Seeing White Read online

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  SEEING WHITE

  An erotic novel

  The first part of The White Trilogy

  Copyright ©2015 by Charlotte E Hart

  Cover Design by MAD

  Formatting by MAD

  All rights reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved alone, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of those trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal use and enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people, or used for any other reason than originally intended. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer, or copyright owner, and purchase your own copy. Copyright infringement of this work, or any other works by Charlotte E Hart will exact legal proceedings. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Acknowledgements

  To See

  English definition of “See”.

  -To be conscious of what is around you by using your eyes.

  To Look

  English definition of “Look”.

  -When we look at something, we direct our eyes in its direction and pay attention to it.

  To Watch

  English definition of “Watch”.

  -Similar to look at, but usually means that we look at something for a period of time, especially something that’s ever changing or moving.

  Belligerent

  English definition of Belligerent

  Line breaks: bel/li/ger/ent

  Adjective:

  1, Hostile and aggressive

  2, Engaged in War or Conflict

  Origin

  Late 16th century: from Latin belligerent-“waging war”, from the verb belligerare, from bellum “war”.

  SEEING WHITE

  By

  Charlotte E Hart

  2015

  “A belligerent state permits itself every such misdeed, every such act of violence, as would disgrace the individual.”

  Sigmund Freud

  Chapter 1

  Alexander

  S itting on the bed, he took a few calming breaths and absorbed the dull ache that continued to enrich his battered body. He hurt, every fucking inch of him. Not as much as it did an hour ago but nonetheless, the impression marks on his skin still enhanced the same integral feeling: pain.

  Interestingly, it was a sensation that he couldn’t honestly remember experiencing for a very long time. Of course, the occasional bruise here and there was reasonably normal, but this feeling radiating through his whole body was almost excruciating in its grip of each tendon and ligament, each muscle still in a spasm of sorts.

  He chuckled to himself, clicking his neck and staring at the wall. It felt comparable to pure ecstasy in reverse. Heaven being poured into hell with abandon. And while he’d very nearly forgotten just how therapeutic pain could be when received in the correct mind frame, he certainly hadn’t lost his ability to relish in it when it happened.

  Reaching down to untie his trainers, he winced as his right shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t getting any younger. Maybe this form of entertainment was coming to an end. Perhaps it was time to find a new interest to unleash his irritation on.

  He rolled his eyes at his own apathy on the subject and hung his head between his knees, recalling the visions of this evening. He’d never stop and he knew it. It was just a part of who he was, or what he was created to be. He was more careful now, but fundamentally, he adored every fucking minute of it simply because his somewhat aggressive tendencies seemed to define him. Whether people knew the extent of them or not wasn’t relevant. He hid it most of the time these days anyway, mostly because he had to. But even he had to admit that there were other ways to determine the future now, or at least varying ways to manipulate it to his advantage. Unfortunately, it was still there, though, scratching away just beneath the skin and clawing to get out, aching to release itself and forget.

  Pushing his head back and stretching his arms above his head, he lowered them to rub his sore neck. Another stab of pain. He smiled and reminded himself that regardless of the tension, he also felt good, cleansed, washed free of the never ending aggravation and torment if only for a few hours. Essentially, he knew his infuriating memories would return to haunt him again but for now they had subsided a little, and his release had given him a small sense of peace. Although, it wouldn’t last long. It never fucking did.

  These were his evenings of pure freedom, of unadulterated pleasure - freedom to do pretty much whatever he chose, to whoever he chose and at a level that he chose. Tonight he’d chosen to fight; he’d needed to relieve his tension a little more vehemently than most women would allow. He’d wanted a man or two. In fact, he’d taken three. After all, that’s what the male of the species was built for, wasn’t it? To receive pain? So that’s what he’d delivered with a smile and a wink, friends be damned.

  Thankfully, Westfield had given him everything he needed tonight, hotly pursued by Deville. After he’d let them have their fun and wind him up to the point of no return, he’d given more back, revelling in the sadistic thoughts that crossed his mind and fuelled his body forward - always forward. Now his wrists and knuckles were bloody to say the least, but they’d be better tomorrow.

  They always were.

  Standing, he moved towards the bathroom mirror, noticing all the clothes that were neatly arranged in the dressing room and the soft glow of the lamps illuminating the hall below - that slight red hue that seemed to bring calmness to his world. Calmness - the word in itself was ludicrous. It was a state of being that Alexander White very rarely seemed to have in his world. His world mostly consisted of a multitude of things to do at any one time. So these were his evenings to appreciate the quietness he envied other people of having in their everyday lives. Did they even know what peace they had? Did they appreciate it? Or did they just see it as boring and mundane?

  Mind you, they probably didn’t have the accumulate
d wealth that he had, either - the niceties and added extras. Whether he deserved them or not was still debatable but, regardless, he had them. Work hard; play harder. With input comes growth in all facets of life. Eternal peace was not on that list of achievements and he doubted it ever would be. It probably wasn’t deserved anyway, given his history.

  Looking at himself in the mirror, he looked at the bags under his eyes and the bruises already forming around his ribcage and stomach. He looked dirty and tired. His shorts still clung to him from the sweat and filth he’d been rolling around in, and his hair was sticking to his face with the blood that shouldn’t have been there. He’d definitely be having a conversation with Conner about that tomorrow, the sneaky bastard.

  This man he was staring at was not the Alexander White that everybody saw each day. He was nothing like the person people knew and admired for his genuine acumen or uncompromising business brain. No, that man was accepted or acknowledged every day for his wealth and status. He was loved by all the sycophants and money grabbers. He sneered at the thought of their nasty little games and then sneered again at himself and the way he played those damned games so well. If only they knew who he really was or what he really felt deep down in the pit of his stomach.

  His portrayed image was completely in control of every single moment of his life. Order and discipline were the mainstays of that man’s environment and the people that worked for him, or anywhere near him, fucking knew it. There were three evaluations of Alexander White from his associates or workforce: they liked him, were terrified of him or respected him. He was happy with all of the above, but he doubted any of the above would be the correct description if they really knew him. Terrified was almost acceptable. Horrified was probably a more fitting word.

  In disgust, he stepped into the shower and let the water wash away the day and rejuvenate him to some degree. The icy spray made his chest muscles constrict and the pain that shot across his ribs again made him grimace in shock. So, heaving in a breath, he ramped up the lever to turn the heat on and let the warmth cascade. He chuckled to himself. At least he felt something. Good or bad, at least it was something other than the nothing that was becoming increasingly normal.

  Dropping his head down, he dipped it under the water and let the torrent wash the grime from his head. He hissed instantly when the heat hit the cut that his supposed friend had caused this evening. He pushed his hand over the damaged area and watched the blood falling from his fingers. He was so mesmerised by the swirling liquid as it hit the white tiled floor and disappeared that he couldn’t help but remember all the blood that seemed to do that over the years - dry up or simply be made to disappear. The shame of it was that no matter how hard he tried, it never seemed to do the same from his own mind. Small nagging reminders tore into him occasionally. A family name here or a particular street there. It was enough to pull him back to his old self - the version of himself who’d done his job with some sort of pride, swiftly, efficiently and with no remorse whatsoever. There was also that constant corruption of money and backhanders to deal with.

  The little shits in his past just loved that form of torture.

  He shook his head and growled at himself. He didn’t care about any of it. His own head would heal. His body had been through far worse than this when he was weaker, and yet here he was, still standing. He might be fucking lost and far from happy, but at least he was still standing, regardless of all that had happened in the past to torment him.

  He was rinsing the last of the day from his body when he heard the phone ringing. Who was calling him at this time of night? It was close to ten. Whoever it was, it wasn’t going to be fucking good. He mumbled and cursed to himself, walking towards the phone and grabbing a towel on the way.

  Rubbing his wet hair with the towel, he stood in the middle of the bedroom and looked at the caller ID. His frown deepened. Why would Louisa be calling him? And did he really want to know? These were his evenings. She knew that. Emergencies only. Fuck it. He’d get a glass of wine and call her back. He had at least two hour’s worth of emails to look at anyway, and much to his annoyance, he simply couldn’t avoid them any longer. Pulling on some jeans, he grabbed his phone and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. Feeling the tell-tale vibration of the voicemail in his hand, he sneered. Obviously it was an emergency.

  Leisurely, he strolled along the hall, taking note of the cleanliness and neat order that had appeared since he left this morning at five thirty. Mrs Jenkins had been busy today because everything was as spotless and impeccable as usual. There was a reason he paid her so well. No doubt he would find all his favourite food and wine neatly stacked in the cupboards and racks, too. The woman was a rock of unwavering fortitude, almost mothering him but not quite that close. Whatever it was, he quite liked it, not that he showed her that too often.

  He stopped abruptly, as he felt something like anguish roll over him at the thought of her never having the chance at motherhood, and tilted his head. It being taken from her at such a young age was presumably unjust to some degree. He tried to process the emotion for a few moments, knowing that she would have made a wonderful mother but as usual, the sensation left as quickly as it arrived. He sighed at his inability to empathise and kept walking. Maybe one day something would make him care enough to actually feel something for longer than a second or two.

  As expected, there were ten bottles of wine, so he chose a Merlot and made his way back towards the study. Pausing in the doorway, he looked at the library shelves stacked with books that he loved so much and exhaled. He never really got a chance to read much anymore and missed the space that a good book created for him. There was a certain pleasure in living someone else’s life for a while just to forget the realities of his own. He really should make more time for it but the concept of more time was just another personal fantasy that was yet to be realised.

  “Louisa,” he barked. She’d picked up on the first ring as usual.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to be calling so late. However, there has been a substantial problem with the New York deal that I’m afraid requires your immediate attention. I’ve already contacted Mr. Westfield and emailed you all the details. Mr. Westfield is booked on the 3am from Heathrow and I’ve ordered the jet for refuelling and take-off at five tomorrow morning for yourself. Mr. Westfield is meeting with the client at one and I have you scheduled for a meeting at three.”

  Alex sighed as he scanned the emailed document and realised the depth of the issue. Damn, the woman was good. Yet another person he paid incredibly well. She deserved every penny. Not that he let her know that he gave a shit about her flawless service. It never pays to give any one person too much praise, especially not a woman.

  “No, Louisa, have the jet booked for four. I want to talk with Westfield before the meeting.”

  “Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes. Get my meetings at the office changed for a more appropriate time and advise the staff in New York to expect me for two weeks.”

  He sighed again as he read the next document in front of him and ran his fingers through his hair, immediately wincing at the cut to his head.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Also, arrange some flowers for Mrs Jenkins to be delivered on Tuesday. Lilies. Make sure she knows they’re for her.”

  “What would you like the card to say, sir?”

  “Something… happy,” he said after a shrug. He hadn’t a clue why he even wanted her to have the flowers, let alone what he wanted to say to the woman. Flowers were normally just a thing he did to chase the rare type of woman who needed it. They liked them - always the best, boring and dull. “Also, cancel Rebecca Stanners. I won’t be able to see her tomorrow evening.” Or ever again if he could help it. Mind you, she had been an acceptable distraction for a while, and she was at least from the right type of family - not the usual for him at all. His type of women were rarely from the right sort of family. It seemed that most women from the right social circl
es were not that interesting, in the bedroom or out of it.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Louisa. As always, you have been useful,” he clipped as a sort of praise.

  She’d get the point.

  “Enjoy your flight, sir,” she responded as he ended the call.

  Finishing the call, he let out another long breath. He was beginning to feel a little agitated again. He’d planned on at least a few more hours of calm.

  Obviously this was not the night for his pleasure or relaxation.

  As he looked at the screen, he rubbed his forehead, a headache already beginning to form across his brow. “Enjoy your flight, sir.” It was almost hilarious. He hadn’t enjoyed a flight for a very, very long time. Others may have seen it as exciting and interesting, but after your fourth year at the top, nothing was ever a challenge anymore. Nothing appeared to deserve his respect or admiration, and quite frankly, that was becoming dreary.

  At thirty-one, he’d conquered most of his ambitions and there wasn’t a place he couldn’t get into at the drop of a hat. The accounts were fantastic. He would never want for anything money could buy, and of course he appreciated the beautiful women that threw themselves at him daily to some degree, but something was missing, something else, something more…

  He sucked in a breath and downed his wine, then poured another one. Maybe he should have Andrews drive him. He downed the next glass. He’d definitely have Andrews drive. After all, that’s what he was paid for, wasn’t it? There was no need to get anything together. His things would all be waiting for him in the New York apartment. All he needed to do was grab his briefcase, phone and keys. He’d sleep on the plane.