The Broken Swan (BWWM)

At thirty-two, Andrew Linton had done a lot of things—both brave and cowardly—but he hadn't done anything of this sort. Declan Partridge was no ordinary man; at thirty-six, he commanded more than two thousand workers in more than ten countries as the chairman and CEO of Pattron Groups. He was formidable. And delivering the message Andrew had would probably be deadly, maybe not to himself but certainly to Lennon Patterson Jr. Declan wasn't an unfair man; he wasn't innocuous either. Just the thought was enough to send a chilly sensation down his spine. He stopped short in front of the double mahogany door—the devil's lair—his subconscious whispered. Andrew could picture Declan's intense sapphire eyes darkening, the strong set of his chin ticking and Andrew drew back, ready to make a clean break through the carpeted lobby when his name came quietly through the closed doors. One gulp. Another. He raised his hand to knock when the almost tender “come in” filtered thr

Freedom hit her like a slap. The gate groaned open behind her, rusted metal protesting the idea of letting her go. and Leilani stepped out as though the concrete beneath her feet might crumble. The sun wasn’t bright; it was shy behind thin morning clouds. But even that soft light felt violent after twelve years under flickering bulbs and concrete ceilings. Her eyes watered from the brightness. She blinked hard. And again. And again. The world wasn’t quiet. That was the first shock. After a decade of regimented noise—count time, footsteps, doors, shouts—real noise felt lawless. Untamed. Birds chattered too loudly. A car horn popped somewhere beyond the parking lot. Wind rustled through trees with a freedom she no longer trusted. Leilani clutched the white plastic bag to her chest, the pointe shoes inside digging into her ribs. She inhaled, but the air didn’t quite reach her lungs. She didn’t cry. Not because she was strong, she wasn’t sure she was, not anymore but becau

Leilani didn’t say anything the entire drive, and they'd left the prison parking lot almost three hours before their drive to the city. Lennon didn’t push. He didn’t try to fill the silence with explanations or reassurances. He drove, every so often glancing at her through the rearview mirror.Her gaze stayed fixed on the passing world, not with wonder, but with tension coiled into her shoulders. Every new sound outside the window made her eyes flick sharply: a bus hissing to a stop, a child laughing too loudly, the slam of a distant car door.Once, her hand twitched, a reflex, a flinch when a motorcycle roared past.Twelve years of surviving in a place where every sound meant something. It would take time for her mind to stop treating freedom like a threat.When he turned into the underground lot of the restaurant, she stiffened.“Where are we?” she asked, her voice low, rough, like she hadn’t used it in years.“A private place,” Lennon said. “Neutral. Safe.”Safe. He shouldn’t have

“I’m sorry, sir, but the acquisitions meeting scheduled for three-thirty is starting soon. We need to leave now if we want to make it.”Declan kept his gaze fixed on the murderer. Only part of her face was visible, and he wanted—no, needed—to see what twelve years of punishment had done to those once delicate features.It almost disappointed him.Aside from still being built like a fragile swan, her face had softened. As if prison had gentled her instead of breaking her.Declan Patridge had waited twelve years for news of her death. And three days since learning of her release to finally have her within reach. He was not about to let this moment slip.“Reschedule it,” he said calmly. “I need to make sure Lennon Jr. doesn’t screw this up.”His eyes never left the sliver of her face he could see. He felt Lennon’s gaze flick toward him more than once, but Declan didn’t look away.“We’ve already postponed twice,” Andrew replied quietly. “The shareholders won’t take kindly to another delay

Leilani sat stiffly, her spine ramrod straight in the French Bergere chair, her eyes darting almost nervously around the warm interior of the cul-de-sac inn. She had expected a seedy motel, one with a painful neon sign, a broken shower, and a door that you might have to brace with a chair to feel safe, perhaps maybe or two, one a few miles from the penitentiary where the warden had taken inm........ But this, the Thistle Inn was the direct opposite. It was a restored Victorian painted a cool shade of Robin blue with egg white shutters, wraparound porch and huge bay windows overlooking a lovely garden filled with all kinds of flowers she couldn't name if a gun was pointed at her head. It was beautiful. Maybe too beautiful. “.... I'll be checking in on you morning and evening till you make your decision.” Lennon was saying as he handed her the room key. Leilani paused her thinking, her eyes fixed on the key but she didn't take it. She would have preferred