Imperfect Match (Elixir Bachelor Billionaires #1)

My hands tremble at my sides as I turn around and leave.

Dave drives the car through the gates of Hawthorne mansion. I’ve spent the majority of my childhood in this place. A vast compound, huge gardens that the whole town can’t stop raving about, the koi pond, evergreen water lilies that sleep in winter.

Everything is familiar and should give me peace. Yet every time I’m here, anxiety creeps into my chest, reminding me of my pathetic childhood self, the one who was so fucking needy. I cringe at the memory of that boy who craved the attention and affection of his mother.

When I step out of the car, there are two night guards stationed at the main entrance. Responding to their greeting with a nod, I walk inside.

“Mr. Hawthorne, everyone just retired to bed. Shall I wake up—”

I interrupt the housekeeper with a shake of my head. “No. I’ll just be in my room for a second and be gone in the next. Please don’t worry. You can go back to sleep.”

Even though she nods and steps back, I know she’ll be waiting in the kitchen until I’m gone, in case I do need something. That’s the night service protocol at the Hawthorne mansion. We’re not called “Cherrywood royalty” without reason.

My feet shake like a toddler who just learned to walk as I step inside my childhood room. Everything is exactly as it was when I left for college.

On one wall are pictures of Chloe and me over the years, starting from the day she was born, the happiest day of my life, until she and I packed my stuff the night before my departure.

They also include the major milestones of our lives.

Her first step. Her first birthday. Her first day of school as she held my hand.

The smile that tugs on my lips while remembering my sister slips the moment my gaze falls on the closet.

I dig out the metal box with a tiny golden lock buried in the back. I told my family it was a time capsule and nobody touched it. My hands shake as I take out the tiny key from my wallet.

Don’t do it, Charles!

A part of my brain screams at me to leave the room and finally burn this box. I don’t know why I even have it in the first place. Unlike Chloe’s pictures, this isn’t something I want to revisit.

At what point in my childhood did I become so damn sadistic?

This is nothing but self-torture.

But there’s a second voice I’ve spent the majority of my life ignoring, and today it has finally found a microphone.

I stored this box and its contents for a day like today.

There’s a reason I don’t want to have a family, and that reason is in this box.

But Daisy is pregnant.

I don’t allow any other sentiment to replace the fear that’s harboring in my chest right now and flip the latch open.

Colorful envelopes are carefully stacked one over the other.

Some plain, some with hand-drawn flowers, and some with stickers of whatever was my favorite that month.

I tried everything in hopes that someday one of them wouldn’t be returned unopened.

That never happened.

I pick up the first letter from the heap and my hands shake as I tear the corner of the envelope, which was sealed when I was only five and hasn’t been opened since. The address was written by my nanny at that time. I had asked the middle-aged woman to pinky swear she wouldn’t tell my dad that I was writing letters to my mother.

But I don’t believe now that she would have kept that promise. I’m sure my dad knew exactly how I was spending every moment when he wasn’t around. He sacrificed his own happiness to give me the best life, despite the fact that the woman who gave birth to me dumped me on his doorstep without a second glance.

I open the pages and look at my block handwriting. The letters are all twisted, and I’ve butchered several of them. My Ds look more like Os, and my Ts like Js.

Dear Mom,