” she whimpered.

She fled back to the house, her mind a storm of wild thoughts especially since he asked her to call him Daddy. She had slept with him once as a stranger, but now, knowing the man behind the Hemingway empire, the attraction was even more dangerous now. She was falling for her father-in-law, and the worst part was, she didn't want to stop.