Chapter 7

Miranda could only sleep with the jacket on. The bed of the hotel was extremely comfortable, soft, and plush with many pillows. It was the kind of bed designed for the perfect night's sleep. And yet, Miranda twisted and turned on the bed, feeling uncomfortable in each spot.

It was clear the bed was not the problem but her. She had showered and even changed into the clothes Matthew Devin's assistant had provided for her but she still felt dirty. The places where Karly touched fevered, his greedy hands leaving a stain on her and making it impossible for her to sleep.

Well, almost impossible. Because when Miranda put her hands through the sleeves of the black linen jacket and wrapped it around herself, she felt safe. Like a chick under its mother's wing, she felt cocooned and protected.

A warm, fuzzy feeling sprung up in her stomach and spread to her chest, until every part of her: her fingertips, her eyelids, her toes and the very ends of her hair was full of warmth.

The invisible marks Samuel Karly had left on her slowly faded away, till she felt free and unafraid. Sleep naturally filled the void the fear left behind and Miranda fell to a dreamless night's sleep. The last thing she heard as she drifted to sleep was "Will you come with me?"

The hotel's wake-up call sounded at 9 am, jolting her from sleep. Grateful for the thick white curtains blocking the sun's glare from hitting her at full force, Miranda stood and stretched. What a chaotic evening she had had.

This morning, however, held no trace of the night's evil. She used a hand to part the curtain and saw a bright and dazzling morning. It made her feel like everything was going to be okay, that somehow it would all work out.

Miranda carried that hopeful outlook to breakfast which was held in the banquet hall of the restaurant. She returned to her room and was promptly notified by the front desk that there was someone waiting for her.

Fear speared through her. Samuel Karly. He had found her. He was back for her. Holding the phone tightly to her ear, she asked in a shaky voice, "Who is it?"

The reply came. "The gentleman's name is Walter Finn. Do you…" The remainder of the words were blurred as relief made Miranda drop to the floor. It was Mr. Devin's assistant. Not Samuel Karly. Not Samuel Karly.

"…send him up?"

She shook her head and focused on the conversation. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch that last part."

"Is it fine to send him up?"

"Yes, it is fine. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Miranda stood up, replaced the phone on the cradle, and spun around to see if the room was neat enough for a guest. After smoothing out some non-existent wrinkles on the bed, she sat and waited for Walter Finn.

Walter Finn walked up to the door and paused. He dropped the shopping bags he held in one hand, cross-checked the number on the door before knocking. The door swung inwards and revealed the face of the woman he now knew as Miranda Dunne.

When he had arrived at the place his CEO had described to him, he was met with the sight of an empty car with a phone lying in the passenger's seat. The wheels began to turn in his head and the conclusion he reached was not a good one.

Billionaire. Alone in a car at night. Sedated billionaire alone in a car at night. Walter had normally assumed the worst.

He turned around in a panic to see if there was anyone around that had seen what happened. His gaze landed at the bus stop right across the road.

There were two people sitting on the bench, waiting for a bus. He dashed across to question the duo and hurtled to a stop when he noticed the man seated as his CEO. That was the first surprise.

The second was that there was a woman seated less than a metre away from him. In all his years of serving, he had never seen something of the sort. It was a stunning turn of events. But Walter was a composed man. He cleared his throat and prepared to speak when the last shock hit him like a block of ice.

The woman was wearing the CEO's jacket.

He briefly wondered why his CEO was clad in only his white cotton shirt but had dismissed the thought until he saw the jacket hanging off the woman.

What was going on here? What happened?

It was late morning of the next day and Walter had still not gotten his answers. The CEO had simply given him orders to ensure that the woman was well settled for the night. And that was that. Walter had brought her here, to this 5-star hotel and had provided clothing for the woman without asking any questions.

Now, as he set eyes on her, he could not help but wonder, once again, what exactly had happened last night.

"Good morning, Mr. Finn. It's nice to meet you again," Miranda said softly. He saw her eyes flicker to the bags on his left hand and the ones on the floor to his right and then back to his face.

"The feeling is mutual, Ms. Dunne. And please call me Walter," he responded in an equally soft tone.

Miranda lifted her shoulders up in a small shrug as if uncomfortable. "But you keep calling me Ms. Dunne no matter what I say. If you call me Miranda, then I'll call you Walter."

Walter smiled slightly. "It's nice to meet you, Miranda."

"And you too, Walter," she said, returning the smile. Gesturing to the room behind her, she said, "Do you want to come in?"

"Oh, no. I do not need to," he declined politely. "I came simply to drop these with you." Walter bent to pick up the bags and proffered both his bag-covered hands to her. "These are yours. There are of the same size as the ones I brought last night. If they do not fit, please inform me. I will provide ones that are better fitting."

As he spoke, her face became whiter and whiter until he was certain she was frozen in time. "Miss Dunne? Are you alright?"

Suddenly, red replaced the white, and Miranda staggered back, hand on her chest. "For me? All this…all this is for me? I can't accept it. I can't...how will I…how can I…?"

Walter studied the stuttering, blushing woman and made an observation. This was a woman who was not accustomed to receiving gifts. Either that or she was a very good actress. The astonishment in her eyes was profuse like she was stunned by the idea that someone would want to give her anything.

Although Walter felt a pang of pity, he was mainly consumed with the reason his boss got involved in such a person. Much less a woman.

"Yes, Miranda. These are for you. Mr. Devin asked me to get them for you." That seemed to stop her stuttering in its tracks.

"Mr. Devin…" she said quietly. "He asked you to get me these clothes?"

What a change in mood. The woman now seemed to be reflecting and Walter could not help but ask himself again what their connection was.

"Yes, Mr. Devin asked me to get them for you."

After a few seconds of silent consideration, the woman stretched her hands and took the bags from them.

"Thank you," she whispered in her quiet voice. "I really appreciate it."

Walter nodded. "I will be sure to extend your thanks to Mr. Devin."

"And you too. I mean, thank you too. For bringing the clothes to me and for helping me last night. Thank you."

Walter smiled. What a polite soul. "You're welcome, Miranda. I have to go now. If you need anything, here is my card." He pulled a contact card from his wallet and extended it towards her. "You can call me anytime."

Freeing up one of her hands, Miranda retrieved the card and studied it briefly. "Thank you," she repeated.

To be honest, Walter debated providing the woman with a direct means to contact his boss. But he still was not certain what their relationship was. Best play it safe. Returning his wallet to his inner pocket, Walter took a step away from the doorframe, signalling his departure. "Do take care of yourself, Miranda."

"And you, Walter." She waved as he turned and made his way down the corridor and to the elevator at the end. And Miranda was left with the heavy bags hanging off the arms and her conscience.

***

Matthew stared out the window of his office which was located at the top of his fifty storey building, slightly below the roof where DEVIN CONSTRUCTION written in bold, large letters. It was the tallest building in the entire city and as such it could be seen from any part of the city and in turn provided stunning views of the world below.

Especially on a morning like this one.

But Matthew was not interested in the view. In fact, his eyes had glazed over, unseeing, and his mind was far, far away, both in time and in distance.

Several years ago and hundreds of kilometres away, he was being torn apart viciously. They took everything from him. His dignity, his sanity, his blood and left him with tears in his flesh, deep cuts, peeled skin, and running blood.

The pain was excruciating. Unforgettable and unending. It had felt like every nerve end of his was on fire. He had screamed, shouted, cried, and begged for help. But there was no help to be had. And so, they carried on.

Woman after woman. Taking their pleasure and his soul.

In time, however, the physical wounds healed. The bruises faded, the cut skin scabbed over and the blood clotted. The physical wounds healed and made way for the more severe emotional wounds.

Before Matthew knew it, he could not look a woman in the face for longer than a second. If he did, the face of the woman would morph into the faces of his rapists. He could not touch women, lest his body remembers the touch of his rapists.

He could not talk to women or risk hearing the voices of his abusers. And in a world that half the population was female, Matthew constantly found himself on the brink. On the edge of his sanity. He had to be regularly sedated. And the times when he was violent to the people around him and to himself, he had to be restrained.

Things had gotten better. He had attended therapy and with intensive care from his parents and doctors, Matthew had been able to resume a semblance of normal life. But only a semblance.

He was the only one who truly knew how close to the edge he stood at any point in time and last night had almost pushed him over.

Matthew survived but his soul still felt raw and exposed. He hated to admit it as it made him feel like he had never really matured but he wanted to speak with his mother. She was the only one he felt could understand even a bit of what was going on in his head.

Stepping away from the glass and the edge, he walked across the massive room to his desk and picked up his phone.

"Hello, sweetheart. How are you?" came the cheerful voice of his adopted mother.

Matthew smiled and immediately felt a bit comforted. "I'm…fine, mom. How's your day going?"

He could hear paper being rifled as she responded. "It's fine, a bit exciting. We're expecting a very expensive painting today. Everyone's on edge, myself included."

He frowned. "You don't sound like you're on edge at all."

She chuckled and then whispered sensationally, "Well, you know sweetheart, my job can get a bit boring at times. I can't help but think about what would happen if the painting was stolen instead. It'll make for an interesting dinner time story, don't you think."

Matthew laughed, a deep rich laugh. "I cannot believe you. You want a painting to get stolen simply to give you a story to tell?"

His mom tutted over the phone. "I don't want it to get stolen. No, I'm just imagining what it'll be like if it was stolen. Only if. That's all."

Matthew shook his head, still amused. "Okay then. Try not to mention your fantasy to anyone, please. You may find yourself a suspect if the painting is actually stolen."

"You're right, of course, and hopefully, it'll remain a fantasy. The paperwork would be dreadful otherwise. By the way, how was your date last night? I was told that you two didn't hit it. I hope you're not feeling too bad about it."

At the mention of last night, Matthew's mood soured. He was once reminded about the reason he called.

"No, I'm not…I'm not feeling bad about it but I want us to talk."

There was silence from the other end of the phone and Matthew could imagine why. His voice had dropped to a low, broken whisper. Swallowing, he continued. "Can we talk over dinner? Can I come home?"

"Of course, honey. You can come home anytime you want. You can even come over now if you need to. Do you need to?"

She tried to hide it but Matthew could hear the panic in her voice. His mother spent her days managing an art gallery and as she had informed him, she was having a busy day today. No need to trouble her.

"No, I don't. Tonight is fine."

"Okay, sweetheart. I'll be waiting for you, okay? Let me know if you want to come earlier. It's really no big deal. I can have someone take care of the gallery if you need me, okay?"

Matthew closed his eyes. He was really fortunate, wasn't he? "It's fine. Thank you, mom. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. I'll see you later."

Matthew sighed and dropped the phone back on the table, feeling emotionally wrung but stable in the silence of his office. A knock broke the still and the door opened to reveal his personal assistant, Walter.

He watched as the diligent man, only a few years older than himself, walked in and placed a stack of papers on the wide desk. His presence here meant that the woman had been taken care of. Miranda, she was called.

Miranda.

"Sir," Walter began, "these are all the documents concerning the acquisition of Vikins Construction. They have been vetted and proofed, only your signature is required."

Matthew showed no interest in the project that had consumed him for the past three months. Instead, he asked in a casual voice, trying not to betray his intense curiosity in the, "What about the woman?"

Walter's expression on hearing the question told him that he was fooling no one. "The lady is fine, sir. I placed her in a hotel as per your instructions and have provided her with a reasonable amount of clothes and toiletries. Is there anything you wish?"

Matthew took a deep breath. "Yes, I would like to see her."

Walter's face froze showing no emotion whatsoever but Matthew did not have to guess what was going on in his mind. This was the first time he had ever made such a request, and while his aversion to women was not made vocal, it could be seen in everything he did.

For example, Devin Construction had very few female employees and they were all placed in the lower echelons of the company where he would certainly not set eyes on them.

Matthew avoided women and the person who spent the most time around him, his assistant, knew that very well. He was certain that Walter's mind was doing all sort of acrobatics but that mattered none.

"I want to meet with her," he repeated. "What is my schedule like tomorrow?"

Despite being shocked, Walter did not skip a beat. Off the top of his hat, he narrated the next day's planned activities to his employer.

Matthew stapled his hands under his chin and listened carefully. He had several important meetings throughout the day, most of which could not be rescheduled. The smart thing to do would be to arrange to meet her another day but he wanted to see her.

The sooner the better.

"Dinner. Please pick her up for dinner."