*WRITING AND EDITING*
Warning ⚠️ this book contains adult themes and violence. Read at your own risk.
~ Hardin Scott Fan-Fiction ~
Hardin Scott is the ruthless son of a well known London mobster. With his teeth bore and his guard up will he be able...
(Song- If I Could Fly by One Direction) ———— Hardin's POV
Just as I round the corner on Ivory's apartment floor my heart drops. It literally plummets from my chest and through my fucking ass.
There is a man standing outside her front door. His hair is a sandy shade of blonde and it's slicked back with heaps of styling gel. He wears royal blue suit trousers and a white dress shirt. His shoes are pointed and polished to perfection and his eyes are a warm shade of brown. He is everything I am not. He is everything that she needs.
My intense green eyes stare into his and he looks away immediately, obviously thrown off guard by the eye contact. What the fuck..
I blink rapidly to make it disappear. To make him disappear. I know I have hurt Ivory but she wouldn't get with a guy like this.. a guy like him! He's nothing but a blonde asshole in half a fucking suit.
There is a click and some muffled shuffling as Ivory's front door opens, allowing this strange man to slip inside.
Fuck. This.
I storm my way up the shitty carpeted hallway and go to push myself inside but the door is slammed straight in my face seconds before I even get the chance.
No wonder I haven't heard from her. She's moved on.. quicker than I ever expected her too. I need to get away from here- away from her.. now.
I was actually beginning to think that my life was getting better.. that her and I could possibly move past some of the shitty things I have done. But it's all came crashing down again. Why? Because I am a fucking moron and I let my guard down for some bullshit bartender. No.. she's not bullshit. She's Ivory.. she's my girl.
I just need to give her some time. Some space..
"Hardin, what's going on?" My father questions as I burst through the door to his office like a rabid bulldog. He has some fancy plaques hanging on the walls and I can't help but snort at how pretentious he has become.
There is a stupidly big, dark oakwood desk centred in the middle of the room by some large windows. His walls are lined with grand bookshelves and I can't help but feel a deep sorrow seep into my chest at the memory of him once reading to me as a child. Now those books have gathered dust.. but I guess some things are meant to be left unopened, untouched and unseen.
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I stroll right towards a small cabinet located by his desk, "I need money. I'm going to America for a while.. if you have a fucking problem with that please speak now or forever hold your peace." I blankly speak as I dig through his drawers. At the mention of my mother's location his expression changes. It twists with all sorts of emotions that I am unfamiliar with and some I don't even bother to ask about.
He shouldn't still feel anything for my mother. He has a fucking wife that is currently downstairs baking and slaving away in the kitchen.
