"Wait!" I called as Ethan turned to leave. "Let me take a look at her picture." I leaned back in my chair as Ethan handed his phone to me.
I was expecting to see a pampered trust fund girl, but instead I nearly dropped the phone in my hand.
"Well, I'll be damned." I said, smiling.
"I know, right? She looks just like…" Ethan started.
"Don't finish that statement; besides, that's not what I was going to say."
"What is it, sir?"
"This Whitmore lady, what's her name?" I asked.
"Uuuh…" he quickly flipped through files in his hands. "Lilian Isla Whitmore."
"Interesting… This lady is currently in my home." I stared at the picture again; it was just a headshot probably taken for documentation purposes.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I found her last weekend, hurt and almost dead."
"Last weekend, you weren't here. You were at Ravenwood." He said, his face etched in surprise and confusion.
"Exactly. How did she get from here to Ravenwood? What happened to her that night?" I thought aloud.
"I still don't understand, sir."
"Long story short, you don't have to do a thing. I am going home." I got up and patted him on his shoulder, his mouth still open.
*****
When I got home, I found her at the dining table with James having a chat and a sandwich. She quickly got to her feet when she saw me.
"Good afternoon, sir." She greeted.
"You're home early," James added.
"Yes, it seems I finally figured out who our mystery guest is."
Her eyes flew to mine, but I didn't see excitement or surprise. I saw fear; why would she be afraid that I know who she is?
"Oh my God!" I whispered in anger. "You didn't lose your memory."
"No, I did; I swear I did. But I got it back gradually. It started after I saw Grace."
"And you didn't think to tell anyone."
"I'm sorry. I couldn't go back, and I knew the moment I got my memory back, you would kick me out." She tried to explain, but I hated being lied to, no matter the circumstances. "Please don't kick me out."
She dropped to her knees, begging and crying. "Please, I will do anything. Just don't send me back there."
James looked at me and shrugged; it was his way of saying, 'This is your problem and yours alone.'.
"I don't like being lied to." I growled, but seeing her on her knees, begging, was killing me. She should be begging for me, not the right to live. Oh my God, Clara was right; I am a pervert.
I walked out of the dining area to the kitchen and took a beer from the fridge.
"I will do anything. I will cook, I will clean, and I already love Grace, so that's not even a problem; just please let me stay."
"You can do something for me." I said.
"Anything."
"Sell Whitmore Group to me."
"Mr. Harrington, Whitmore Group went bankrupt when my father died. I do not have any claims to it anymore." She said, looking at me in confusion.
"Well, you have been lied to. Whitmore Group is doing quite fine except for the little issue of your debts, which will pass to you as your uncle has bled the finances dry."
She took several steps backward, turned, and ran.
"Great, she runs when the going gets tough. Note to self."
This wasn't going well at all. Acquiring Whitmore Group was getting more and more complicated. I guess marrying the heiress to propose a merger is out of the question now.
I walked back to the dining room to pick a sandwich, and James was still sitting there without a care in the world.
"What are you going to do now?" James asked.
"I don't know. I do know I want her company."
"That you do." James wiggled his eyebrows.
"I mean Whitmore group!" James could be as infuriating as his mother sometimes.
"But you do want her."
"James…"
"Sir. I have never once interfered in your grieving process."
"Don't start now."
"All I am saying is don't be with her because she looks like the late Mrs. Harrington; be with her because you want to try to live again." He advised ignoring me.
"James, I am forty-five; she is twenty-one. I can't be having sexual thoughts about a woman I am old enough to father."
"but you do."
"I am not talking about this. Viv was and still is my soulmate. If I even consider remarrying, it will not be for love but for necessity." I put my empty bottle of beer on the table. "Now if you will excuse me, I need to go convince our guest to sell me the Whitmore group."
*****
I found her in her room, crying in front of the mirror. "Miss Whitmore…"
"No need to be so formal, sir. What? You drop your arrogant, cruel, cold bastard act because you finally know I am Lilian Whitmore? Please don't."
"I think I prefer Isla." I said, stepping further into the room.
"You can call me whatever you want."
"So your uncle lied to you… big deal. You cannot hide forever."
She turned to me, tears still in her eyes. She began to unbutton her shirt.
"Miss… Whi… Isla… You do not have to seduce me into letting you stay. You can stay." But she kept unbuttoning until the last button. I wanted to walk away, I swear I did, walk away or look away, just something, but I couldn't move.
I was trapped in my own self.
She took off the shirt slowly. "You think lying to me was all they did?"
"God, you need some under…wear." My words got caught when I saw the scars. "Oh my God…" I stepped closer, her back now turned to me.
I ran my fingers along each mark on her back, they were healed flogging marks. How much did they torture this young woman? Anger blinded me.
"Who did this to you?"