Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

‘ T he prodigal daughter returns.'

Darby Lloyd's upper lip curled in derision and irrational fear made Britt's hands tremble and her lungs seize. Yet no amount of deep breathing or steeling her nerves could calm her as she faced her father for the first time in ten years.

From the moment she knew she'd be returning home, she'd been bracing for this confrontation.

It didn't make it any easier, because seeing her father after a decade catapulted her back to a time she'd rather forget.

She paused at the entrance to his apartment, one of few in the exclusive Jacaranda special accommodation home for the elderly.

Not that Darby would ever admit to his seventy-two years. He'd had work done on his face several times, had hair plugs to arrest a threatening bald patch, and continued to wear designer clothes better suited to a man half his age. But loads of money or cosmetic work or fancy clothes couldn't buy health and that was one thing he didn't have these days.

Five years ago, he'd tried to guilt her into quitting her job in London and returning to look after him as he grew older and more bitter. He'd nearly succeeded. However, some deep part of her had resisted his pressure.

Darby had been a cruel tyrant who'd controlled her life until she'd come into a small inheritance from her mum when she'd turned eighteen, and fled as far from him as she could get.

She simply couldn't return to the hell she'd left behind.

In her heart, she desperately wanted to be anywhere but in front of the man who would've ruined her life if she'd let him, but her pride wouldn't let her pay a visit to her hometown and not see him.

Older and stronger, surely she could confront him now?

She had come here today to prove to herself she'd finally laid the past to rest.

Working harder and longer than everyone might keep the memory demons at bay, but she knew if she stopped, slowed down her frenetic pace, the old fears could come crowding back to fling her right back to that dim, dark place ten years earlier. And she'd be damned if she let that happen.

In a way, she should thank dear old Dad for shaping her into the woman she was today: strong, capable, and successful, everything he said she'd never be.

But there was more to this visit and she knew it, no matter all her self talk to the contrary.

Hope had prompted this visit.

Hope he might've changed. Hope that after all this time they might actually have a shot at some semblance of a normal father-daughter relationship.

If they couldn't, she wouldn't let it bother her. Her father couldn't change who she'd become: a woman on top of her career, a woman who depended on no-one, a woman a far cry from the victim she'd once been.

She'd vowed back then to never be helpless again, had instigated huge steps to eradicate the confusion and fear. Yet as she stood on the threshold to this room, trepidation tripped across her skin as the anxiety she'd fought to conquer over the last decade clawed at her belly.

'How are you, Dad?'

‘The same.' He limped towards her, using his cane to point at a seat for her. 'No thanks to you.'

Taking several deep breaths, she perched on the edge of the chair, willing the dread to subside, hating the vulnerability being this close to him elicited.

She needed to do this, needed to see if there was the slightest chance for them before she returned to London. 'You look good.'

He grunted in response and wouldn't meet her gaze, his surly expression putting a serious dent in her hopes for some kind of reconciliation.

'This place is lovely.'

Another monosyllabic grunt as his frown deepened and her patience wore a little thinner.

'Dad, I really think it's time to—'

'What the hell are you doing here?'

His snarl caught her off guard despite his churlishness, yet it wasn't his response that saddened her as much as the contempt in his truculent glare.

She'd been a fool to hope for anything other than what she got: more of the same from a boorish man who didn't give a crap about her.

'I'm here on business."

He showed no interest, boredom making him roll his eyes.

Faced with his silence she couldn't help asking, ‘Don't you want to know how I am? What I've been doing? What I've achieved?'

His withering stare clued her into his response before he spoke. 'I don't give a damn anymore.'

Pain sliced her heart in two, the old familiar questions reverberating through her head: What did I do wrong? Why did you stop loving me? Could I have done anything differently?

But she wasn't a scared teenager anymore. She had her career skyrocketing all the way to the top and she'd be damned if she stuck around to take more from this emotionless drone.

Resisting the urge to jab her finger at him to ram home her point, she sat back, folded her arms, and looked him straight in the eye.

'Maybe you should give a damn, Dad. That way, you'd know I'm a senior executive at a top London advertising firm, that I'm good at what I do, and I've done it all on my own, no thanks to you.'

She'd come here with some semblance of the idealistic girl she'd once been, but that girl vanished beneath his lack of caring, and she wanted to rub his nose in her independence, in her success, in the proof she'd survived despite what he'd put her through.

If she'd thought her outburst would gain a reaction or recognition for her achievements, she should've known better.

Darby glowered and drew himself up, resembling the towering giant of a man she remembered as he rammed his cane against the floor.

'You're a fool if you think I care about any of that.'

Her heart ached as she stared at the man who was her father biologically but didn't know the meaning of the word.

She could rant and rave and fling past hurts or present triumphs in his face, but what would be the point? Darby listened to no-one but himself, which was why he now found himself in this place. No amount of money had induced anyone locally to play nursemaid and she couldn't blame them.

She stood and slung her bag higher on her shoulder, her face devoid of pity for the father she'd never had. 'Sorry you feel that way. I thought…'

What? That the old despot might've changed, might've mellowed with time and illness? Unlikely. If anything, his belligerence had worsened and she'd been crazy to come here to set the past to rest while hoping for a miracle.

‘You thought what? That I'd welcome you with open arms after all this time?' He snorted and waved his hand at the door. ‘Leave the way you came in.'

She'd cried rivers of wasted tears when she was a teenager for all this man had put her through and there was no way she'd stand here now and allow him to reduce her to tears again.

With a shake of her head, she turned away, ready to walk out and never look back.

'That's it, run away again.' He snickered. ‘Though this time, you won't have a penny of mine to cushion you when you fall.'

Icy foreboding trickled down her spine as she slowly swung back to face him. 'What did you say?'

His malevolent grin raised goosebumps on her skin. 'You heard me. That money you thought you got from your mother? It was a crock. She never left you a cent.' He tapped his chest. ‘That was my money you squandered on your jaunt, my money that made sure you didn't end up in the gutter.'

Shock made her lightheaded and Britt leaned against the doorway for support, her gut twisting with the painful truth.

'So, daughter dearest, looks like you owe me after all.'

With his words ringing in her ears, Britt stumbled from the apartment, down the hallway and out of the accommodation, making it to her car before she collapsed, slumping over the steering wheel.

She'd thought she'd escaped her father's stranglehold ten years earlier, had fought hard for her independence, had found safety and confidence in her career.

She'd been wrong.

He'd been behind it all.

Right then, she vowed to do whatever it took to pay off her debt.

You owe me…

With the hateful truth ringing in her ears, her head snapped up as she straightened, knowing what she had to do.

Only one thing would clear a debt of that magnitude so gaining her promotion was a necessity.

In choosing between owing her dad a huge amount of money and agreeing to Nick's outlandish proposal as a means to an end, marrying Nick would be the lesser of two evils.