Vanquished (The Encounter #3) Read online

  “That’s all I know. Is there anything I can get you to make your stay more comfortable?”

  Like the concierge woman, Philippe was pretty complacent about everything. If he saw the panic on my face, he didn’t comment on it. It was as if my emotions were irrelevant and what he cared about was getting his job done to a T.

  I shook my head. “No, thank you. Everything’s great as it is.”

  Hugo … Was he avoiding me and making all these excuses to keep pushing me away? If he cared even just a little, he’d eventually come to see me, right? He wasn’t that cruel, not after what we had … not after that.

  I could only hope he would give me the chance just to see him and have him hear me out. Waiting was truly nerve-wracking when my fate was hanging in the balance.

  Chapter Three

  Hugo

  “The hotel just informed me that Miss Isobel Callas is waiting in the penthouse suite in Monaco, Monsieur Xavier.” Benoît threw me a questioning look just as I began to climb into my private jet, which was sitting on the tarmac in Berlin, ready for departure to Dubai.

  Isobel. I thought of her as I gritted my teeth, my jaw locking as I wondered why she had decided to defy my demands. Had I not made things clear the last time I had spoken to her? What did she think coming to Monaco would gain? Had things unfolded differently, there could have been a slight chance. But ever since a few days ago, I was thoroughly reminded that this was a fantastical thought, wishful thinking. There was no escaping what my life was.

  Yes, I had all these material things: the fame, the fortune, the prestige. But all of that came at a high price in a gamble that wiped out my family’s freedom, their ability to be loyal to a significant partner, to honor, to love.

  Yes, I had grown up privileged and wealthy beyond measure, but I was forbidden from falling in love, or hell would come for the person I became attached to. For years, I had honed the best strategy to become distant with my well-chosen bedmates, and none of them had become a threat … until Isobel Callas.

  As much as I adored her, treasured her beyond compare, I knew I must let her go. The warning had made sure I understood that. The flowers ensured I would follow through, or the threats would worsen. This, I must endure—facing her yet again, hardening my resolve as I told her this to her face.

  This time, I must take all measures to push her away forever.

  Chapter Four

  Isobel

  Checking the time on the clock, I saw it was already past midnight. There was no doubt in my mind that Hugo might altogether banish me from his life, despite the fact that he was so courteous and accommodating, bestowing the penthouse suite to me. That was just how he worked—ruthless with a dash of chivalry. It was a mad combination, but it described him fittingly. He would always care for my well-being, but that didn’t mean much when I wanted so much more.

  I didn’t want his kindness, niceties, or his well-mannered treatment to his present and past lovers. I wanted him, the man behind the exterior, the man I fell in love with beyond repair. Whether I truly was risking my life or not, I was never giving up, not before it had even begun. No, not yet. Not now.

  My mental and emotional resources needed cajoling, a little encouragement, and replenishment. I causally strode towards the bar, ready to console myself with the vast and expensive selection of champagne that was chilled to perfection, simply awaiting consumption. Popping the top off the golden bottle, I didn’t bother to hunt for a glass since I wouldn’t be sharing it with anyone. I simply took a swig straight from the bottle, smirking at the thought of how painstakingly reckless ’I had been with everything in my life as of late.

  The second my father thrust me into this sad lifestyle of high stake gambling, stripping my soul, my integrity and body, there was no going back to my old self. It wasn’t as if I didn’t care for my life. Hell, I loved life, loved everything about it: the uphill battles, the highs and lows, the laughter, finding love and falling again after the first time. Everything was a cycle, and I enjoyed the ride. As much as I cherished all of those, though, nothing compared to what Hugo was for me.

  He was my beginning and my end. The man himself needed to understand that. And I wasn’t stepping out of this suite until I saw him, until I had proved my cause and my reason. This was it for me. This was me going out with a bloody shebang.

  To hell with the rules and all the ghastly threats. Fuck it all.

  So, there I was, a total contrast, dressed in my drab ensemble yet drowning myself in alcohol that cost a hundred times more than what I was wearing. How pathetically bizarre was my life? This truly represented me without a doubt.

  Back in the day, the old Isobel would have been bothered, but after that damning chamomile incident in Paris, tarnishing such a lovely memory of mine, I gave zero fucks to all those warnings and threats.

  Gradually, with the bottle proudly clasped in my right hand, I dragged my feet towards the wide expanse of glass that overlooked the grand French Riviera, wondering over how unfortunate ’I had been in my endeavors. Some people had all the luck in the world, yet my stroke of misfortunes began the moment I was born when I was fathered by a drunkard who didn’t have an ounce of conscience in his DNA.

  Sighing, my thoughts wandered towards my brother Yannis. I prayed that whatever happened with my father, with my fate, Yannis would find love and happiness someday. I had found mine, and it was imperative I fought for it.

  This particular suite was the very same one where Hugo had tried to seduce me into … in the Jacuzzi. The bittersweet memories brought a heavy pang to my heart.

  Closing my eyes, Hugo’s handsome face flashed before me, making me smile. No matter what lies came out of Hugo’s lips, I knew he felt something for me, too. How else would this powerful feeling—this strong tug at my heart—be as convincing if it wasn’t reciprocated? He was drawn to me just as I was to him. It couldn’t be denied, or we wouldn’t have had another rendezvous in Paris I knew there was more. I believed it with every fiber of my being.

  There was no solution to my borderline obsessive love for the man. All I was doing was following my instincts, which had led me here, to Monaco. My heart was my compass, and I hopelessly set forth to discover its truth.

  Drunk on love and steadfastly nostalgic, my mind drifted back to the past, to the very moment I had set eyes on Hugo Xavier. It played like one of those romantic movie flashbacks by blocking out the bad things and solely focusing on the euphoric moments, the grand highlights that made me slowly fall for him, heedlessly, unassumingly, irrevocably.

  I was consumed by a constant melancholy strung hopelessly inside of my heart like an old bloody love song by Edith Piaf’s gloomy, shattered dreams tone and style in her music. Turn one bottle into two, and by the time I reached the golden bottom of it, I had flown my body haphazardly across the massive bed, gloriously and unabashedly naked. I drifted to sleep, silently weeping, staining the Egyptian cotton sheets that softly grazed my cheeks.

  In my beautiful yet miserable sleep, I dreamt of being in a bed of flowers, taking me back to the scenic city of love, the grand city of Paris. The tragedy of heartbreak happened before anything was given a chance to blossom, and the very man took me to Heaven and sent me back to Hell once he was done with me.

  The way he had made love to me, with such fiery dominance and masculinity, had me begging for more, submitting to him in ways I had never thought possible. I knew sex—the raw, rough, smashing kind—and he had given that to me and more. I also wasn’t blind to the fact that there was another layer of affection, the unmistakable bond between two people who cared for each other.

  He hadn’t said much, but his eyes had told a different story. I hadn’t gone mad or gone off the bloody deep end because I was passionately crazy about him. There was something there, the undeniable connection that I’ willed me to see through and fight until I knew I was completely and irrefutably defeated.

  I was holding on to the greatest thing of all—the power of love—and nothi
ng could stop me from accomplishing what I had come here for.

  Hugo.

  Drifting in and out of lucidity, teetering at the edge of the deep depths of my mind and reality amidst the thick cloudy haze of my inebriated senses, I fought to stay awake. Just when I was seconds away from submitting to my body’s demand for sleep, something yanked at my hand, making me release the smooth neck of the bottle from my grasp, shaking me out of my foggy slumber.

  “Mmmm?” I groaned in protest with my lids still partially closed.

  “What in the hell, Isobel! Benoît or anyone could’ve walked in here, and you’re fucking stark naked!” Hugo roared, his powerful voice vibrating throughout the room. I could literally feel the echoes in every single atom of my body.

  “Fuck, it’s you,” I groggily grumbled as I began to slowly pull myself together—well, as best as a drunk person could.

  “You bloody bet it’s me.” Hugo’s less than pleased tone grated on me as his powerful eyes seared into me. “Put something on!” His eyes raked down my body, the intensity of his gaze burning my skin.

  I felt hot all over, loving the reaction I got from him. All the while, I waited for that familiar hunger that usually came along with it. However, that never happened, much to my disappointment.

  “Why? It’s not like you haven’t seen me like this. There’s no need to be coy with me, Hugo.” My voice came out raspy, wispy, and undeniably aroused.

  “I prefer dealing with you dressed!” he ground out, his eyes flashing, unrelenting.

  His harsh attitude fizzled whatever excitement I had possessed. Begrudgingly, I rolled off the bed, sans bed sheet, before lazily planting my feet on the plush carpeted floor and trying to get up yet miserably failing. Instead, I ended up laughing at the catastrophe that was me.

  “Oh, Christ. Whoopsy!” My giggles turned into snorts, which made me more hysterical than before, cackling like a drunken sailor.

  “You’re beyond sloshed! What’s gotten into you?”

  Oh, dear. The French man wasn’t at all playful. His flashing eyes and the way his face seemed as if it was about to combust from frustration made me want to tease and goad him. After all, how many times had this man dumped me as if I was rubbish? As if I was someone dispensable, replaceable, and least of all special? It was wickedly twisted to even think of such rebellion, but it was the best I could do. I wanted more from him.

  “You, idiot. You fucked with my heart before you fucked my body.” Smirking at his dark reaction, I tilted my head to the side, raising my chin towards him. “It should be the other way around, you know, but you’re a special kind of mind-fuck I didn’t see coming.”

  Our eyes clashed, pulling and fighting for control, for balance, for something that was unreachable.

  “Isobel.” He uttered my name as if it was wrenched out of him but said nothing more.

  I was heartbroken. My heart was crushed and endlessly bleeding. Could he not see it in my eyes? Probably not. I was, after all, one among hundreds upon hundreds of women available at his disposal.

  Trying hard to hamper the bitterness that sprung out of nowhere, I raised my brow at him. “Please don’t tell me I’ve already been replaced?” I threw out the question accusingly while my heart shattered once again. I hadn’t realized a broken heart could be shattered again and again, yet there it was, proving me wrong. It weakened me, made it unbearable to breathe. It was as if the air was made of thin, icy shards puncturing my lungs, but I had to keep on breathing to survive.

  The idea of him being intimate with another woman wasn’t a surprise. I knew it was normal for him. However, when he didn’t respond, my face fell.

  “But it’s only been a few days …” I whispered, my voice broken, cracking.

  His throat bobbed before he fixed his stance, poised properly in his black tuxedo attire. “My personal life is my own. You know how it is.”

  Trying to avoid the heavy weight of my tears welling in the corner of my eyes, I took hold of the sheets and somewhat covered myself with a shaky hand. I was beyond wrecked. His admission, his less than clear answer, was sufficient enough. It was the closest Hugo would come to an admission. He was “The Boss” no one dared question.

  Biting my lip, my drunken haze slowly ebbed away as I tried to stand without wavering, matching his formidable, dark gaze. I stood a foot away from him, almost smelling his familiar scent. Almost … quite … I supposed that was how ’it would always be. The almost. The quite. The wonder. When would I get that into my stubborn heart?

  “I came here … I came here with such bravado, with thoughts of love and fighting whatever’s between us just so I could be with you. YOU. You … ’You’re breaking me, Hugo.”

  “Do you want me to apologize for my lifestyle, Isobel? You bloody well signed a contract, so don’t give me this teary-eyed, damsel in distress response. There’s no need for it. I gave you everything possible so you could lead a decent, comfortable life. What else do you want from me? I gave you careful instructions to call my secretary if you needed more funds transferred to your account.”

  Ah. Money! He was speaking about money. How could he be so dense? Here I was, pouring my soul out to him, and he was talking about money? This was fucking surreal.

  Julien was right. Maybe I should have listened to him. After all, he knew his friend better than I did. What made me believe I was some special woman?

  Tears … Hot streams poured out of my eyes, and they were unstoppable. In my disappointment, my heartbreak, I couldn’t even find the right words to coherently describe how destroyed I was. He would never settle for me, let alone settle for one woman. My desperation had made me envisage such fairytales. Well, this was a true reality check.

  “Please go,” I commanded in a curt, precise whisper.

  “Je vous demande pardon?” (I beg your pardon?)

  My request evidently offended him. Whatever it was I had come here for, he had just showed me there was nothing left to fight for. As much as it pained me to admit it, I needed to go … somewhere … anywhere … away from here.

  “You can go now, Hugo. I apologize for bothering you. I know you have quite a hectic schedule, so I’m going to change, leave, and figure out what to do with my life.”

  “Like hell ’I’ll let you gallivant around Monaco past midnight … and smashed drunk at that!” He raked his hands through his hair, his nostrils flaring.

  Without dropping the sheet that haphazardly covered my body, I began to move. “All right. Fine,” I whispered as I hunted for my purse. A little relief washed over me as I dug for my phone. With the device clasped in my hand, I went to my contact list, searching for one particular number.

  “Who are you calling?” he thundered behind me.

  “Julien,” I retorted, past caring what he thought of my associating with his dear friend. Julien was the only person who could help me, the only sane man who could save me from more idiocy.

  “And why do you need him, Isobel?” he asked in an eerie tone, as if he was holding in his anger, as if he was afraid to ask.

  His tone used to put some sense into me, but since we were parting ways anyway, what should it matter? Hugo had discarded me. I was old news. Hell, the man didn’t even bat an eyelash when looking at my naked body. What man would do such thing? If it were Damen, he would waste no time before seducing me. That was the difference between having a man who was in love with you and having one who lusted after you and only you.

  Releasing a wretched sigh, I didn’t look back before responding, “I need a place to sober up before I fly back to London.” And maybe for someone to tell me that I had been warned this would happen. My stubborn self had believed I was some special twit. This—his near-admission—proved how wrong I was.

  Placing the phone against my ear, I heard the first ring before it was snatched away from me and Hugo ended the call. He towered over me before he spat into my face, furious beyond comprehension.

  “You have the penthouse to yourself; there’s no nee
d for Julien or anyone!”

  His livid demeanor made me want to curl up and cry somewhere, but I didn’t move from my post.

  “I need to see him. Give me back my mobile.” I tried to argue, but Hugo wasn’t ready to give any compassion.

  Before I knew it, his hand cupped my chin, tilting it to meet his furious gaze. “For someone who claimed to only want me and no other man, you’re quite close to my best friend,” he snarled, unleashing his wrath. “You weren’t lying when you said you had never slept with him … or were you, Isobel?”

  My twisted heart wanted to hurt him, too. For someone who had just fucked his other women, he shouldn’t care less what I did, anyhow.

  “I had answered this before, and I’m standing by it. No, there was no sleeping involved,” I steadfastly breathed out. “Satisfied?”

  He raised his hand before he caught himself midway then lowered it. Instead, he released my chin as if in disgust.

  “You’re cunning woman!” he bellowed, eyeing me as if I was the filthiest thing he had set his eyes upon.

  Hugo was angry, and I wanted to make it all better, but images of him fucking Sherry or Chantel in his bedroom, on his desk—anywhere, really—made my stomach churn. It was over. I had nothing to be guilty of—well, apart from a thorough explanation to Julien, but I was sure the man could understand that I was desperate.

  “I answered your question. So can you hand me my phone back now?” I tried to ask in a calm tone.

  Hugo’s face told me I had better skedaddle, or I would very well witness the brewing storm that was yet to be unleashed.

  “Like hell I will!” he bit out, watching me like I was prey, as if I was a damn target to be killed with his bare hands.

  How dare he intimidate me! Stupid bastard.

  “Fine, you can have it.” Fuming, I spun and marched towards my scattered clothes, plucking them off the floor as I wiped my tears away.