The Hunter

I blocked his number after that.

“I suppose you’re here to apologize for your colossal failure,” Mr. Fitzpatrick sneered behind his dark oak desk. His office consisted of a wall-to-ceiling, back-to-back library full to the brim with books, a desk, three chairs, and a minibar. Expensive paintings by Picasso and Modigliani hung on the very little space that wasn’t occupied with books. The tax on those things alone could buy six houses here in the city.

“Not exactly,” I said, keeping my back straight, my demeanor calm. I was still standing, as I hadn’t been invited to sit down. Just as well. I wanted to make it short and not so sweet.

“Are you denying that my son slept with the Alder girl?” Gerald raised a thick, bushy eyebrow, his index finger covering the length of his twisted mouth.

“I didn’t catch them having sex.” I popped one shoulder up.

“So you’re defending him yet again?” His eyes widened.

I shook my head, meeting his eyes. “No. But I can’t condemn him for what I don’t know for a fact. But I do know I slept with him. I don’t want this on my conscience. This is why I’m here today, to tell you I betrayed your confidence, broke the terms of our deal, and won’t be going through with the last month of our agreement. Please send me the invoice for the money you’ve invested in my career so I can repay you.”

I stepped forward, sliding him a sheet with my information. My fingers shook around it. “For what it’s worth, I know Hunter hasn’t been with anyone other than myself and perhaps Lana Alder during those months, and he was always sober. He’s put a lot of effort into work and college, gave it his best shot.”

I left out his late nights working on the Syllie Project, as we’d called it. It wasn’t my tale to tell.

Gerald leaned forward, ignoring the document I’d placed between us. “Are you implying he deserves the inheritance?” He scowled, each word spat like it was profanity.

My throat bobbed with a swallow. I could mess it up for Hunter. And a part of me—not a small part, I had to admit—wanted to do just that. Because my heart was in pieces. Ever since yesterday, I hadn’t felt like my lungs were full, no matter how much I tried breathing. It felt like something had been ripped from my chest, and the hollowness had spread to the rest of me like a disease.

But ruining it for Hunter was also ruining it for me.

I didn’t want the responsibility of tarnishing his life, even if he’d shattered mine.

“I think he definitely deserves to be a part of the family business, and to have his piece of the inheritance,” I answered evenly. “He is a changed man, despite his mishap.”

Every word felt like a sword in my mouth.

“And you are willing to pay for your PR campaign? Cover all costs?” he stressed, his face unreadable.

Was he accepting my offer to pay for everything, or was he going to secretly sue me for everything I had?

“Yeah.” I licked my lips, resisting the urge to nibble at my thumb. “I’ll pay for everything. I might need to have a monthly plan—I won’t take the money from my parents—but I will. I promise.”

He stared at me harshly. “Leave.”

I looked around us. The room was quiet and empty and cold, like its owner.

“That’s it?”

“Yes. Get the hell out of my office.”

“Sir, I—”

“Out. Before I change my mind and make it much worse for both of you.”

I turned around and marched to the door, halting when I reached the threshold. Something, maybe my dignity, willed me to chance one more look at him.

“I really am sorry,” I whispered. “And I know he is, too. If Hunter could be anything in the world, it would be your son. Your real son.”

His head was bowed. If he heard me, I couldn’t tell. His shoulders trembled, just for a second.

Crying? Laughing? Shaking his head?

One thing was for sure: Gerald Fitzpatrick didn’t fully hate his bastard son, whether he admitted it or not.



My reputation was in the mud.

I knew that as soon as I got to the archery club. A few reporters milled around the door, flicking cigarette butts and talking among themselves. I shouldered past before their cameras could aim at me like weapons. Junsu was quick to open the door from the inside, jerk me in, and slam it in their faces.

He ushered me to his office, his hand on my back. “The boy ruined everything, just like I thought,” he muttered, his hair a mess, eyes swollen from lack of sleep. “People say you in no mental state to win the competition against Lana to determine which one goes to Olympics.”

“That’s nonsense,” I huffed. I caught up to his steps, but he was moving like a storm, demon-quick and aiming for destruction. “Hunter has nothing to do with the competition. I’m ready.”

But was I really? I felt like I was floating on a cloud parallel to my own life. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, what I was capable of.

He stopped in front of his office, squeezing both my arms in a rare fatherly gesture.

“I don’t want it to break you.” He clasped me harder, his eyes begging me for something I couldn’t understand.

“It won’t.” I wiggled free of his touch, red anger rising within me.

“You’ve waited too long for this,” he said slowly. “What if you collapse in the range?”