Stolen fate stolen serie.., p.1
Stolen Fate (Stolen Series Book 1), page 1
Stolen Fate
Book 1
V.T. Do
Copyright © 2021 by V.T. Do
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Prologue
1. Evelyn
2. Evelyn
3. Evelyn
4. Evelyn
5. Evelyn
6. Evelyn
7. Jace
8. Jace
9. Evelyn
10. Jace
11. Evelyn
12. Jace
13. Evelyn
14. Evelyn
15. Jace
16. Evelyn
17. Evelyn
18. Evelyn
19. Jace
20. Evelyn
21. Jace
22. Evelyn
23. Jace
24. Jace
25. Evelyn
26. Evelyn
27. Evelyn
28. Evelyn
29. Jace
30. Evelyn
31. Evelyn
32. Evelyn
33. Evelyn
34. Evelyn
35. Evelyn
36. Evelyn
37. Evelyn
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Prologue
Jace
Present Day
Evelyn Adler. Twenty-eight years old. Average height, average looks, average life, just… average.
She was as average as they came, and nothing about the woman should be holding me to her—nothing, save for the most important person in my life.
He was the reason I looked for her, why I threw thousands and thousands of dollars at having her searched for. At that moment, I had her life laid out in documents on my desk with a single picture of her. The woman who had played such an important role in my life didn’t even know it.
She had brown hair, brown eyes, and fair skin with a slight scattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, making her look years younger than she was.
There should be nothing holding my attention to her, except my quest to find out what kind of person she was. And yet, the moment I opened the file sent to my office a few months back, the moment I got a good look at her, my heart had begun beating frantically in my chest, begging to be set free.
I had found myself reaching for her picture more times than I dared admit to myself, so fucking fascinated with her, with those deep-set brown eyes, the delicate lines of her jawline, and even the small twist of her lips that made her look like she was always pouting.
What was it about the woman that caused such a strong reaction from me?
On paper, she almost looked like my ex-wife, Camila. The same hair and eye color, the same slight stature, and the same fair skin.
But that was where the similarities ended.
Where Camila was unbelievably sexy—the kind of sexy that stopped men in their tracks—this woman was on the average side of pretty. Someone decent to look at, but someone who could have been easily overlooked.
Where Camila’s soul was pitch black, this woman had kind eyes.
Kind eyes that I wanted to get lost in.
And even in the picture, I could tell she was sad.
I rubbed away the ache that had suddenly taken residence in my chest with the palm of my hand.
I knew why she was sad. I knew all about the sordid deal she made with Camila, but the question remained whether she fully knew about the deal and didn’t care, or if she, like me, was another target in the long stream of victims Camila left behind in her quest to get what she wanted.
Evelyn wasn’t the kind of woman I usually involved myself with. Most of the women in my past had been some version of Camila: someone who was beautiful. Someone who knew the score. Someone who would have no problem separating emotion from everything.
But Evelyn wore her heart on her sleeve. A terrible thing in such an unkind world.
Was that why I was feeling so protective of her? Why a part of me wanted to find her and tell her it was okay for her to be kind, because I could be mean enough for her. For him. For both of them.
I shook away the ridiculous thought.
I didn’t know her. And what I did know, I learned from the documents I got from the PI I had hired to look into her.
I hadn’t even met the woman yet.
And she didn’t know about me. She didn’t know about him, either.
I supposed it would be smart to leave her alone. Let her live her life, not tempt fate and try to find her and meet her.
Things would be a hell of a lot less complicated.
Nevertheless, I found myself reaching for my desk phone. I pressed the intercom, and Belinda answered right away. “Yes, Mr. Reed?”
“Belinda, I need you to book me a flight to Boston.” I hesitated, but only for a brief second. “Actually, book me two seats.”
“Yes, Mr. Reed. And who will be joining you on the flight?”
“My son, Elliot.”
1
Evelyn
Six Years Ago
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Watch your breathing, I reminded myself. I had to. I was on the verge of passing out, and it wasn’t even me up there. My dad was sitting beside me in the packed auditorium, and he grabbed my hand, giving me a reassuring squeeze before we turned our attention back to the stage.
Then the emcee came out, and my heart nearly gave out. I hated how slowly he was walking. He held a small envelope in his large hands and paused to give the audience what I was sure he thought was an award-winning smile.
My hand tightened around Dad’s hand, and he leaned in. “Relax, sweetheart. Everything will be fine.”
I let out a small sigh. Sure it would be. It had to be. She had outshined all the other dancers on the stage. There was no way she hadn’t won first place.
And I wasn’t just saying that because she was my little sister, Emilia.
She was the best. She even got a standing ovation.
Dancing was in my little sister’s blood. And even though that same blood ran through my veins, it must have always been dormant in me because I couldn’t dance to save my life.
But Emilia Adler was definitely our late mother’s daughter, right down to her soulful green eyes and wavy, dirty blonde hair.
I took after my dad, with brown eyes and brown hair. I supposed our looks matched our personalities. Where Emilia was easygoing and carefree, I was serious and cautious.
The emcee opened the envelope, and I held my breath.
“And the winner of this year’s Junior Miss competition is….” I rolled my eyes when there was an actual drumroll coming out of the speaker—way to build up anticipation.
“Emilia Adler!”
Dad and I both stood up and cheered. We were probably the loudest ones there, and it didn’t bother me one bit because my baby sister’s name was just called. Emilia came out on stage, a bright smile gracing her lips, and, even from a distance, I knew her eyes were misty from unshed tears.
I also had tears in my eyes, and I didn’t wipe them away as they fell down my cheeks in streaks.
Dad wrapped his large arm around me and pulled me in close. She did it! She did it!
After months… no, years of hard work leading to this moment, there wasn’t a way in hell the Juilliard School hadn’t noticed. They were here scouting, and it was well documented the winners of the competition usually got accepted to Juilliard the following fall semester. That had been the family’s dream for Emilia for so long. It was hard not to feel hopeful.
We took our seats when the applause died down, and the emcee continued to announce the second and third prize winners. I noted happily that Emilia’s best friend, Cameron, came in third.
His mom, Alice, sitting next to us, let out a happy cry and grabbed my hand. Then, once again, we stood up and cheered him on.
It was a happy occasion, and I knew we would all be going out to celebrate later.
The three of us waited for Emilia and Cameron in the packed waiting room just outside the auditorium with the rest of the other families.
Dad was carrying Emilia’s favorite flowers, white daisies, in one hand—ones he’d had the good sense to buy right before he drove her to the performance. I looked around for a chair. When I spotted an empty one not too far from us, I led Dad to it so he could rest his leg.
He shot me an appreciative smile and took a seat, and I imagined he was sighing internally, finally able to get off his leg that had been injured from a work accident years before.
I took his cane and rested it against the wall next to him as we both looked to the doors that led backstage. The ones the dancers would be exiting from. I couldn’t wait to see my baby sister’s face after walking out with that first-prize trophy in her arms.
It wasn’t long after that the doors busted open, and all the dancers and their coaches came out at the same time. Dad held onto me as he stood, and
“Do you see her?” he asked gruffly.
I smiled. If I were Emilia’s biggest fan, Dad was a close second. There was nothing he would want more than to see all of her dreams come true.
“Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll be out soon.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I caught sight of my little sister’s dirty blond hair in that crazy updo she always did for recitals. Cameron was walking beside her, and he said something that made her laugh just as her eyes caught mine, and she let out a cry.
“Evelyn!” She flew into my arms. We jumped up and down, the large trophy between us. The sharp edges dug into my ribs a little, but I didn’t care. “Did you see me up there? Did you? I still can’t believe I won.”
“I can. You earned the right to that first place trophy, and I am so, so proud of you.”
I pulled back a little and wiped Emilia’s tears with my fingers, glad she opted to wear the waterproof mascara this morning.
Dad grabbed his cane and moved toward us. We both turned to him, and then Emilia was engulfed in his arms, her slender frame almost buried in our dad’s much bigger one. I stood to the side with a smile.
It had only been five years since my mom’s passing, and I still felt her loss every day. I had been close to her before she died when I was seventeen, but Emilia was a daddy’s girl, through and through. She was his baby, and his light, which was okay with me because I was my mom’s best friend.
I wiped away the tears that had fallen down my cheeks just as Cameron engulfed me in his large frame. “Ah, Evelyn. You shouldn’t cry. It’s a happy day.”
“I know,” I said, burying my head in his chest. But as nice and wonderful as the day was, there was always a constant ache, a reminder that my mom wasn’t there to see it. She put so much of her time and effort into Emilia’s dancing that it was as much her day as it was Emilia’s.
Cameron’s arms tightened around me. I would always be fond of the boy who grew up protecting my little sister. Since they were five, they’d been best friends when Cameron showed up at my mom’s dance studio for lessons.
I squeezed him. “This is really it,” I said. “Emilia will get accepted into Julliard’s program after this.”
Cameron was going to a local university this fall. Unlike Emilia, he didn’t live and breathe dance, but that was okay—not many people understood the kind of passion that ran through Emilia’s veins. Hell, even I didn’t understand it. Emilia knew what she wanted to do since she was three, while I had spent the majority of my life running around, searching for that spark—the one my mom found when she watched Emilia dance and the spark my little sister found whenever she performed on stage.
Just as Dad and Emilia pulled apart, a formidable-looking lady with dark hair pulled back in a tight bun approached. We quieted as soon as she was near, and Emilia looked like she was trying hard just to stay still.
I heard Emilia let out a quiet gasp as I watched the woman, and I turned to her, wondering why my little sister looked like she had seen a ghost.
The lady smiled a little, her big presence taking up so much of the space in the auditorium, despite her short stature that I had to fight the urge to turn away from her.
“Ah, so you know who I am,” the lady said, speaking with an English accent.
I turned curiously to Emilia, who looked like she would pass out had my dad not been holding onto her so tightly.
All the blood drained from Emilia’s face, and she looked panicked.
“You’re… you… that is to say….” Suddenly, Emilia rushed forward and clasped the hand the woman had held out to her. “It is such an honor to meet you, Mrs. Abernathy. I have followed your career closely since I was a little girl, and my mom took me to one of your performances. You have no idea how much I admire you.”
The woman seemed pleased with Emilia’s greeting if the twinkle in her eyes were any indication, and I hid my smile in Cameron’s chest. Emilia was quite charming, even when she didn’t mean to be. There was just something about her that drew people in, and I knew the woman—Mrs. Abernathy—was no exception.
“Then you know that I am the director and head choreographer at Bowing’s Dance Academy in London.”
“Yes,” Emilia said in a rush. “That was where you trained and where only the best of the best is accepted. The school only takes a handful of students every two years or so, and almost everyone who graduates goes on to win the Prix Benois de la Danse.”
Mrs. Abernathy nodded, her lips curving slightly into what I thought was a smile. I had a feeling that was the only smile I would ever see on her. She didn’t look like someone who was easily impressed.
“Yes, which is why I wanted to offer you a spot for the upcoming Fall term personally. That is, if you’re interested.” Her smirk told me she already knew what Emilia’s answer would be.
Only Emilia didn’t answer her. Her mouth was open, but nothing came out. The only thing she seemed capable of giving was a nod.
“Good,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “Bowing has already obtained your contact information from your school. We’ll be in touch soon, Emilia. We expect great things from you.”
And with that, Mrs. Abernathy walked away. Being such a tiny woman, she sure garnered a lot of attention. I looked back to see Cameron leading Emilia to the seat Dad had occupied moments before, and then my little sister put her head between her legs, trying her best not to freak out.
I moved over to them in time to hear her say, “I can’t believe Nadir Abernathy just talked to me. Me! Is this a dream? Someone pinch me.”
Cameron pinched her.
“Ow. Hey, what was that?” Emilia glared at Cameron, and he laughed.
“What? You asked.”
“I didn’t mean it literally, you doofus!” She moved over to him and tried to hit him, but Emilia was slender and not really built for anything but ballet. Cameron let out a laugh and easily held her off. Dad and Alice watched on with smiles on their faces, and though I wanted to enjoy the moment, the only thing I could think of was how in the hell we were supposed to pay for such a prestigious school.
2
Evelyn
Emilia and Dad were out for their regular Sunday lunch date, and I was at home, unable to tear my eyes away from the piece of paper I was holding.
Forty thousand dollars a term. That was eighty thousand dollars a year. The program gave Emilia a very generous scholarship, but it didn’t cover all her tuition. If I rearranged some of our finances and cut our budget, we could get her in for a semester… maybe.
Juilliard was different. Most students who got accepted after winning the Junior Miss competition were almost always given full-ride scholarships. I had been counting on that.
What was I going to do?
Mom’s studio had been put up for sale three years ago at a fraction of the market price. I hadn’t been able to manage it on my own, and Emilia couldn’t teach and train at the same time, so we thought it was best to sell it, even if it broke my heart.
Last I’d heard, it was being renovated into a corporate office for a new up-and-coming tech company that had grown exponentially in the past several years.
Dad was out of work, barely able to live off of his disability checks—the claim money he got from his previous employer for his injuries was automatically put into a savings account for his retirement fund. We couldn’t cash that, or Dad would have nothing left.
But if I couldn’t come up with the money, Emilia wouldn’t be able to follow her dreams. And Mom’s dream wouldn’t come true, either.
