Three months later.
.
.

I was not dead.

Well, at least not yet.

The past three months had been a living hell. The relentless cycle of hospital stays and grueling rehab sessions had tested every fiber of my being.

Rocket's goons made visits, to check if I was still able to drive again. Money minded fuckers. Graham and Koby managed to grace me with their presence now and then.

As for my dear mother, Catherine Aller, she hardly made an appearance. Probably dancing with her new play toy. She was notorious for being a love 'em and lose 'em type. At least that was until him.

While I was dying here in rehab my loving, doting mother decided to get engaged. Fml.

Fucking engaged.

My mother was going to get married.

To a man I had never met.

All I knew was that he was some wealthy dude from Grandmont Hills who was swept up in my mother's beauty or something of that sort.

Victoria, my best friend, flew down from the States to distract me. She had been the one who had covered my hospital bills and used her money and some fast-talking lawyers to cover up the media for it all to be swept under the rug.

Thank god for that because I would have probably been in juvenile and kicking ass with some druggie.

But I didn't have to worry about that or me dying out for boredom. Today was the final day before my rehab was over.

Finally.

The shrill ring of my phone shattered the silence, pulling me from my reverie. A smile tugged at my lips as I glanced at the caller ID.

"'Sup Vicky."

Victoria sighed, "Fallon, how many times have I told you not to call me that? You that annoys the hell out of me."

I smirked. That's precisely why I did it.

"Did you take your meds? The doctors warned against straining your arm too much, despite your progress in physical therapy," she reminded me.

"Wow, you sound just like my doctor," I quipped, tossing the last of my clothes into a suitcase. "How was your flight back?"

Silence.

I furrowed my brow, wondering if she'd hung up on me. "Vicky?"

"Has Catherine come to pick you up yet?"

I groaned at the mention of my mother. "Don't fucking remind me, Vicky. She is getting fucking married." The word itself left a bitter feeling on my tongue.

Victoria chuckled on the other end. "I still can't believe it."

"Tell me about it," I mumbled, folding my shirts with a bit more force than necessary.

"Remarkable," she muttered, her discomfort palpable through the phone. "And you still haven't met him yet?"

"Not yet. And I don't even know anything about him." I replied, dragging my suitcases to the door and silently cursing the bitches-I mean nurses when I left.

Yeah, see you never.

She cleared her throat. "So, did you find out?"

Ah, the real reason Victoria was calling. It was dangerous when she set her sights on her target. She protected the people she loved.

Including me.

"Find out what?" I feigned ignorance.

"Fallon," she snapped, her annoyance evident, "Did you find out who did this?"

I told her the truth—or at least, part of it. That I couldn't remember much from that night.

I lied.

I remembered every fucking thing.

The fear. Pain. Blood.

Run.

I clenched my fists, pushing the memories aside, desperate to focus on anything else.

The person who had done this had disappeared without a trace. Like a motherfucking ghost.

Thank god for that because if I ever saw that motherfucking assfucker-

"I'll be back in a couple of months. Detective Haliers has not mentioned anything new as yet." Victoria mused, interrupting my murder.

"I'm not surprised. Seemed like-"

I paused as my phone buzzed with a notification.

𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫: James' driver will pick you up. He will take you to the estate.

Catherine Aller's texts were always on point.

I glanced up just in time to see a black Audi appear in front of the gates, pulling me out of my thoughts. I frowned as the driver emerged, holding up a sign that said my name.

"You have gotta be fucking kidding me," I groaned, looking at the sky.

"What? Did you punch someone again?" Victoria mumbled.

"No, but I might," I muttered under my breath, sneaking another glance at the driver. He was draped in designer threads, his demeanor oozing entitlement that made my skin crawl.

"Guess I'm meeting my stepdaddy right after I get out of rehab."

"Holy fuck," I whispered, my breath catching in my throat. "Someone please tell me that this isn't real."

The driver, whom I later found out was named Elton, led me to a house—no, scratch that—a fucking mansion.

The imposing structure loomed before me, its grandeur both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Towers soared into the sky, adorned with intricate stonework and ornate balconies. The sprawling grounds stretched out around it, manicured lawns and pristine gardens adding to the air of opulence.

My dear mother had called me on the way here to confirm that Elton had picked me up. That was it.

James Forrester.

That was the name of my future stepdad.

God. I nearly choked just thinking about it.

"It is very real, Miss Aller," Elton confirmed, appearing out of nowhere. He had ignored my numerous attempts at getting him to call me Fallon. I think now I understand why Vicky gets annoyed when I call her that.

I gradually trailed behind as he led me to the entrance of the mansion, my feet moving without my violation.

The moment we stepped inside, the air grew heavy with the scent of money and power. The foyer was adorned with opulent furnishings, gilded frames housing portraits of what I assumed were long-dead ancestors. A grand staircase swept upward, leading to who knows where.

"The bedrooms are on the third floor, the main kitchen is on the ground floor, while the side kitchen is on the first," Elton announced, his voice echoing through the grand foyer as he strode forward. His eyes darted back to me every now and then, ensuring I was keeping pace. "The lounge area is on the first floor for guests, with elevators in both wings and the pool area located on the fourth floor."

Does he really expect me not to get lost?

Fuck that. The minute he leaves I'll be getting lost like there is no tomorrow.

"The chefs and all the workers are here to assist you," Elton continued, his tone brimming with a practiced professionalism that sent shivers down my spine. This wasn't just a home—it was a kingdom, with its servants ready to cater to our every whim. "If you are in doubt-"

"Elton."

Elton froze for a split second before bowing his head respectfully as a middle-aged man walked into the room.

Dressed in a black suit that stuck to his body with dark shoes, he stared at me for a brief moment. His dark eyes scanned my leather jacket and my blue jeans with the slightest amount of disdain.

I met his stare head-on.

"Fallon Archer," he mused, breaking our silent staring contest, "James would like to meet you."

Oh. So this isn't James.

The unknown man signaled Elton to scatter off and swiftly turned on his heel without a backward glance.

The elevator ride to the third floor was silent. To help pass the time I named the man 'unmovable silent parasite'. Yeah, even when I found out his real name I wouldn't stop myself from calling him that.

I followed to a large door, waiting patiently as he slammed open the door without knocking. Not that I was complaining or anything. I would've probably done the same. Maybe the unmovable silent parasite and I had a lot more in common than we realized.

Inside, the office exuded an air of sophistication and power. The walls were adorned with dark wood paneling, adorned with framed certificates and accolades, a testament to the occupant's success. A large window overlooked the city skyline, casting long shadows across the room and bathing everything in a soft, golden light.

Fit for royalty, it felt like stepping into a scene from "The Crown," but with a modern twist. This was probably even more wealthier than Victoria's estate.

The man behind the desk sat with impeccable posture, his fingers steepled in front of him as he regarded me with sharp, assessing eyes. His jawline was chiseled, his features sharp and angular, giving him an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. His tailored suit fit him like a glove, accentuating his lean frame and adding to his aura of effortless control.

He sat there like a king.

James Forrester

I narrowed my eyes at him. Why did he seem so familiar?

"Fallon Aller," he drawled, leisurely rising to his feet. "I see that we have a lot to discuss."

☆

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xoxo madisson