CHAPTER FOUR

DAMIEN

“Sir, the files have been sent to your inbox.” I turned at the sound of my assistant’s voice and incline my head, letting her know that I got the message. Leila gives me a worried smile and strides out.

It’s no secret that I’ve been a raging asshole for the past year. The last few months have cooled off my anger – ever since my father returned back from his honeymoon.

My assistant had taken the brunt of it, before getting fed up one night a few weeks back and threatening to leave me – if I don’t get my act right.

Easy to say, I was not eager to run off my forty six year old assistant and have her cry to her husband – who was a former heavy weight boxer.

Yeah, not an ideal situation to walk myself into. I finally let go of the morose cloud hanging over me and go to my desk, willing my mind to focus on my work.

The email that Leila dropped in my inbox was staring back at me and I hesitated at the subject line before finally clicking into it.

“Fuck no.” I recoiled deeper into my seat when I saw that my father sent an invitation that he insisted I have to attend that night.

An invitation for an art gala showcasing indigenous artists and fabrics.

I scoffed at the idea that my father was interested in the arts. It's probably another way to siphon money off his company without anyone knowing.

I knew I didn’t have the sense to turn down the invitation. There was a lot worse that the man could do to me – that he hasn’t already done.

I reply to the email, telling him that I’ll be there, but late, and ignore his responding email that chimes in an hour later.

I lost myself in my work and didn’t come up for air till Leila rapped on my glass door and told me she’s leaving.

“I still think you need to take a breather. Paul's sister just turned twenty four and I think you’ll – “

“I doubt your husband would be pleased when he learns that you keep trying to auction off his sisters to me.”

Leila shrugged like I didn’t just call her out on her constant ploy at matchmaking.

“He knows we need the money.”

“I think it’s time I increase your pay.” Leila walked out with a laugh, ignoring my words.

I glanced at my phone and froze when I saw a text waiting for me from Genevieve.

When would you be home?

I frowned and swiped the notification away, grumbling when I saw that the time was now quarter past eight, a few minutes after the event started.

I quickly gathered my things and made a mad rush back to my house.

I released a sigh of relief when I didn’t see Genevieve, blue cadillac in my yard – glad that she didn’t impose her presence when I didn’t want to see her.

I hurriedly went through the motions of getting myself ready.

The pinstripe navy blue suit I put on had me staring at myself in the mirror for a long time, asking if Genevieve would be at the event as well.

I shook my head to clear out the funk I was about to slip into with that line of thinking.

The drive to the museum was long and cold, the air conditionin in my car chilling my skin and causing me to remember to be on good behaviour.

Isolde, the hostess and chair of the art foundation walked up to me immediately I handed my keys over to a valet.

“Damien! It’s so good to see you. Your father wasn’t sure you’ll make it.”

She hugged me and pressed a light kiss on my cheek, pulling back to run her gaze over me.

“You keep looking like the spitting image of Joanna.”

Her eyes turned wistful, probably thinking of her dear old friend – my late mother.

“I doubt my mother was comfortable rocking these beards.” I ran my fingers across the light scruff on my jaw and Isolde smacked my bicep playfully before linking her arm with mine and pulling me into the party.

Isolde regaled me with tales from my father's honeymoon – as she’d met him at Italy with his new wife, when my gaze snagged on a figure standing alone in front of a huge expanse of tapestried wall.

I watched as the woman tilted her head, her hand reaching out to run against a rough and wet looking fabric.

She jerked a bit as her fingers made contact and pulled her hand back, now stained in a sharp blue. Her head swung both ways – to make sure no one was looking?  before going back to study the wall.

Isolde stopped walking and looks over to what captured my attention. She huffed a laugh at seeing the woman who’d somehow drawn closer to the wall, despite finding out that it was wet.

“I think we need to save Ariadne Hunt from making a mess of that beautiful red gown she has on.”

I turned my head sharply to look at Isolde.

“The Ariadne Hunt, Owner and Lead Designer of Hunt-Your-Art fashion house?”

Isolde chuckled when she realized I knew who the woman was. I turned back to the woman who was now turning towards us.

Ariadne Hunt had sprung up over the past few years, her clothes and luxury pieces making a wave in the fashion circle because of how authentic and altruistic they were.

The woman was now speaking to an elderly man, laughing loudly at something he said and at a closer look, I realized she looked eerily familiar.

Isolde kept pulling me towards Ariadne Hunt when it finally clicked – where I’d seen her.

She was Aurora. Aurora, my wife. Ex. Ex wife.

I stopped moving with Isolde and looked around. “My father is going to be pissed that I didn’t find him right away. Introduce me another time.” I softly patted her arm and walked off, telling myself not to look back as I saw my father standing afar off, shooting me an annoyed look.

I told myself not to look back because things won’t end well. Aurora wouldn’t want to see me.

But even with the admonishing, I couldn’t deny myself one last look back and as my gaze travelled over her now long hair and slender looks, I realized that I’d made the worst mistake ever. I’d lost my wife for a dream.