Chapter 3

• Taylor J. Thorne Jr
• “I just got off a tired flight, who the hell is calling me now?” Taylor grumbled as he strode into the quiet elegance of the Royal Suite at The Vogue Hotel.
• Who else if not my ex, Jazmin? He thought in the next second. She had been calling him since he broke up with her over a text message before boarding the plan and laughed when he got her text back – calling him a coward.
• They had met two weeks ago at a club, dated for about a week before he broke up with her. It was his shortest relationship ever. And it ended simple because he had lost interest in her after fucking her two nights ago.
• He quickly put his phone on vibration only and continued.
• The hotel was a familiar comfort to Taylor Jeremy Thorne Jnr. He strode across the vast living area, his Italian leather shoes sinking slightly into the deep pile of the Persian rug.
• The panoramic view of the London, glittering under the late afternoon sun, was impressive, but Taylor barely registered it. He was a man accustomed to the best, enjoyed the sweet comfort of suites that cost more per night than most people earned in a year.
• As CEO of Valiant Thorne Capital, a multi-trillion-dollar private equity and venture capital firm, he moved in circles where money wasn't just a tool, it was the very air they breathed.
• He tossed his blazer onto a chaise lounge, loosening his tie with a flick of the wrist.
• The journey from New York had been seamless, as always, but a dull throb behind his eyes suggested the lingering effects of time zones and too many early morning calls.
• He went straight to the bar, placed his phone on the counter top and poured himself a drink. He needed to unwind.
• His phone buzzed, vibrating against the countertop. He glanced at the caller ID: Maxwell. A faint smile touched Taylor’s lips. Maxwell was his oldest friend, his confidant, and occasionally, his partner in mischief.
• "Maxwell, you old rogue," Taylor answered, a hint of genuine warmth in his voice. "Just landed. Settled into the suite. It's suitably dashing, as expected. But I must say, I'm a touch of disappointed. The receptionist didn't mention any 'surprise package' waiting for me. You promised, remember? I was rather looking forward to unwrapping it after such a tedious flight." He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his whisky.
• On the other end, Maxwell's laugh was rich and knowing. "Ah, Taylor! Always so literal! Did you honestly think I meant a cardboard box tied with a ribbon? A package delivered by a bellboy? Honestly, sometimes I wonder how you manage to run a multi-trillion-dollar empire with such a simple mind."
• Taylor rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his face. "Very funny, Maxwell. You know I despise ambiguity. Get to the point. Where is this grand 'surprise' of yours? Did you send a case of that ridiculously expensive vintage champagne I like? Or perhaps a new limited-edition motorcycle part for my collection?" Taylor's passion for high-performance bikes was almost as legendary as his business acumen.
• Maxwell's laugh deepened. "Oh, it's far better than champagne, my friend. And certainly more… dynamic than a mere bike. No, no, the real package, the true surprise, has been sent directly to your room. It should be waiting for you.”
• “Well I don’t see anything here though” Taylor said.
• “Or rather, she would be waiting for you because I know you are definitely about to head out." Maxwell said.
• Taylor paused, the whisky glass halfway to his lips. His smirk widened into a full-blown grin. "Ah. I see. A 'she', is it? Maxwell, you truly are a bad, bad man. You know my preferences too well. Always orchestrating my… ungodly activities." He shook his head, a genuine amusement lighting his eyes.
• "Well, someone has to ensure the great Taylor Thorne doesn't become a complete workaholic hermit, don't they?" Maxwell retorted, a smug satisfaction in his voice. "Consider it a welcome-home gift. A little something to help you unwind before you dive back into the shark tank of finance."
• Taylor walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the city lights beginning to twinkle below as dusk settled. The thought of a beautiful woman waiting in his room was certainly appealing. But a sudden, restless energy coursed through him.
• He wasn't quite ready for the sex. He needed noise, crowds, the anonymity of a public space where he could simply exist without the attention of his name, his reputation, his colossal wealth. He needed to be truly out.
• "Thank you for your thoughtful gift, but you know what, Maxwell?" Taylor said, a new idea forming in his mind. "I think I'm going to delay unwrapping your thoughtful 'package' for a little while longer. I'm feeling rather… social. I'll go get myself thoroughly wasted in the club downstairs first. Let loose a bit. Then, and only then, will I return to unravel your surprise. Tell her not to keep big daddy waiting"
• Maxwell chuckled. "Wasted, eh? Sounds like a plan, old chap. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, which, knowing you, isn't saying much. Just enjoy yourself. I'm off to enjoy my own girlfriend, actually. She's been rather neglected this week, poor thing."
• "Oh, get off the phone, you romantic fool!" Taylor laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that rarely escaped him in the sterile confines of his office. "Go on, then. We'll speak tomorrow. And thank you, Maxwell. You're a legend."
• "Anytime, mate. Have fun!"
• Taylor ended the call, a sense of anticipation bubbling within him. He placed the phone back on the counter, his gaze lingering on the closed bedroom door. A surprise awaited him. But first, the club. He needed to shed the layers of corporate responsibility.
• He thought briefly of his father, the formidable patriarch of the Thorne dynasty, and the strict rules that governed his inheritance. No extramarital affairs. No children out of wedlock. Rules that Taylor had, so far, meticulously adhered to. He was careful to do his shady dealings.
• Maxwell's "surprises" were always discreet, always professional. No complications. No messy entanglements especially when he was in town, He trusted Maxwell to make arrangements implicitly.
• He walked back to the bar, pouring himself another measure of whisky, downing it in one gulp. The burn in his throat was a welcome sensation. He grabbed his wallet, his phone, and a small, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips. Tonight, he would be just Taylor. Just a man looking for a good time.
• He left the suite, the door clicking shut behind him, hoping to meet the "surprise" waiting in the quiet luxury of his bedroom when he returns.
• ***
• Two weeks. Two long, excruciating weeks had gone by since Kelvin’s confrontation in her apartment. The whole time Kelvin had been giving her silent treatment, punctuated only by clipped, formal texts about wedding logistics or curt acknowledgements of her existence.
• Part of her, a desperate, secret part, wished an imaginary force – a sudden, inexplicable change of heart in Kelvin, a catastrophic event, anything – would cause him to call off the marriage.
• She longed for it with an ache so profound it sometimes stole her breath.
• Today, however, was supposed to be a reprieve to his silent punishment because whether he liked it or not, he would have to talk to her at some point.
• Leah, her 'best friend', had organised her bridal shower. It was meant to be an apology, a gesture for having 'missed' the wedding dress shopping.
• So when motorcade pulled into the luxurious entrance of The Vogue Hotel, Renee gasped. Even in her current state of emotional exhaustion, she couldn't deny its imposing beauty. Doormen in ironed uniforms opened the car doors with polite smiles on their faces, their eyes perhaps a little too knowing.
• "Here we are, darling! Your last night of freedom!" Chloe chirped, practically bouncing out of the car, her sequined top already catching the bright flood lights. Brenda followed, looking slightly more composed, while Clara offered Renee a small, sympathetic ‘I know you are tired’ kind of smile.
• "It's… quite something, isn't it?" Renee murmured to her self. The hotel was buzzing with activity, a mix of tourists, business types, and glamorous socialites.
• Leah rushed out from the lobby, a whirlwind of excited energy, her arms outstretched. "Renee! You made it! Oh, you look absolutely gorgeous, darling! Welcome to your last night as a single woman!" She enveloped Renee in a hug that felt more performative than genuine, her perfume cloying. "This is going to be epic! My apology for being such a flake with the dress shopping, remember?"
• Renee forced a smile, "It's lovely, Leah. Thank you. Really."
• "Nonsense! Only the best for my bestie!" Leah squeezed her arm. "Come on, I've already checked us in. We've got a suite for you, and rooms for the rest of us. We'll dump our bags, then head to the lounge for a quick drink before we hit the club!"
• The hotel rooms were, predictably, lavish. Renee's suite was enormous, with a sprawling king-sized bed, a gold bathroom, she just knew Kelvin had a hand in this party.
• Her friends' rooms, while smaller, were equally luxurious. It was all Kelvin's money, of course. Because Leah did not earn that much to afford this much luxury.
• So the girls unanimously agreed to dress up in Renee’s room.
• "Right, girls, operation 'glam up' is a go!" Chloe declared, already rummaging through her suitcase for her clubbing outfit. "We've got an hour to transform before we descend upon the clubbers!"
• Brenda chuckled. "Don't be dramatic, Chloe. But yes, Renee, you need to find something spectacular. This is your night!"
• Renee sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a profound sense of detachment. She watched her friends, their faces alight with excitement as they pulled out dresses, debated shoes, and shared makeup tips. They were genuinely thrilled, living vicariously through her impending high-society marriage. She envied their simple joy, their anticipation.
• "Renee, darling, are you just going to sit there?" Chloe called out, holding up a shimmering, barely-there dress. "What are you wearing? You can't wear something dull tonight!"
• "I don't know," Renee sighed, picking up a simple black dress she'd packed. "I was thinking something comfortable. We're just going to a club, aren't we?"
• Leah, who was applying a dramatic winged eyeliner, paused, her brush mid-air. "Just a club? Renee, this isn't just any club. This is 'Inferno'! It's where we are likely to find men like kelvin for ourselves. You need to look the part!"
• Clara, however, walked over and sat beside Renee. "She's right, Renee. You don't have to wear something you're uncomfortable in. But maybe something with a bit more sparkle? It is your bridal shower, after all." She offered a gentle, understanding smile. Clara was the only one who seemed to truly see the weariness behind Renee's eyes, even if she didn't fully grasp its depth.
• Renee nodded, appreciating Clara's support. She eventually settled on a deep yellow dress, less revealing than Chloe's choices, but with a subtle shimmer that caught the light. It was a compromise. Her life was a series of compromises now.
• An hour later, they gathered in the hotel lounge, a dimly lit space with cream coloured armchairs and a hushed, sophisticated atmosphere.
• "Right, ladies, before we head downstairs to the main event," Leah announced, raising a glass of sparkling water, "a toast to Renee! Our beautiful bride-to-be! May your future with Kelvin be everything you've ever dreamed of!"
• Renee forced a smile and clinked her glass against theirs, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.
• "Now, about the club," Brenda began, her eyes twinkling. "I hear Inferno gets absolutely wild! Shots, dancing on tables, the works!"
• Renee's stomach fluttered nervously. "Hang on, girls," she interjected, holding up a hand. "I'm happy to go out, truly. But only if we promise we don't get drunk. I really don't want a repeat of… well, you know. We need to be sensible. Kelvin would have my head if We caused a scene." The last part was a half-truth, a convenient excuse for her deeper unease.
• Leah waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, Renee, don't be such a bore! It's your bridal shower! A little tipsy is fine. We'll look after you, won't we, girls?" She winked at Chloe and Brenda, who readily agreed.
• "No, seriously," Renee insisted, meeting Leah's gaze. "I mean it. Just a few drinks. Nothing crazy. I really need to keep my wits about me."
• Leah sighed, a hint of impatience in her eyes, but she plastered on a smile. "Alright, alright, our sensible bride. We promise. Just a few celebratory cocktails. No getting absolutely plastered. Deal?" She held out her hand.
• Renee hesitated for a moment, then shook Leah's hand. "Deal." She knew it was a flimsy promise, but it was the best she could hope for.