The last time I had been to Crestwood Hills was nearly a year after Dad had recently married Bianca. He had bought this small but lovely cottage as she had demanded, but the moment she realized it was the smallest house he had among his mansions, she threw a tantrum and moved into one of his larger estates. Dad had refused to follow her, which was the beginning and end of that marriage.
He had invited me over for winter, and despite the chaos of his latest heartbreak, it had been one of the better visits we’d had in years. We spent evenings watching the sunset from the glass-walled den, played a few rounds of chess by the crackling fireplace, and even tried our hand at cooking steaks in the kitchen—Dad had nearly burned the place down, of course. Despite the suffocating cold and the blizzard that had kept me from adequately exploring the town, it was peaceful.
Now, although I had the chance to check the place out finally—it being autumn and all—I had zero interest in doing so. Not when Dad was about to make another bloody mistake, and I was here to watch the car crash happen in slow motion.
And maybe this place knew I didn’t want to be here because it told me why it was drizzling today. Bollocks. I hated the rain, especially the kind that lingered like an unwanted houseguest. London’s rain was bad enough, but at least it was predictable. This drizzle had been clinging to us since we left the airport, a miserable two-hour journey of dampness and fogged-up car windows.
Thankfully, the Uber finally slid into the neighborhood, and despite myself, my fingers twitched in anticipation.
“This place is somehow beautiful, but I don’t get why a billionaire would choose to settle here instead of in one of his penthouses,” Benjamin muttered, eyes scanning the surroundings.
That was a fair question. The cottages here were lovely, but they weren’t Dad nice.
“That’s why it’s nicknamed Billionaire’s Refuge.” I leaned against the seat, watching the quiet, tree-lined streets roll by. “These houses might not be massive, but they’re worth millions. Many wealthy blokes wanted a retreat away from the city, a place to escape. Or somewhere discreet to bring a mistress.”
“Yeah, I can see the billionaire’s touch,” Benjamin smirked.
The car finally pulled up to Dad’s cottage after weaving through winding paths and narrow roads hidden from the main streets.
“And we’re here,” I muttered. “Welcome to Dad’s humble abode.”
Benjamin and I stepped out, stretching after the long ride.
Nothing had changed. The cottage still had that old-money charm—modern but warm, with large bay windows, a stone pathway leading to the entrance, and climbing ivy wrapping around the walls. The garden, which Dad had bragged about nonstop over the phone, was overgrown in the best way possible. It was full of blooming flowers and greenery, making the whole place smell fresh, like earth after rain.
It was quiet, too. Too quiet.
I could get a moment of peace before Dad introduced his latest sweetheart.
That thought barely lasted a second.
Because as I walked toward the back garden, my eyes naturally wandered toward the swimming pool, where a naked woman had just emerged from the water.
Stark, bloody naked.
I froze.
She froze.
We stared at each other, her wide doe eyes mirroring my stunned expression.
What the actual fuck?
Who the hell was she? And why was she in Dad’s back garden—dripping wet, completely bare, and looking at me like I was the intruder?
Dad’s fiancée? His fiancée’s sister? A friend? Or daughter?
Bloody hell.