The Invitation

The Invitation


Camila’s POV

“Where are you?” My eyes darted across the bar outside, though half-hidden behind the black shades I was putting on. I swear, if this fool thinks I’m about to meet him in some sleazy hotel room, he’s lost his last brain cell.

“Oh, Camila,” his voice slithered through the phone, too smooth for comfort. “I thought you were wiser than this. You don’t really expect us to meet in the open, do you?”

I frowned. “Then where the hell are you?”

“Shhhh… Don’t go faster than your shadows. I can see you.”

My eyes snapped up to the towering glass frame of Aquinas Hotel. From top to bottom, I scanned every window, every balcony. Nothing. No Frederick in sight.

What game is this clown playing?

“From where you’re standing,” he went on, enjoying himself way too much, “look to your left. There’s a door. That door leads to a hallway with… oh, lots of doors. Take the fifth one, and you’ll find yourself in Aquinas’ private bar.”

All this drama for what? This guy is a certified psycho.

“Why the bar?”

“Would you prefer a room instead, her majesty?” he teased, voice dripping with mockery.

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my brain. Ridiculous.

“I’m coming.”

The private bar hit me with a blur of blue, purple, and red lights, glowing across velvet couches and glossy black floors. The music was low and sultry. Too sultry.

I didn’t know what Frederick was pulling, but he’d better spit out whatever nonsense he had fast, because I needed to be home before Asher noticed I was missing.

“Look who we have here.”

Frederick stood, that ugly smirk already plastered across his face. He swaggered over, arms wide open like he thought I’d melt into his hug. I shoved him back so hard his balance wobbled.

He blinked, offended. “What was that for?”

I frowned. “What do you think?”

He smirked again, that irritating half-grin that made his face uglier. “Come on, loosen up.” He reached for me again, but this time I caught his arm and twisted it hard. He gasped, dropping to one knee as pain shot through him.

“Fine, fine, fine!” he pleaded, struggling to pull free. I let go.

A faint smile tugged at my lips. Surprise flooded me, followed by a rush of pride. Instructor Miller’s teachings—still got it.

His smirk faltered, replaced by something closer to fear. “Where did you learn that?”

I raised my brows. “Hit the point. Why did you call me here?”

His fear evaporated in seconds, the stupid grin slapping back onto his face like it had never left. “About that…” He gestured toward the couch. “Let’s at least sit down so I can order you something.”

“I don’t want anything from you. Just talk.” My voice was sharp enough to turn heads at the bar. The bartender actually froze, halfway through polishing a glass. Who cares?

Frederick only smiled wider. He pointed at the seat again, saying nothing.

My patience thinned like a string about to snap. “Fine.” I sat, arms folded.

He leaned back, studying me with that disgusting stare, like I was a puzzle he wanted to lick instead of solve. His face annoyed me so much I wanted to jab him with a fork.

Finally, he said, “So… you went into our storage room to—” He paused dramatically, that grin flashing again.

My heart stumbled into a faster rhythm. My mind flew through a hundred scenarios. Did he know? Did he find out the man in that picture was my dad? Did he know why I’d really been snooping around? Oh, just talk already, you clown!

“To what?” I snapped.

“To look for Asher’s childhood pictures.” He laughed, and the sound was so stupid it made my stomach twist.

What? Was that really why he called? Anyways, relief crashed over me. Thank God this idiot was too foolish to connect the dots.

“What were you expecting me to say?” he chuckled. “You’re funny. You could’ve just asked Asher to show you. Or wait—don’t tell me you two aren’t on good talking terms?” His laughter exploded again, sharp and hysterical.

I stared, unimpressed. He was acting so abnormal.

I stood, frowning. “If this is a prank, don’t ever try it again.”

But before I could leave, his hand shot out and yanked me back. I stumbled hard onto the couch, my backside slamming against it. I gasped.

What the hell was that for?

With one sudden motion, he pecked my cheek and leaned in closer, aiming for my lips. That was it.

I grabbed him by the collar, yanked him forward, and shoved him so hard he crashed back into the couch. This psycho! No wonder Edward hadn’t left him the inheritance outright, despite Frederick being the “rightful heir”. Even Edward knew better than to hand over power to this fool.

“Let’s never meet again.” My voice was ice as I strode toward the door.

Behind me, his voice rang out. “Stay tuned. You’re going to love my next moves.”

“Fck you,” I muttered under my breath. Adjusting my glasses and smoothing my hair, I yanked the doorknob and left.

\---

It’s been two days since that ridiculous meet-up, and I still couldn’t figure out what his real reason was. What was he playing at? What did he stand to gain?

Weird didn’t even begin to cover it.

Well, whatever. I just hoped he wouldn’t stir any real trouble.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” I greeted, extending my hand to Edward’s ex-worker. We’d arranged to meet at a quiet little coffee shop downtown. Remote. Safe. Hopefully. He shook my hand with a curt nod.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Up close, he looked far too young to have worked for Edward twenty years. Something was off.

“Mr Alexander Taylor?” I asked carefully.

He shook his head. “No, I’m his son. Kenzo Taylor.”

I blinked. Oh.

“You never mentioned that when we were texting.”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t. I needed to see who I was meeting first. Thought it might be one of my dad’s old friends.” He gave me a once-over, unimpressed. “Turns out I was wrong. So, what do you want?”

So uncultured… Anyways, his problem though. “I have a few questions about your dad’s death.”

Kenzo smirked, holding out a hand. “What kind of questions?”

I knew that look. That greedy little hand gesture.

Oh, children of this generation. Always money first.

I sighed and pulled out about fifty dollars, tossing it across the table. His hand darted like a hawk, and his smile widened. “Shoot.”

Rolling my eyes, I pressed on. “Do you know what happened the day your dad—”

The sharp trill of my phone cut me off.

“Excuse me.” I dug through my bag, pulling out my phone.

Samantha.

“Camila, where are you?” she demanded, not even waiting for me to speak first. Her voice was tight, frantic.

My stomach dropped. “Are you okay? You don’t sound—”

“There’s no time!” she snapped. “Check your phone. Check the trending news now.”

Her panic froze me. I couldn’t say a word.

Was I in trouble?

Or worse… Was it Asher?