Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2) Read online

  Lured into Love

  Melanie Martins

  BLOSSOM IN WINTER, BOOK 2

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Quote

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Melanie Martins, LLC

  www.blossominwinter.com

  Copyright © Melanie Martins 2021

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of its publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar conditions being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  First published in the United States by Melanie Martins, LLC in 2021.

  ISBSN ebook 978-1-7333564-4-2

  ISBN Paperback 978-1-7333564-6-6

  This is a 1st Edition.

  Disclaimer

  This novel is a work of fiction written in American-English and is intended for mature audiences. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This novel contains strong and explicit language, graphic sexuality, and other sensitive content that may be disturbing for some readers.

  To all of you, my dear readers.

  Thank you.

  “It’s a nasty kind of love.

  The kind you can’t escape from

  even if you want to.”

  —Petra Van Gatt

  Prologue

  Rotterdam, August 20, 2020

  Tess Hagen

  “Tess, they are ready to start,” Carice announces from the doorway of the terrace.

  Standing alone in the living room, I check my appearance once more in the mirror as I stretch the hem of my beige blazer. I’m not sold on the color though—with my blonde hair, I don’t think it suits me. Nevertheless, Carice kept insisting that Von Der Leyen—the European Commission president—was wearing beige on TV and she looked flawless. Well, in my opinion, Carice spends too much time watching the news and flattering politicians. But that’s her thing—Carice is an observer, picky to the bone with details, and the best lawyer we have at my nonprofit. She is also my friend, my adviser, and the shoulder I lean on to cry when days are too hard to handle. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I reply before she returns to the terrace.

  Turning fifty-three in ten days is no easy task, but it’s even worse when your only child has been in a coma for nearly six months, while you are here living—or surviving—on the other side of the Atlantic.

  Oh, my little angel…

  It’s hard not to give up, not to fall into a deep state of depression like the one I was in after I found my daughter in March, lying in bed, unconscious, somewhere between life and death. The steep pain I felt in my chest is still there—and it’s just as intense, raw, and merciless. Since then, I’ve been able to visit her in Bedford Hills only once a month, and under close supervision of the two men I despise the most. Mind you, from the global pandemic to the riots, they’ve tried all the excuses in the world for me not to travel there. But a deal is a deal: I’ve flown private and have managed to see my daughter at least once a month. Despite it all, I don’t lose hope. One day, my little angel will wake up. One day, I’ll see her big blue eyes again. And one day, Van Dieren will be gone. Petra will live a happy, healthy life—a life far away from him. But for now, I can’t let my depression come back to haunt me. Advocacy and politics are good distractions—and interviews like this one too. Taking a deep breath, I leave the living room and head to the outdoor terrace where the TV crew, Kenneth—the reporter—and Carice are waiting.

  It’s a warm, bright summer afternoon, and the natural light is fantastic, but I don’t see any fans around to bring a much-needed breeze. Although the sun keeps beaming on my face, I take a seat in front of Kenneth, while an assistant pins the small microphone onto my blazer.

  Oh, he is only wearing a shirt, maybe I should ditch the blazer. I look at Carice briefly, but her face tells me nothing. She likes this blazer so much though. Trusting her as I do, I decide to keep it on.

  “Are you still sure about this?” Kenneth asks me once more, appearing more anxious than I am.

  “Yes, of course.” I disguise my torment with an assertive tone and find myself smiling at the glass of water sitting on the table.

  Kenneth grins too. But I know it’s because of the interview. After all, he hates Julia and the Van Dieren family as much as I do. Kenneth is one of those rare souls that isn’t corrupted or impressed by money, status, or power. In fact, he couldn’t care less about those things. I wish Petra would be more like him—less impressionable. As an investigative journalist, Kenneth has uncovered pretty scandalous stories and brought many influential people to account for their crimes. Let’s just say he’s our country’s version of Ronan Farrow. Now his focus is on the Van Dierens and everyone surrounding them. Needless to say, I couldn’t wait to give him a hand.

  “It’s recording,” informs the man behind the camera.

  And here we go…

  “Ms. Hagen, many thanks for having us on your beautiful property.”

  “Thank you, Kenneth. It’s a pleasure having you here.”

  “As one of the most—if not the most—influential activists in the country, you’ve recently been in a court battle advocating justice for Leonor De Vries—wife of the prominent industrialist, Jan De Vries—who was victim of marital rape. Thanks to your help, the court sentenced him to two years in jail, but unfortunately the penalty is now suspended as he appeals to the court of second instance. Given the fact that this case is now in the hands of the most conservative judge in the country, do you believe we will still get justice for the victim?”

  “To be honest, I’m particularly worried. It’s definitely not a good idea to give such cases to judges who have a tendency to overlook facts and to conclude that there isn’t enough evidence. I just hope Julia Van Den Bosch won’t withdraw the penalty imposed on the assaulter. This is a serious case of domestic violence, and the judiciary system cannot take it lightly.”

  We both smile at each other. Yes, I did it. I just called out the judge I despise the most on a TV interview that will be broadcasted nationwide this evening. And while it seems like a small thing, no one in this country has ever done that before. Judges like Julia are untouchable, protected by their powerful families and allies. They are also unknown to the public eye—they live in the sh
adows, in total anonymity.

  “Indeed, the country is in shock. With elections coming up next year, would you urge the next government to make reforms to the judiciary system? Especially when it comes to cases related to domestic violence and violence toward women in general? After all, you’ve been the most prominent voice in this field.”

  “I’d definitely urge the future government to elect first and foremost a Minister of Justice and Security who understands the society we live in and the need for reforms,” I tell him. “According to a report conducted by AD, suspects of rape are rarely prosecuted, and those who are, often get away with a low sentence. On average, a convicted rapist spends one year and five months in prison. This is living proof that we urgently need to bring new policies in force.”

  “Wow.” Kenneth does a quick fact-check on his iPad. “That’s disturbing. Do you have someone in mind to occupy such a position?”

  I ponder his question. “I don’t have anyone in particular, no. But it has to be someone who protects the victims rather than the assaulters to begin with.”

  Kenneth lets a smile escape at the corner of his mouth. “If I may, why not you, Ms. Hagen?”

  Chapter 1

  Bedford Hills, August 27, 2020

  Alexander Van Dieren

  “So…” I let the word trail off as I look at Petra’s left hand and then at her flushed cheeks. “How does it feel?”

  Sitting up in our bed and nestled in my arms, Miss Van Gatt keeps staring at her hand in absolute awe.

  “Feels fucking amazing,” she states bluntly. “But it’s not a discreet ring.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “Definitely not discreet. The whole world will know you are engaged from miles away.” Then, my smile getting wider, I add, “And just in case you forget to whom, my family name is engraved inside.”

  She lets out a quick giggle before resting her head on my shoulder, her joyful expression switching into a thoughtful one. “Are we gonna have an engagement party?”

  I press my lips together at her question; I’ve got no idea. “Would you like one?”

  But Petra doesn’t reply immediately. I hear her sighing loudly instead. “I’d love to, yes, but does it make you or Dad uncomfortable? I know everyone else sees us, like, um, like, differently.”

  After kissing the top of her head, I look into her big blue eyes and say, “I don’t give a damn. If my fiancée wants an engagement party, then we’ll have one.”

  We keep quiet as we smile at each other.

  I recognize that smile. It’s my favorite one—it’s the one she has when she’s happy, and the one she had when I said yes. Her entire face glows beautifully, and her eyes are even brighter than the sapphire she’s wearing. God, how many nights I’ve wished I could see her big blue eyes again. And despite everything I went through this year, here I am looking at them. Nothing else matters. She is here. And she is finally awake.

  “Petra?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  Her brows crease in confusion. “For what?”

  “For giving us a second chance.” But before I can say more, we are promptly interrupted by three knocks on the door. “Come in,” I say. And as soon as the women enter, I introduce her to them. “Petra, this is your physician, Dr. Nel, and your nurse, Cynthia. They’ve been taking care of you since you came back from the hospital.”

  Born in the Netherlands and residing in New York for the past five years, Dr. Nel Van Djik was recommended—or imposed—by Tess to supervise Petra and her medical care.

  But I must say, she has indeed been the perfect fit: with a speciality in neurology and well-known experience with patients in comas, Nel started monitoring Petra very closely upon her transfer to my estate. And after five months, she’s become part of the family. Not sure if I can consider her a friend though. After all, she seems to be quite close to Tess. And why wouldn’t she be? A sixty-five-year-old mother of three, she looks at me with some caution and ick in her eyes.

  “Good morning, Petra. It’s so good to finally see you awake. How are you feeling?” Nel asks, her voice unusually warm and welcoming. “And you may just call me Nel.”

  “Hi, Nel,” Petra mumbles, her tone still weak. “Actually, my entire body hurts. I can’t even move my legs.”

  “You are most likely suffering from atrophy. After being motionless for so long, you’ll need physiotherapy to get back on your feet and walk.”

  “Oh…” Petra can’t hide her disappointment. “I haven’t tried to stand up yet. But… does that mean I can’t walk at all?”

  “Do you want to give it a try?” I ask, seeing her so alarmed.

  “I can’t even bend my legs. They feel like stone.” She lets out a sigh, quite tormented. “In my dreams, I could jump up from bed and trot.”

  “In your dreams?” Nel and I repeat in surprise.

  “Were you having dreams?” I ask. “What kind of dreams?”

  But Petra doesn’t reply immediately. It seems my question has left her a bit troubled as her eyes drift away for a second. “Um, mostly nightmares.”

  As I’m about to ask further questions, Nel steps in. “Mr. Van Dieren, Cynthia, would you mind if I have a talk with Petra?”

  “Not at all.” I place a long kiss on my fiancée’s forehead—still barely believing we are engaged—and whisper, “I love you.” Then, I stand up and leave the room.

  Petra Van Gatt

  If my mother introduced me to her best friend, she’d most likely look like Dr. Nel—big glasses, short gray hair brushed over to the side to feign some originality, petite figure, red lips, and a big, friendly smile on her face that only the biggest hypocrites can pull off. Now that I’m alone with her, the room falls into an uncomfortable silence. She might be my physician, but she’s still a stranger to me.

  Nel waits a few more seconds before moving toward me and sitting on the side of my bed. I don’t feel like talking though. “I know you don’t know me,” she begins, keeping her smile just as big. “I’ve been monitoring your medical state for the past few months. The MRI showed your brain was quite active, but surprisingly, you didn’t move or even blink. Can you explain to me what kind of nightmares you were having?”

  No, not really. But instead I say, “Um… They were scary.”

  “I see…” She pauses for a beat while studying me. “Did it feel like you were trapped in some sort of reality you couldn’t escape from?”

  My eyes widen in surprise at how accurate that is. “How did you know that?”

  “I specialize in brain activity on patients in vegetative states. Those who wake up keep telling me they felt like they were trapped while in the coma, and there was nothing they could do to escape.”

  While her words resonate with me, it’s quite hard to open up about it. After all, I don’t know much about her, or her relationship with my mother… Nevertheless, I ask, “Are you gonna repeat our conversation to anyone?”

  “Of course not,” she asserts. And as she sees me hesitating, she leans closer, putting a hand on top of mine. “Everything you tell me stays between us, Petra.” Her tone is warmer than baked cookies; it sounds fake but so reassuring at the same time. Her eyes darting down for a second, she adds, “That’s a beautiful ring. Congratulations on the engagement.”

  I look at it instinctively, my lips curving up. It is indeed a beautiful ring. I love sapphires. They are my favorite gems. I guess I started loving them back when I was a child and Alex used to compare the color of my eyes to sapphires. He knew I loved that word, I’d always giggle hearing him pronounce it. After all, it sounds so different from the boring word blue. “Thank you,” I tell her.

  After some consideration, I decide to open up, but very cautiously. “I only remember one nightmare. But it felt way too real.” I pause, searching for the right words. “I woke up from the coma, but in Manhattan with Mom by my side, stroking my hair and telling me everyone had abandoned me. She and Emma were the only ones left.” />
  Dr. Nel nods as she reaches for her notebook and pen from her briefcase. “Emma? She’s your best friend, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. She’s like a big sister to me. We basically grew up together.”

  Dr. Nel keeps nodding and starts writing something down. “And what about Mr. Van Dieren? Where was he?”

  I frown at her question, closing my eyes for an instant. Despite that nightmare not being real, the pain I felt, oh jeez, I felt it quite sharply. “He was gone,” I mumble, my eyes still shut. “He was married, and he was gone.”

  “Hey…” I feel her hand pressing mine. “Petra.” My eyes open wide. “He’s here. And he’s not going to leave you.” Somehow, as I look into her gaze, I can’t help but feel my heart tightening. Her words don’t reassure me. They sound fake, just like those sweet little lies you tell someone in order to not hurt them.

  “My mom said Alex promised her he’d leave me.” I take a much-needed breath. “Abandon me and move on with his life.”