Patricia had been there that night too
She’d just lost both her parents. The idea of a party was the last thing on her mind
The Parsons family had always looked after her They’d almost called the whole celebration off–after all you don’t throw a party just weeks after losing a daughter People would talk it wouldn’t look right
But Patricia was the one who insisted. She talked her grandmother around, even when everyone else objected
That’s how the small gathering ended up happening.
The sky was spilling over with stars that night. About ten of Atticus’s close friends were scattered around the tearoom, sipping tea. Through the big floor–to–ceiling windows, you could see the backyard swing
A young girl was sitting there, her toes barely brushing the ground as she rocked back and forth. Her white dress fluttered in the night breeze.
Atticus noticed her too.
Someone who’d had a bit too much to drink let out a sigh and started talking about his sister who’d passed away, and the niece she’d left behind.
That was the night the Martin family’s secrets started to surface among this close–knit circle. Atticus realized then that he was strangely curious about the girl who had stayed behind.
That curiosity never really went away. It just lay dormant until five years ago, when Patricia broke her leg and Atticus found him…
When they first met, Patricia was a mess. She was screaming, almost like an animal. Nothing at all like the quiet girl on the swing from before.
But Oliver understood. She was sick.
Not just her body–her whole heart was sick, and badly so.
What was this feeling? Oliver wondered. Was it pity?
The ache he felt for Patricia was like catching some chronic illness in his twenties–something that never really got better, no matter how much time passed.
Patricia called him a few times, but he never picked up.
Not until he was already in the car, a sleek black Bentley gliding through the rain towards Cloud Peak. Hector finally broke the silence, leaning his head on his hand. “Howard was a genius. It’s a shame, really.”
A legend, taken down by his own son.
“If he was really that great, would he have ended up like this?” Oliver never wasted sympathy on the
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19:26
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He was weary bit as ruthless as Cifuen
Oliver turned away from the rain sliding down the window and spoke quietly. “The Miller Group” Merging hotels and resorts wouldn’t be that hard.
Hector shot him a surprised look. “Trust you to think bigger. I was just focused on the Newtons, and you’ve already got the Millers in the mix.”
Travel in the country had exploded in recent years. Every holiday, the crowds at train stations and airports were wild.
Everyone needed hotels. Pacific Capital hadn’t touched that market yet.
The car turned into the Cloud Peak driveway.
The master bedroom light was still on upstairs.
A dull ache tightened in Oliver’s chest.
He got out and told Johns to show Hector to his usual room.
Hector used to be at Cloud Peak all the time, at least before Oliver got married.
Ever since Patricia moved in, Hector barely came around. Only if he and Oliver had to leave early for a business trip.
Like tomorrow–they were flying to Melbourne.
Oliver stepped inside, scanning the living room.
Just then, Marian came downstairs with a tray. She spotted him and greeted him quietly.
“Not heading to bed yet?” he asked.
Marian knew he wasn’t talking to her.
“Not yet, sir.”
Oliver’s voice was steady. “What’s she doing?”
Marian answered with the words Patricia had taught her. “She’s been waiting for you.”
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