Betrayed, Then Claimed by Fate

Chapter7 Encounter

Chapter6 Encounter

"Phone calls at odd hours that made her giggle like a teenager. Expensive gifts she couldn't possibly afford on her part-time salary. Men picking her up when she claimed to be staying home." His jaw clenches with suppressed anger. "I ignored it because your mother insisted Amy was just being 'social.'"

Social. One word for serial adultery.

"I'm proud of you for getting out before they could hurt you." His voice roughens with emotion. "Charles Parker never deserved you."

The tears threaten, but I blink them back. "Thank you. That means everything."

He pulls me into a fierce hug, solid and warm and absolutely safe. "You're going to find someone who sees how amazing you are. Someone who would never even dream of hurting you."

"I hope so."

"I know so." He pulls back, squeezing my shoulders with gentle strength. "Now go. Start your new life. And Lynn?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me when you get settled. I want to hear all about Los Angeles."

Six Hours Later

The airplane wine tastes like antiseptic, but I drink it anyway, watching the country scroll by thirty thousand feet below. First class is wasted on me—I can't stop thinking about Mom's face. The way she chose delusion over truth. The way her hand felt cracking across my cheek.

My phone buzzes. Text from CharlesMiss you already, babe. House feels empty without you.

I nearly laugh at the audacity. He's probably already at Amy's apartment, celebrating my departure with champagne and s*x.

I type backMiss you too. Long flight ahead.

His response is immediateGet some rest. I love you.

Three little words that used to make my heart race. Now they just make my stomach turn.

I delete the thread and switch my phone to airplane mode. Time to leave Charles Parker and his sweet lies in the past where they belong.

Los Angeles International Airport is a maze of glass and steel, but I navigate it with surprising confidence. My enhanced senses pick up every conversation, every scent, every movement around me. It should be overwhelming, but instead it feels empowering—like I'm finally awake after years of sleepwalking through my own life.

The car service driver—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes—loads my luggage efficiently. "First time in LA?"

"Yes. New job, new life."

"You picked a perfect time to move. Weather's been gorgeous." She glances at me in the rearview mirror. "You look like you could use some sunshine."

She's not wrong. My reflection in the window shows a pale, tired woman with haunted eyes—but there's something else there now. A strength that wasn't there before. A steel that promises consequences for those who've wronged me.

The drive takes us through the sprawling city. Past palm trees swaying in warm breeze. Past billboards advertising dreams and ambition. Mountains rise in the distance like sleeping giants, and the Pacific Ocean stretches endlessly toward the horizon, deeper blue than any photograph could capture.

My new building is a tower of glass and steel rising from the coastline like something from a dream. The uniformed doorman greets me with professional courtesy, smile genuine as he helps with my bags.

"Ms. Quinn? Welcome to Oceanview Towers. I'm Marcus. Anything you need, just let me know."

The elevator ride to the penthouse level feels like ascending to heaven—or at least ascending far above all the s**t I'm leaving behind.

My apartment door opens to reveal a view that steals my breath. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the Pacific Ocean stretching to the horizon on one side, the glittering city sprawling toward distant mountains on the other.

It's beautiful. It's mine. And it's three thousand miles from Charles Parker and his lies.

I spend the afternoon unpacking essentials and ordering furniture online. The building's concierge service makes everything effortless—grocery delivery, restaurant recommendations, even a personal shopper if needed. By evening, I have a functioning home.

The master bathroom is pure luxury—rainfall showerhead, body jets, stone tiles that feel like a spa under my bare feet. The hot water washes away more than travel grime. It strips away the last remnants of the woman who let herself be used and betrayed.

I slip into a simple white sundress that shows off my newly defined curves—all those stress-induced workouts have given me a body I'm finally proud of. The fabric clings in all the right places, flowing around my long legs like silk.

The rooftop is paradise—gleaming infinity pools that seem to drop straight into the ocean, outdoor kitchens that wouldn't look out of place in a five-star restaurant, lounge areas scattered among tropical plants that make the space feel like a secret garden.

I'm alone up here, dipping my toes in the heated pool while watching the sun sink toward the horizon in shades of gold and crimson that belong in a painting.

That's when I hear the splash.

I turn, expecting another resident, and instead see a man cutting through the water with powerful strokes that showcase every muscle in his broad shoulders.

His form is perfect—economical, efficient, absolutely mesmerizing.