Chapter 8

When Lucien was done watching the sunrise, he got off the hood of the car with a sigh. The girl had run away about half an hour ago. He hadn’t bothered to chase after her. He had enough to deal with, he didn’t need to have a troublesome brat on his radar.

Probably a runaway. The most he could do was hope she didn’t get herself into any more trouble. Thoughts of her lingered on his mind, pricking his concern, but he shoved them aside.

Come to think of it… He paused.

He still hadn’t seen her face properly. Her damned hair was always in the way. Back in the alley, when she’d been in his car and even when she’d run away, there had constantly been blonde strands in the way. There was no way he would have touched a random minor more than was necessary, even if it was just to move her hair. Sighing, he shrugged it off and kept walking. He didn’t need to know who she was; she was just a random kid, and it wasn’t like he’d ever see her again.

Getting into his car, he made his way back to the hotel. He’d head back home tonight, and the thought of it made him groan.

For other fathers, the idea of spending time with their daughters was delightful. Some would even do anything for it.

But for Lucien, being a multimillionaire at the age of thirty-seven and also being single was all thanks to his daughter. He was getting richer by the day because he threw himself so hard into work just to avoid her. And his being single?

Well, that was thanks to his daughter’s extreme possessiveness of him. Lucien didn’t know how many women she’d scared away. The strange part was that none of the women she’d scared away were women he’d even liked. They were his secretaries, his Assistants, potential business partners, and even waitresses.

Any woman who came close to him felt the wrath of his only daughter, Sabrina Sinclair.

And it was Lucien’s fault entirely. He hadn’t given his daughter the affection she needed growing up. Now, she was laying claim to him way more viciously than was normal. He knew she was just scared someone would steal her dad away from her, but did she have to go about it so frustratingly?

She was the perfect personification of a rich, spoiled princess, and that was his fault, too. But Lucien couldn’t help it, he constantly gave her more money to spend just so she’d leave him alone.

Many would argue that it was because she was her mother’s splitting image, and he didn’t want to have to look at her face. But it was more than that.

She also had every bit of her mother’s personality.

Yes, he’d enabled her bad behaviour by giving up on discipline, but that was only because Lucien found it so pointless. The way Sabrina behaved, the way she spoke, even her mannerisms and her dislikes, were all exactly the same as her mother’s.

There was no discipline in the world that could outdo genetics, so Lucien had given up. She was so young, but so vicious and cruel to others. He didn’t know what to do with her anymore.

Luckily for him, in about a month’s time, she would be returning to school, and it was a boarding school.

Feeling a bit of positivity slide into his mind at that thought, he reminded himself to donate an extra half a million dollars to The Hawthorne Institute this year.

They were, once more, taking a load of stress off his plate.

Valencia didn’t buy dye. What she did was visit a salon. She’d never gotten her hair professionally done before and had been a little uncomfortable when the hairdresser kept asking personal questions.

She’d seen him spot a bruise on her neck and had hurried to make up a lie that she played sports, which got her bruised a lot. He didn’t seem convinced, but it had satisfied his curiosity for the duration of her visit.

Her transformation wasn’t complete, considering that she’d washed up in a public bathroom sink and was still wearing the hoodie and sweats she’d worn to Eliott Cross’s house. But, standing there in the centre of the airport, staring at her own reflection, Valencia was satisfied to see the gradual formation of Kendall.

Her blonde hair was long gone. In its place was a sleek, long bob that shone and swayed, brushing her shoulders with every move she made. The bangs were stunning, perfectly rounded, and brushed gently against her eyebrows.

She looked nearly beautiful. A small smile touched her lips. Karma would’ve loved to see this.

A hand touched her shoulder.

Valencia gasped, jerking away as she spun around to look at the stranger.

“Ms. Kendall McCarthy?”

She blinked at him, slowly nodding.

He smiled and gestured ahead with an open hand. “This way for your flight to Connecticut, please. Mr. Cross has made arrangements.”

Valencia had never seen a private jet up close before, let alone ridden in one. She’d felt small walking toward it. Tiny. Like she was about to climb into something she didn’t belong in.

Her shoulders were hunched, her bag clutched against her chest as she walked up the stairs. A suited man nodded at her in silent greeting, and she awkwardly nodded back, walking to the left as he indicated.

The inside smelled of leather, perfume and money. Not the cheap perfume she was used to, the kind of perfume that was so expensive, it was locked behind glass cabinets. Every surface sparkled with wealth and luxury, a beautiful blend of cream, black and brown colours.

She’d barely sat on one of the wide, leather seats before a voice asked if she’d like coffee, tea, water or something stronger.

Blinking, she whispered, “Just water, please.”

And then she clutched her hands over her bag so tightly, they hurt. Her dirty hoodie felt like a crime against the cream leather was touching.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and forced her hands to relax. This was what she had to fix. Feeling like an outsider in the presence of wealth. She was heading to the Hawthorne Institute. She was Kendall McCarthy, a wealthy, spoiled girl who lacked nothing. Private planes were nothing to her. Nothing at all.

Releasing a calming breath, she let her shoulders relax and focused on the feeling of the plane taking off.

When they were in the clouds, she finally opened her eyes as a small smile moved her lips. She was experiencing her first flight. The anxiety she’d subdued made way for a spark of excitement she couldn’t kill no matter how much she tried.

This was the start of a brand new life. Finally.

She stared out the window as the ground fell away beneath her, watching Miami shrink until it became a blur of light and regret.

For the first time in days, she exhaled.

This wasn’t just escape.

It was erasure.