The drive back to the sizeable gloomy house was spent with her teeth chattering in shock, her one true love having dismissed her at the sight of a pretty woman. Perhaps she’d never really known Mike at all. It was apparent he didn’t feel the same way about her. All she wanted was to be in his arms and make up for all the time apart; and yet it was clear he was happy to flirt and obviously sleep with a tart right under her fucking nose.

The driver put the radio on and out blared ‘Happy’ by Pharrell Williams.

What? Is this a joke? ‘Turn that fucking shit off, please, and if I want music while I’m paying for my ride, then I’ll fucking ask for it.’

The driver was taken aback by the steely tone of the frail-looking woman’s voice. Instantly, he turned the music off. ‘I’m sorry, love. It was just force of habit.’

Zara didn’t respond. Instead, she stared gloomily out of the window and planned her future.

Her angry mood stayed with her as she stepped out of the car. She waited until the driver was out of sight before she pulled the keys from her bag. She paused and looked up at the vast, almost devilish-looking mansion. The paint on the woodwork was peeling, the gardens – once stunning – were overgrown, and the windows certainly needed a good clean. Izzy would be turning in his grave. He had loved this house – it had been his pride and joy – and he’d had it designed to his demanding specification.

She felt that a new chapter was about to begin in her life. Once she pushed the big oak door open, she gingerly entered the hall. Inside, it was filled with antiques, which were not her choice. The red drapes always made her feel like she was living in some historic time warp, the Tudor era. Yet everything was to Izzy’s taste. Assuming she would feel afraid, even just a little nervous, she was pleasantly surprised that although the house was tired and dusty, she felt at home. Perhaps it was the memories of how her father held her in such high esteem. Engaging her in all aspects of the business, he had gently and expertly prepared her for the takeover.

Closing the door behind her, she walked towards the back of the house, to the door that led down to the basement, where she’d been held a captive for five years. She had to brave it out and revisit her prison; yet, this time there were no captors, there was no sly, sneaky brother tormenting her, or the evil eyes of the Segals watching her as she pretended to be a brain-damaged, broken woman.