The Harrington Main House was quiet as Fin made his way through the long, dimly lit corridors. His footsteps echoed softly against the polished marble floors. He didn't rush. His movements were calm and deliberate, as if something inside him had gone still.
At the far end of the estate, he stopped in front of a heavy black door. He pressed his thumb against the scanner, and the door unlocked with a quiet click before sliding open.
Fin stepped inside.
The private garage of the Harrington family was more than just a parking space — it was a vast, climate-controlled hall that resembled a private museum. The floor was made of dark, polished concrete, reflecting the soft overhead lighting. The air carried the faint scent of leather, metal, and expensive polish.
Lined along both sides of the hall were some of the rarest and most expensive cars in the world, each positioned with enough space to be admired individually. A matte-black Bugatti Chiron Super Sport 300+ sat under a spotlight, its aggressive silhouette cutting sharply through the air.
Beside it rested a limited-edition Ferrari Monza SP2 in Rosso Corsa, one of only five hundred ever made. Further down, a silver Pagani Huayra Roadster BC stood like a sculpture, its exposed carbon fiber gleaming under the lights.
On the opposite side, a midnight-blue Rolls-Royce Phantom VIII was parked beside a custom Aston Martin DBS Superleggera. At the far end, almost in its own section, sat a rare pearl-white Koenigsegg Jesko Attack — one of the most powerful and expensive cars ever produced.
Fin walked past them without slowing down.
He stopped in front of a sleek, dark grey Lamborghini Aventador SVJ near the center of the hall. It was one of the final units ever produced — raw, aggressive, and built purely for performance. He reached for the key fob mounted on the wall beside it. The carbon fiber and metal key felt heavy in his hand.
Without hesitation, he pressed the button.
The engine roared to life, the deep, aggressive sound echoing loudly throughout the entire garage. The low rumble vibrated through the floor and walls. Fin shifted the car into gear, and the Lamborghini slowly rolled forward as the massive garage doors at the far end began to open automatically.
The Lamborghini rolled slowly out of the private garage. As soon as the car cleared the large metal doors, several guards standing outside immediately straightened up, ready to escort their master. Marcus stood a few steps ahead of them, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the car approach.
Fin slowed the Lamborghini to a stop in front of him and rolled down the window. Marcus stepped forward respectfully.
"Evening, Master Fin."
Fin didn't reply. He simply raised one hand, cutting him off before he could continue.
"I'm going alone," Fin said, his voice calm but cold. "Don't follow me."
Marcus studied Fin's face for a moment. The rage from earlier had settled into something quieter, heavier, and far more dangerous. He could see it clearly in his eyes.
After a brief pause, Marcus gestured to the guards behind him. Without a word, they stepped back.
Marcus leaned closer to the car window, lowering his voice.
"Fin… Madam will not be pleased if you leave without protection."
Fin's jaw tightened. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead through the windshield, refusing to look at him.
"I said what I said, Uncle," he replied quietly. "Don't follow me."
He began rolling the window up. Marcus quickly placed his hand on the edge of the glass, stopping it from closing.
"Wait," Marcus said. He reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek black handgun. He held it out toward Fin. "At least take this."
Fin stared at the gun for a second before letting out a quiet sigh. He took it without another word and placed it on the passenger seat.
Marcus stepped back as the window finally rolled up. The Lamborghini's engine growled softly as Fin shifted it into gear and drove off into the night.
Marcus watched the car disappear down the long driveway, his expression unreadable. Once the taillights faded into the darkness, he pulled out his phone and made a call.
James answered almost immediately.
"Follow him," Marcus said calmly. "But keep your distance. Don't get caught."
There was a short pause on the other end.
"Understood."
Marcus ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He stood there for a moment longer, staring into the darkness where Fin's car had gone.
"Forgive me, Fin," he muttered under his breath. "I can't follow your orders this time."
The room was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall. Two untouched cups of tea sat on the table between them, long gone cold.
Eleanor sat gracefully in the high-backed armchair, her posture perfectly straight. Her fingers tapped slowly against the armrest as she studied Marianne in silence. Marianne sat on the sofa opposite her, hands clasped tightly on her lap. Though she tried to appear composed, the slight tremor in her fingers and the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her.
Marianne was the first to speak, her voice slightly tense.
"Why did you call me here, Eleanor?"
Eleanor didn't answer right away. She looked at Marianne with a cool, unreadable expression before replying.
"You know I don't like to sugarcoat my words," she said. "So I'll be blunt."
Marianne felt her stomach tighten.
She knows.
The thought struck her coldly. There was no point in pretending otherwise. That young maid must have reported everything she saw that morning — Marianne leaving Fin's room in a disheveled state. Her mind briefly flashed with resentment.
Damn that boy… Look at the mess he's dragged me into.
She gave a small, stiff nod, silently bracing herself for whatever was coming next.
Eleanor tilted her head slightly.
"Did you love your husband, Marianne?"
Marianne was caught off guard by the question. She hesitated for a second before answering, her voice quiet but steady.
"I don't. We've long passed the age where love matters. Now it's only an obligation."
Eleanor nodded once, as if she had expected that answer.
"But desire doesn't disappear with age, does it?" she said. "No matter how old we get, no human truly escapes it."
Marianne let out a short, dry chuckle, though there was no humor in it.
"What exactly do you want to know, Eleanor? Ask me directly."
Eleanor's tapping stopped. She looked at Marianne for a long moment, her eyes sharpening.
"I heard you've been asking Fin about your daughter."
The words landed heavily between them.
Marianne's fingers tightened in her lap. Eleanor continued, her voice calm but laced with quiet steel.
"So you better brace yourself. Fin thought it was best to hide it from you, probably because he feared you couldn't take it. But I believe a mother should know the truth."
Marianne's voice came out tighter than she intended.
"What do you mean, Eleanor?"
Meanwhile, Fin was driving through the city streets, one hand resting on the wheel. He picked up his phone and made a call.
"Eleana," he said the moment the line connected. "Where is she?"
He listened quietly for a few seconds.
"Understood."
He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, his expression unreadable as the Lamborghini accelerated into the night.
The bar was dimly lit, with soft purple lighting casting a seductive glow across the room. In one of the corner booths sat Lila with two of her old friends.
Lila stood out effortlessly. She wore a tight black leather corset dress that hugged her curves, paired with sheer black stockings that accentuated her long legs. Her long dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her makeup was sharp and alluring. She carried herself with a quiet, magnetic sensuality that made several men in the bar steal glances at her.
One of her friends leaned forward with a pout.
"Baby, why did you suddenly stop coming to our place? What happened?"
The other friend quickly added,
"Right? You said you were going on a trip, and then you just disappeared. If we hadn't called you, you probably wouldn't have even met us today."
Lila took a slow sip of her drink before replying, her tone calm but distant.
"I'm not doing that anymore. So don't ask me about it."
Her friend frowned.
"Why? The owner keeps asking us to convince you to come back. You know how much people used to pay just to spend one night with you, right?"
Lila's face twisted slightly in disgust.
"Eww. I don't even want to think about that anymore. And honestly… other men don't excite me anymore."
One of her friends raised an eyebrow, half-teasing.
"Lila… did you fall in love or something?"
The other friend laughed.
"Please. People like us don't fall in love. We just crawl into beds for money."
Both of them chuckled, but Lila didn't laugh with them. She stared at her drink for a moment before speaking again, her voice quieter.
"You're right. People like us don't deserve love. No matter what… we sell our bodies for money."
Her friends exchanged a glance. They could hear the quiet pain behind her words.
One of them asked carefully,
"Is it that guy? The one who used to book you every time?"
Lila shook her head, her expression turning cold.
"That asshole doesn't even compare to the guy I've been thinking about."
Her friend leaned in, genuinely curious now.
"Now I'm really curious. Why are you being so mysterious? Is he some millionaire? A celebrity?"
Lila gave a small, almost sad smile.
"Oh, he's better than those. But unlike them… he's actually a good person. Even after everything the girl he loved did to him, he still cares about her."
One of her friends raised an eyebrow.
"So he already has a girlfriend?"
Lila nodded.
"He did. But she doesn't deserve him."
Just then, three well-dressed men who had been watching their table for some time finally stood up and made their way over. One of them, clearly the most confident, stopped beside their booth with a smooth smile.
"Excuse me, ladies," he said, looking directly at Lila. "Mind if we join you? You three look like you're having too good a time for us to ignore."
One of Lila's friends, the more outgoing one, smiled back politely.
"We're just catching up," she replied. "It's been a while since we met."
The man's eyes remained on Lila. He leaned slightly against the edge of the booth, exuding easy charm.
"I don't think I've seen you here before," he said, directing his words at Lila. "You have a very… striking presence. Hard to miss."
Lila slowly lifted her gaze. She looked at him for a brief second, then glanced at his two friends who were standing behind him with similar expectant smiles. Her expression remained calm, almost indifferent.
"I'm not interested," she said simply, her tone polite but cold. "But thank you."
The man blinked, clearly not expecting such a direct rejection. His smile faltered for a moment before he tried again, letting out a small chuckle.
"Come on, don't be like that. We're just looking to have a good time. Let us buy you all a round of drinks at least."
Lila's friend nudged her lightly under the table, as if telling her to be a little nicer. But Lila didn't change her expression.
"I already have a drink," she replied, lifting her glass slightly before taking another sip. "And I'm not looking for company tonight."
The second man, who had been quiet until now, spoke up with a grin.
"Your friend doesn't seem to mind," he said, nodding toward the more friendly girl. "Why don't we just sit for a bit? No pressure."
Lila's other friend gave them a small, awkward smile, clearly caught in the middle.
The confident man's eyes narrowed. He tilted his head, clearly unused to being turned down so easily.
"You sure?" he said, his voice dropping. "We can go to our villa after this. Trust me — you won't be disappointed."
Lila's friends exchanged a glance, their eyes lighting up at the offer. One of them leaned toward her.
"Come on, Lila… It's just a drink."
Lila didn't even look at them. She picked up her bag and stood.
"You guys stay. I'm leaving."
Before she could take a step, the man's expression twisted. His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder hard.
"You bitch," he spat. "You think I don't know what your type is—"
His words cut off.
A firm hand suddenly clamped around his wrist, stopping him mid-sentence. The grip was strong enough to make the man wince.
Lila slowly opened her eyes.
Fin stood beside her.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look angry. He simply stared at the man with cold, empty eyes.
"Take your hand off her."
The words were quiet. Too quiet.
The man tried to pull his arm back, but Fin's grip didn't loosen. A flicker of discomfort crossed the man's face as he realized Fin wasn't letting go.
"Who the fuck are you?" the man snapped, trying to sound tough. "This has nothing to do with you."
Fin finally turned his head and looked at him properly. There was no emotion in his eyes — only a quiet, dangerous stillness.
"She said she's leaving," Fin replied, his voice low and calm. "So let go."
The man's two friends stepped forward, but something about Fin's complete lack of fear made them hesitate. He wasn't posturing. He wasn't even raising his voice. He simply stood there, holding the man's wrist like it was nothing.
The confident man finally yanked his hand free with a scowl, rubbing his wrist.
"You're making a mistake," he muttered, though he took a step back. "Come on. Let's go."
The three men walked away, though the main guy shot one last glare over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.
Once they were gone, Lila's friends looked between her and Fin awkwardly. Lila spoke without looking at them.
"You can leave too," she said quietly. "I'll talk to you later."
Her friends hesitated for a second, then quickly gathered their things and left.
Now it was just the two of them.
Lila slowly turned to face Fin. She studied him — the coldness in his eyes, the way he stood, the complete lack of warmth she used to see in him. He felt like a different person.
She swallowed.
"…Fin."
He didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed in the direction the men had gone for a few more seconds before finally shifting to her.
For a brief moment, something flickered behind his eyes — something painful — but it disappeared almost instantly.
He looked at her properly then, taking in the tight black corset dress and sheer stockings. His expression didn't change.
His voice came out low.
"This isn't the kind of place you should be right now."
It wasn't said with concern. It was said like a statement. Flat. Distant.
Lila looked at him quietly. She could feel the change in him. The softness she once knew was gone.
She tightened her grip on her bag.
"…I was just about to leave anyway."
Fin didn't reply. He simply stood there for a moment, then turned his head slightly toward the exit.
"Let's go."
He didn't wait for her answer. He simply started walking toward the exit, expecting her to follow.
Lila stared at his back for a second before quietly following after him.
**
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