Page 43 of The Unfinished Line

“How generous of you to decide to join us.” Dani Hallwell wasted no time snarking her greeting the moment they passed through the entry archway built entirely of glass. The young woman was everything Dillon anticipated: Supercilious. Affected. Disdainful. Three things she’d found common amongst those whose wealth was vaster than their class.

Her blue eyes, disappearing behind lashes too long to be natural, flicked in Dillon’s direction, sweeping her khaki trousers and white button-up blouse—the dressiest attire she’d had in her suitcase—and then immediately flipped back to Kam, the subtlety of one penciled-on eyebrow raising in question.

“Dani, this is my friend Dillon. She was in town for work over the holidays, so I invited her to join us.”

“Hm.” The sound was no more than a disapproving hum. “I’ll see that my mother updates the seating chart.” She didn’t greet Dillon, or even bother to hide the look she shot Kameryn, promising a dozen other questions as soon as they were alone. “Your parents are in the game room.” Her head tilted in Dillon’s direction, but her pale gaze never met her eye. “Drinks are at the bar. Feel free to help yourself.”

Kameryn hesitated when Dani tried to lead her away, but Dillon waved her on. “I’m good,” she promised, and meant it. She was perfectly happy exploring the Hallwell residence on her own.

When the pair disappeared down the cathedral-vaulted foyer, Dillon spent a few minutes wandering the halls of the opulent home. It was gaudy, glittered in gold, and reeking of pretension. The other guests, packed in around the bar and kitchen, said nothing to her, but she could feel their eyes follow her as she left each room.

Finding her way to the second-story balcony, she stepped through the open French doors and settled in at the glass railing, looking out over the crystal blue infinity pool.

The home, despite falling in the middle of the suburbs, had been built on elevated ground, surrounded by mature oaks and buckeyes offering an elusion of privacy, veiling the proximity of the neighboring estates. It was an impressive spread, but nothing Dillon hadn’t seen before. She’d become intimately familiar with the wealth behind “big tech” early in her career.

Leaning against the dew-gathered glass, she turned her gaze past the pool and terrace, to where the ground sloped down a grassy knoll. At the bottom of the hill sat several dozen rows of grapevines, their barren arms and gnarled trunks desolate in the grips of the winter chill.

She’d been at another Christmas party once, at a private home in Königswinter, south of Cologne. There, the grapevines had grown by the thousands, disappearing into a valley outlined by the Rhine. It had been her first holiday away from her parents, the first time she’d ever spent a Christmas outside of Wales.

Henrik had brought her there.

They’d made the four-hour drive from Reitbrook, a tiny quarter on the outskirts of Hamburg, where she’d been living at his newly established training center. A place that allowed her to swim in the Elbe in the mornings; run and cycle the narrow backroads of the farming community in the afternoons; be coaxed to his bed at night.

The drive had been picturesque, Western Germany rolling out like a panorama on a postcard.

The winery estate had belonged to Jonas Klein, the co-founder ofInnovixus, a wearable data analytics company—the first sponsor she ever signed. The man had been married toHenrik’s cousin and was his prime focus for obtaining a per annum endorsement forsein hellster Stern—his brightest star.

Six months earlier—exactly one week after her sixteenth birthday—she’d won the World Triathlon Junior Championships in Gamagori, Japan. The youngest athlete ever—male or female—to claim the world title. It had been enough to convince Jonas to shill out twenty thousand euros a year. A sum that had seemed staggering to Dillon at the time.

But she’d not really remembered much about Christmas in Königswinter, or her apprehension about meeting Jonas, the man who’d financially kicked off her career. Instead, she remembered the garden shed a stone’s throw from the firepit where Jonas and his guests were toasting one another over Glühwein.

Henrik had steered her away from the view of the vineyards, pulling her through the small shed door. She’d felt unsteady, addled on wine, and high—on what, she wasn’t even sure. Whatever Henrik had pressed into her palm earlier in the night.Relax, mein kleiner schatz, he’d laughed at her uncertainty.Have a little fun.

It hadn’t felt fun—the spinning in her head, the sweat dripping in her eyes. The swaying movement of the world around her.

The shed smelled of earth and pesticides, the walls lined with gardening tools to tend to the grapevines.

She hadn’t needed to be sober to know what he was after.

And, like always, she gave in.

Twelve years later, she could still smell his breath, foul with alcohol. Feel the abrasiveness of the wooden door against her cheek.

It was the night she’d first realized she was in trouble. The night she should have gone home.

And still, she’d stayed.

How could she leave?

Henrik had made her a winner. At sixteen, she was already a world champion, wasn’t she? It was everything he’d promised her. Her title. Her ranking. A sponsorship worth more than all the prize money she’d ever earned.

There’s so much more to come, Schätzchen.

And so, she’d stayed. Stayed while the money fromInnovixuslined his pockets, paying nothing more for her than her entry fees. Stayed while he pushed her toward impossible expectations, rupturing her ACL in the first race of the following year’s World Series. Stayed while she listened to him call the next girlsein hellster Stern—just one more of what turned out to be many ‘brightest stars.’ Stayed while he browbeat her, belittled her, and convinced her that without him, she was nothing.

Stayed until he’d cost her everything.

Shaking herself from the memories, she refocused on the Hallwell vineyard.

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