ONE

LEO

One week.

In one week, she’d be back home. Back under our roof. Within arms reach.

And man would I reach for her, boyfriend or not.

Six years without her was long enough.

The multitude of screens on my desk flickered with numbers and lines. Lines that drove most of my waking hours. I may not have left the house in ten years, but it didn’t hamper my ability to earn. Between alt coins, stocks, shares, and some under-the-line investments, I made far more than I could ever spend from the upper floor of my father’s country pile.

Twenty percent up for the day. That’ll do.

My seat complained from overuse as I leaned back, stretching out. Almost time to reward myself with her . It was all for her. Always had been. Always would be .

But first, feed the body. She’d agreed to come to our parents’ tenth-anniversary soiree on New Year’s Eve, and I’d spent the past six months readying myself for her. There was little money couldn’t buy, and without setting foot from the threshold, I had everything I wanted.

Almost everything.

I hit the treadmill, looking out over the lengthy, tree-lined driveway. Minutes passed as I pushed myself until sweat dripped into my collar and my breath burned in my chest. I could still picture her car pulling away.

Leaving me.

She’d said it was only for a term. Then two. Until summer. But the trees died and bloomed and died, time and again, without her return. Heard about her new life in college, and in the city, and with Graham .

She’d pushed me. My obsession was her fault.

I ran until my legs screamed, thick veins threading the engorged muscles. The weights called next. I’d put in the gym years ago; after I made my first million and convinced my dad and Grace to let me occupy the entire upper floor of our home. The contractors had ripped out walls and rearranged the rooms to my liking. I’d built myself a den of solitude, yet only one thing remained elusive.

The one person I couldn’t have.

Money wouldn’t eradicate our parents’ marriage. It wouldn’t make her look at me the way she used to.

Before I kissed her .

It wouldn’t make her curl up against my stomach and let me run my fingers through her hair as we chatted on the roof, under a canopy of stars.

Letting out a grunt, I forced myself through the pain of my final round of weights, the thought of my darling Estella driving me to complete the set. I’d had to buy a whole new set of clothes with the way prepping for her had changed my body.

Racking the weights, I sat up, mopping my sweaty face with a towel.

I should wash before she arrives, I thought , but I couldn’t wait another moment.

Collapsing back into my desk chair, I pulled her up. The screens blinked before filling with my girl. Photos, video clips, and my favourite of all; live streams of her apartment.

I’d had to pay dearly for those. It’s amazing what people will do for a fee.

My eyes flicked from one picture to another. A close-up of her plump lips. The spot where her thighs met her ass when she bent over in her too-short dress. That spot drove me fucking nuts. What I’d do to sink my teeth into that spot until she begged me to kiss it better. To press her hot skin against my face as she trembled with need.

Fuck , Estella .

I maximised the window streaming her apartment.

She sat curled up on her uncomfortably sleek-looking sofa, flicking through the channels on TV. I may not have seen her in person for years, but I knew every expression that crossed her beautiful face. I knew the way she moved. The songs she hummed as she showered.

Her blonde hair piled up on her head in a messy knot, her too-large knitwear sloping off of one perfect shoulder. Grabbing the decanter, I poured a generous glug of thirty years aged malt into the heavyset crystal tumbler. The amber liquid lit my mouth with a smooth fire.

‘Oh, Estella, my little star. You’ve no idea the things you do to me,’ I mumbled.

She had no idea the amount of evenings we spent together. I spoke to her as I cooked, and told her about my wins and losses. Her soft snores surrounded me as I slept. When Graham fucked her, I closed my eyes and imagined her moans were directed at me.

Soon they would be.

The door opened on screen and Graham came into shot. Big, burly, gleaming-teethed Graham. If you told me he’d walked straight out of a golfing advert, I’d have believed you. Despicably wholesome. Honestly, enough to rot your teeth.

No matter how long I watched them together, the horrible tarry feeling that his appearance garnered never changed. His lips grazed my girls. I wanted to reach through the screen and pop his stupid, handsome face from his thick, tanned neck.

How my step-sister had chosen him, I’d never understand .

He was nothing like me.

Stooping to murder may be a little below me, but within a week, his girl would be mine.

Only a week, darling.

One week.

Until you’re mine.