Larissa Judson and Haskell Palmer novel Chapter 3

After giving Larissa his phone number, Haskell left the village with his assistant.

Larissa watched them go, her expression hardening. She pulled out her phone and dialed a number.-

“Nightveil, I need a full background check on everyone in the Judson family of Regal City. Focus on their daughter. I want the report by tonight.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Hanging up, Larissa’s gaze grew even more profound.

Seaton, the man who had raised her, had told her the story many times. Twenty years ago, on a bitter winter day, he was on his way to retire in a small southern town when he heard a baby’s cry coming from a dumpster. When he stopped to check, he found a newborn girl, less than a month old, her tiny body red from the freezing cold. If her cries hadn’t been so strong, and if he hadn’t taken that deserted old road, she would have died silently that night.

That baby was her.

Seaton had named her Larissa, for a child separated from her family at a young age. He never gave up searching for her birth parents, not even on his deathbed. She, too, had imagined they must have had some heartbreaking reason for leaving her.

But now, it seemed, that wasn’t the case at all.

They hadn’t wanted her then, and they didn’t want her now. If not for the adopted daughter they had cherished for twenty years, she would have remained an orphan for the rest of her life.

Just then, a voice called out from outside.

“Larissa! Who was that in the fancy car?”

It was her next-door neighbor, Zendar Schwartz, who explored the mountains for medicinal plants.

Larissa put her phone away and stepped outside, smiling at the middle-aged man. “Zendar, you won’t believe it. That was my fiancé.”

Zendar’s eyes widened. “Your fiancé? You’ve got good taste, Larissa! He’s a handsome one. Why didn’t you keep him for dinner?”

“He had business back in the city, so he couldn’t stay.”

“Next time he visits, make sure he stays for a meal. The food here is all homegrown. Let him taste something better than what they sell out there.”

“Will do, Zendar.”

As Zendar headed toward the mountains with his sickle and hoe, Larissa went back inside to continue sorting her herbs.

…

After leaving Spire Village, the assistant, Crispin, glanced at Haskell’s calm expression in the rearview mirror.

“Sir, are you really going to marry that crude herb-gatherer? You saw her, she’s an orphan her own parents don’t care about, scraping by with her remedies. After what happened to you, you need allies who can strengthen your position in the Palmer family. Marrying her won’t help you at all.”

Haskell drew his gaze from the fields of herbs outside the window. He gently stroked the petal of a purple flower he’d picked from near Larissa’s cottage.

Crispin froze, studying his boss’s face in the mirror. His expression was calm, not joking, but not entirely serious either. But his boss rarely joked, so Crispin couldn’t tell how much was true and how much was jest. He decided to take him at his word.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Because in my mind, she is already my fiancée. From now on, you will treat her with the utmost respect.”

“Understood.”

Haskell wasn’t joking. He had never believed in love that grows over time. If there was no spark at first sight, any feelings that developed later were merely a product of calculation, not the heart-pounding thrill of real love. His agreement to the arranged marriage with Honora had been purely a matter of strategic advantage.

But the moment he saw Larissa, his world had tilted on its axis. Everything around her seemed to fade to gray, and she was the only splash of color. He couldn’t explain why it was her. Perhaps it was the moment their eyes met, when the brilliant universe in her gaze pulled him into its vortex like a black hole.

Haskell picked up a book from the car seat, carefully placed the small purple flower between its pages, and closed it, shutting his eyes.

…

At eight o’clock that evening, Larissa was bringing the herbs she’d been drying on the roof back inside when her phone rang. She set down her winnowing basket, dusted off her hands, and answered.

Nightveil’s cool voice came through the line.

“Boss, I have the report. The Judson family has only one daughter, Honora, born to the second master, Paxton Judson, and his wife, Vivica Caldwell. She’s the same age as you and is doted on by the family. Two months ago, Paxton arranged a marriage for her with Haskell, the eldest son of the Palmer family, Regal City’s most powerful dynasty. Haskell was said to be the designated heir, but last month he was in an accident. His legs were broken, and all talk of him being the heir has since ceased.”