Page 6 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

“If she stays here one more day, Howard, so help me God! Your bastard cannot stay in my house indefinitely. Get rid of her!”

The familiar devastation travels through me, disturbing old wounds that should have been healed by now but still drip invisible blood drop by drop.

My eyes snap open to see a man in a suit and a chauffeur hat running toward me. “Ms. Dawson!” he greets me, quickly snatching the suitcase from me and bowing a little. “It’s nice to have you back,” he announces, smiling wide, which only deepens the wrinkles on his face, showcasing his old age. He must be in his seventies now yet still stays devoted to my family.

They must be nice people when they aren’t dealing with the family’s bastard.

Patting him on the arm, I wink. “Hi, Eliot. Nice to see you too.”

He points at the black car in front of us with its door already open for me, and without another word, I hop inside, resting my head on the leather seat while the AC blasts full force at my face.

It only adds to the cold sinking its claws into me, freezing my bones so much I shiver a little and curse myself for not bringing a scarf with me.

Glancing around the spacious empty vehicle, I stifle a bitter laugh mixed with disappointment, because another dream of mine is crushed, and I have no one to blame but myself.

Did I really think my own father would come to pick me up when he has ignored my entire existence?

Except the rare occasions where he had to deal with his bastard, to hide me away so I wouldn’t tarnish the Dawson reputation.

Slipping my heels from my feet, I rub the soles a little, wincing when sharp pain slides through my calves and reminds me I should have gone for a different choice of shoes instead of trying to impress family members who couldn’t care less about me anyway.

When will I learn?

No matter what I do, I’ll never be part of their circle, because I’m the daughter of a whore.

Or so they say. I have no memory of my mom. She dropped me at the doorstep of her lover’s house with a letter and several of her diaries, according to the staff at my father’s estate. They were written in Latin, and besides knowing her name, Flora, I didn’t know anything about her. Her diaries are locked away in one of the bank’s safes.

No matter how much I wracked my mind over the years for just a brief glance of her, to maybe discover she at least loved me, I always came up blank, so I gave up.

Shaking my head from all the memories I’ve promised myself to lock away deep in my heart so no one will have the power to hurt me with them, I smile at Eliot, who gets inside and starts the vehicle, smoothly driving onto the narrow road. “Your grandmother is very excited about your arrival.” Right, more like she wants to see if I’m presentable enough for the ton to introduce me to it.

Especially with the upcoming political career Father wants to embark on—he has to have a clear reputation, and the press will quickly figure out my true heritage.

Excellent journalists can be even better investigators who search for the truth until they find it and shed light on it for everyone to see.

Otherwise, why would she have invited me back to Chicago despite banishing me in the first place?

Grandmother hasn’t stayed the matriarch of the family for five decades for nothing; the woman is as smart as she is vicious. She’ll use whatever means necessary in order to achieve her goal.

Since I stay silent, gluing my gaze out the window where the scenery changes in a kaleidoscope of images with the gorgeousness this city represents, Eliot continues to chat. “How was Greece? I bet you enjoyed living there, huh? Perfect place for your studies.”

I chuckle under my breath, thinking that was one way of putting it.

Although I did love Greece, no question about that, I would have much preferred studying here instead of living in boarding schools.

Besides, having a degree in fine arts didn’t mean I had to stay in one of the countries that had been a hometown of authentic art.

“Yes, it’s great.”

“What do you specialize in?”

My hands fist on my lap, my nails digging into my palms, but I focus on the sidewalk as we pass busy streets where people happily walk while talking to one another or rush so fast they change into a blur.

Magnificent buildings, various restaurants, and museums… yes, there is no place like home.

If it were possible to hug a city, I would have jumped from the car and opened my arms wide, ready to kiss Chicago all over.

I curl my toes into the car’s carpet, my feet itching to run around the town and discover all the new places while disappearing in it, soaking up all the energy around me.

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