Broken Rivalry : New-Adult Angsty College Romance (Silverbrook University Book 1)
Broken Rivalry : Chapter 23

The warmth of the bed envelops me, but a sudden jolt of anxiety pulls me from my dreams. Ethan’s side of the bed is empty, but the lingering heat tells me he hasn’t been gone long. I fumble on the nightstand to replace my phone and blink at the harsh light, 6:02 a.m.

Pushing the covers aside, I slip out of bed, feeling the room’s cool embrace. I glance back, half tempted to dive back into the warmth, but concern for Ethan nudges me forward. He’s not one for early mornings, especially not here. I pull on Ethan’s discarded Henley from the floor, its length just right, reaching midthigh. My footsteps are soft against the plush carpet as I make my way out.

The house is nearly silent, but a distant murmur of voices draws me in. Curiosity guides me to the office door.

“…I told you, Dad, I’ll get her father’s box soon.” Ethan’s voice, laced with tension, reaches my ears.

“The box… Why, Ethan?” I whisper to myself.

There’s a pause, during which I can only imagine his father’s response.

“And what? Look, I’m at the cabin like you wanted. But Poppy doesn’t know anything about it, and I want it to stay that way.”

My heart races, my hands trembling, as I try to make sense of the fragments of their conversation. That box. The one filled with documents that could potentially still take Fitzgerald Hawthorne down. The box my father had whispered about during one of my visits to him in prison. The same box he’d cleverly hidden in a train station locker. Just hearing Ethan talk about it makes my stomach churn.

Over time, I’ve pieced together the events leading up to my father’s incarceration. He’d been suspected of an embezzlement scheme—a white-collar crime, and in a desperate move, he went to the authorities with information about his boss, Fitzgerald Hawthorne. But Hawthorne was always one step ahead, cunning and prepared. He managed to shift all the blame onto my father, making him the scapegoat.

I retrieved that box and kept it, even when my mother begged me to get rid of it. I couldn’t. I was fueled by a burning desire for revenge, wanting to drag the Hawthorne name through the mud, even if it meant going down with it.

But life happened. My immediate concerns shifted to survival, and my burning anger toward the Hawthornes simmered down, though it never truly went away. It was replaced by a deep-seated resentment toward my father, who I saw as nothing more than a weakling. I held on to the box, even if I wasn’t entirely sure why. But now, with Ethan’s words reverberating in my mind, the suppressed anger and sense of injustice return with a vengeance. I’m filled with emotions: anger at my father for dragging me back into this mess, disdain for Fitzgerald Hawthorne, a sense of betrayal from Ethan, and a deep self-loathing for letting myself fall for the enemy.

Silly, silly girl, a mocking voice taunts in my head. When something seems too good to be true, it usually is.

Before I can ponder further, I hear Ethan say goodbye to his father. Panicking, I retreat, rushing back to the bedroom. I dive under the covers, feigning sleep, my heart pounding loudly in my chest.

Moments later, the bedroom door opens, and I feel the bed dip as Ethan slides in beside me. He pulls me close, his arm wrapping around my waist. I stiffen, every muscle in my body taut. I hate how comforting his touch feels, especially now that I know he’s nothing more than a liar.

The apple never falls far from the tree.

“Poppy?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my neck. “Are you awake?”

I don’t respond, forcing my breathing to remain even.

He sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “I love you,” he whispers, but I can’t bring myself to reply.

The hours seem endless, and when I’m convinced he’s in a deep slumber, I free myself from his grasp and begin to dress.

“I can’t believe I trusted you,” I mutter to myself, glancing at his sleeping form.

Ethan stirs, his voice thick with sleep. “Hey, where are you off to?”

I curse inwardly. I’d hoped to be halfway back to town before he even noticed I was gone.

“I’m heading home,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “School’s been canceled, and I have to take care of my brothers.”

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. “What?” He reaches for his phone. “Stay here. I’ll replace a nanny service. They can get there faster than we can.”

I shake my head. “I can’t leave them with a stranger. Eva can pick me up; her car’s fixed.”

He starts to protest but then exhales heavily, the reality of our situation dawning on him. “Can’t Eva stay with your brothers?” he asks as I move to the bathroom to pack my toiletries.

“She has to leave by lunch,” I reply, my mind racing for more excuses.

His frown deepens, sensing my evasion as I put my toiletry bag in my bag and zip it shut. “Did something happen? Are you not coming back? Did I do something wrong?”

I want to confront him, to tell him he’ll never touch me again. But fear holds me back. What if he tries to keep me here, spinning more lies? I thought I knew Ethan, but now I see how cunning he truly is.

He made me believe he loved me. My stomach squeezes painfully at the mere thought.

I muster a smile, though it feels hollow. “No, everything’s okay. I have a lot on my mind. This trip was a mistake.”

He reaches out, grabbing my wrist gently. “Poppy, talk to me.”

I pull away, my voice firm. “I have to go, Ethan.”

He looks defeated but finally agrees. “Let me drive you back, at least.”

I nod, not having any excuse not to agree to that, and frankly, I feel bad for asking Eva to drive her tiny city car all the way up here.

The drive is tense, filled with a heavy silence. As we near town, I catch him signaling a turn.

“You’ve been quiet. Everything okay?”

I nod absentmindedly. “Only thinking… Where are you heading?”

“To Brenthill.” He throws me a glance. “Shouldn’t I be dropping you at your mom’s?”

“I’ve got to swing by my place,” I say, gesturing to my bags. “I have things to pick up.” Could you be more evasive?

He gives me a skeptical look, clearly not buying my excuse. But I’m done playing his game.

“I’ll wait for you then,” he insists.

“No, I’ll go with Eva. Go enjoy your weekend, Ethan.”

I see his nostrils flare with irritation. “We need to talk, Poppy. I won’t let things end like this.”

Don’t worry, Ethan Hawthorne. You will get your precious box, and then there’ll be no more reason for you to lie.

I force a smile, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Of course, we’ll talk tonight.”

It seems to pacify him as he pulls up to my building, his gaze intense. “I love you, Poppy.”

I inhale deeply, struggling to keep my emotions in check. “Goodbye, Ethan.”

I grab my bags and hurry inside, not daring to look back. All I want is a shower to wash away his touch, his scent. I need to rebuild the walls around my heart, stronger than ever.

And after that? It’s time to confront Fitzgerald Hawthorne.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Eva asks, her voice filled with concern. We’re parked outside the towering glass building of Hawthorne Enterprises. Memories of my father working here come flooding back. I know the building’s ins and outs, especially how to get to the director’s floor without being noticed. The real challenge is whether Hawthorne Senior will see me.

I tap the box on my lap, determination burning in my eyes. “He’ll see me,” I say out loud, responding to my own concerns.

Eva’s fingers drum anxiously on the steering wheel. “Poppy, maybe it’s better to talk to Ethan first. Clear things up.”

I shake my head. “This is between his father and me.”

She hesitates. “Do you want me to come with you?”

I smile, touched by her offer. “No, this is something I need to do alone. To close the circle.”

Eva gives me a worried look before looking at the building again. “Just… be careful, okay?”

I nod, taking a deep breath as I open the car door. The cold air hits me, but I barely feel it. My focus is on the looming glass building in front of me: Hawthorne Enterprises. A place that once held fond memories of my father, now tainted with betrayal and deceit.

The revolving doors whisk me into the opulent lobby. Polished marble floors reflect the golden chandeliers above, and the hum of conversations fills the air. Businessmen and women, all dressed in sharp suits, move with purpose, their polished shoes clicking against the floor.

I approach the elevators, and as I press the call button, a security guard from behind the counter calls after me.

“Miss, do you have an appointment?”

The doors open, and I step in.

“Miss!” he calls again, standing up.

“I don’t need one,” I reply, pressing the button for the director’s floor. As the doors close, I take a moment to gather my thoughts, the weight of the box in my hands serving as a constant reminder of my mission.

You can do this, Poppy. You can do this.

The elevator dings, announcing my arrival. I step out into a plush waiting area, where a young secretary sits behind a sleek desk, typing away on her computer. She looks up as I approach, her perfectly manicured eyebrows rising in question.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her tone polite but distant.

“I’m here to see Fitzgerald Hawthorne,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

She chuckles, clearly amused. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I reply, “but I think he’ll want to see me.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Tell him Poppy Lockwood is here.”

Her laughter stops abruptly, replaced by a look of surprise. She picks up the phone, dialing a number. “Mr. Hawthorne, there’s a young woman here to see you. She says her name is Poppy Lockwood.”

There’s a brief pause, during which I can’t hear his response. But by the change in the secretary’s demeanor, I can tell it’s significant. “Yes, sir,” she says, hanging up.

She looks at me, her previous amusement replaced with a mix of curiosity and respect. “Mr. Hawthorne will see you now. Go right in.”

I nod, pushing open the heavy wooden doors to Fitzgerald Hawthorne’s office. The room is vast, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. Behind a mahogany desk sits the man himself, his sharp eyes studying me intently.

“Miss Lockwood… or Donovan now,” he greets, his voice oozing a saccharine tone. “You’ve grown up. Not the little girl I remember.”

“Time has a way of doing that,” I say sarcastically.

“To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Without another word, I set the box on his desk, the worn cardboard rough against my fingertips. “Enough with the charades, Hawthorne. This is what you had your son chasing after.”

He leans in, eyes darting to the box. A momentary uncertainty flashes across his face, but it’s swiftly overshadowed by a shrewd gleam. “How… convenient.”

I follow his pointing finger to a nondescript gray box on a nearby bookshelf. “That,” he informs, “prevents unauthorized recordings in this room.”

Ah, ever so careful… I snort. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m done.”

“With?”

“Everything.” Your son included.

He looks at the box again. “What do you want for it?”

“For you to leave us alone.”

His smirk is infuriating. “And how did Ethan persuade you to this point?”

The insinuation behind his words stings. “He didn’t. Unlike my father, I know when I’m outmatched.” The realization dawns on me, a cold pit forming in my stomach. Was this all a setup? The job for my mother, the house… Was it all merely leverage?

“Actually, I would like a few things.”

He leans back on his chair. “I’m listening, but you lost your advantage, didn’t you?” He rests his hand on the box. “I have the box now.”

“You do,” I confirm, “but you kept telling the media during my father’s trial that you are a man of principles.”

“I am.”

“Prove it.”

His eyes narrow just a fraction. “What do you want?”

“I want you to leave my family alone. Please don’t take the job from my mother or the house. Don’t do that to her.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would also say I saw some empathy in his face, but I do know better.

He nods sharply. “You have my word, but while we’re playing the honesty game. I’ll tell you a few things.”

Of course he thinks “honesty” is a game.

“Even if I wanted to destroy your new life, I couldn’t.”

I tense, somehow knowing I won’t like what he is about to say.

He smiles. “Your mother’s new job? It’s at Ethan’s company, well… the one he inherited from his grandfather. And the house?” He shrugs. “The deed is in your name.”

Disbelief washes over me. “He bought me a house?” The enormity of that truth begins to settle in.

Hawthorne merely shrugs, amusement shining in his eyes. “Seems so.”

I steel myself, meeting his gaze. “Ethan doesn’t owe me a house. But you owe us. Pay him back.”

He raises an eyebrow but nods in agreement. “Very well.”

As I turn to leave, he adds, “For the record, had your father come to me first, shown loyalty, instead of going to the authorities, I would’ve protected him.”

I pause at the door, my hand resting on the handle. “That’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.”

“To me, it does,” he counters. “And I played no part in your father’s downfall.”

I face him once more, determination in my voice. “One more thing. Keep Ethan away from me.”

He scoffs, “That’s a tall order. The boy’s got a mind of his own.”

I can’t help but think, does he really? But I dismiss the thought. “You know, Ethan always sought your approval. You’ve been too hard on him. Maybe try showing you care once in a while.”

A smirk curls his lips, his expression one of wry amusement. “I raised Ethan to be a leader. I couldn’t coddle him. He needed to toughen up. You have seen yourself that at this level, it is sharks leading sharks. I could not raise a soft, naive man.”

“You ended up raising a calculating manipulator,” I let out.

“And yet you are here pleading for his well-being.” He raises an eyebrow. “Careful, Miss Donovan. One might think you have feelings for my son.”

“I used to,” I retort, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve always found ways, Mr. Hawthorne. I’m sure you can figure this one out.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “I can try for a week, maybe two. But it won’t change the endgame.”

Those weeks are all I need—time to rebuild, to prepare myself for whatever comes next, and to hide the hurt.

“It’s my problem to deal with. I’d say thanks, but…”

I laugh, more out of disbelief than amusement. But his serious look stops me. “I’m sure you think that’s a compliment, but it doesn’t feel like one.” Taking a deep breath, I ask, “Can I trust you on this?”

He thinks for an instant, then nods. “I’ll do what I can.”

With that, I leave the office, ready to focus on myself and the new chapter I’m about to start.