“Royce did exactly as I expected he would.” His tone was devoid of emotion as he delivered his non-answer. “Now it’s your turn. You’ll surrender your car keys to me, and I’ll have someone on my staff park your Porsche at the stables.”
“What?”
He folded his arms across his chest, visibly irritated I’d had the nerve to question him. “Driving is a privilege, and it’s one you haven’t earned.”
Acid invaded my mouth, filling it with the taste of panic. If I couldn’t drive . . . “I’m not allowed to leave?”
He scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re not a prisoner. If you need to go somewhere, I’ll approve it, and one of our drivers will take you.”
I repeated his statement in my head and got hung up on the same spot. I’ll approve it. He was demanding control over every move I made. The strings he’d attached to his five million dollars cinched so tightly around me I couldn’t breathe.
His focus drilled into my eyes as he waited to see how I’d react, and it took every ounce of strength I possessed not to fight or flee. I swallowed thickly. “Now?”
He looked pleased at my reaction, or lack thereof. “Yes, Marist. Now.”
I rose slowly from the chair to stand on my unsteady legs. The silver lining was at least I had an excuse to get the hell out of this room and away from my new owner.
I found my backstabbing fiancé sitting on the loveseat in the bedroom Macalister had announced was mine. Royce’s hands were laced through his thick, dark hair. His eyes were hazy when his gaze snapped to me but, as he shot to his feet, urgency tightened them into focus.
“Marist.”
My name in his concerned voice was nearly too much.
I did my best to ignore him and strode to my purse on the dresser. My hands shook as I dug out my keys and, even as I pretended he didn’t exist, I felt his stare on my back. It was a hot, unavoidable spotlight.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
The sharp edge of a key bit into my fingers as I clenched them in my fist, but the discomfort held me together. I put my purse down with too much force, and it thudded to the dresser with a loud, angry bang. That was the only response I was willing to give him. Like he’d done to me so many times, I walked out of the room without looking back.
“Just wait a minute. Where are you going?” His swift footsteps announced he had chased me out into the hallway.
I sidestepped the black cat who strolled across the corridor, but Royce must have been so focused on me, he didn’t notice until it was too late. A sound of stumbling rang out, followed by an irritated meow.
“Goddammit, Lucifer,” he muttered. “Always in the way.”
The devil cat slowed Royce down enough it prevented him from catching me before I ducked through the doorway.
Macalister and the tension in the cold library were right as I’d left them. He lifted his gaze from the smartphone resting on the desktop and surveyed me clinically. He noted the keys in my hand, then his son at my side who lingered in the doorway like a bad shadow.
“Leave them on the desk,” Macalister said, nodding toward the keys in my grip. “Something’s come up, and we’ll have to continue this tomorrow.”
I strode forward and dropped the keys. They clattered onto the polished desktop, and although I was handing over a freedom, I was willing to do it to gain another. Now I would be released for the night, and all I wanted was to be as far away as possible from the entire Hale family.
Since we were still under his father’s watchful eye, Royce was indifferent as I brushed past him and made my way back toward my room.
It had a king-sized bed sheeted with a ridiculous thread count, an enormous jetted tub in the bathroom, and a closet so large it had a couch inside. Yet, no matter how fancy it looked, all I saw was my new prison.
Was the boy who followed me a prisoner too? Or was he the warden, making sure I obeyed every rule his father placed on me?
“Get out,” I hissed.
Royce shook his head, and determination sprawled on his face. He had no intention of respecting my need for space, and why would he? Everything had been handed to him.
I hated him. I hated even more how, despite everything, he still looked so appealing. And most of all I hated that I’d let this happen. I’d fallen so completely for his manipulation.
His voice was low and urgent. “We need to talk.”
“No.” It came from me like steel wrapped in barbed wire. “It’s too late. I wanted to talk ten minutes ago, Royce, but you shut me out.” I narrowed my eyes. “Go use your hundred thousand shares to buy someone to talk to.”
He sighed his frustration, pushed back the sides of his suit coat, and rested his hands on his waist. His shoulders were stiff, his jaw set, and tension held his posture as rigid as a statue. He didn’t like what I’d said.
Good.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I’m not leaving until we have a conversation.”
He really was the spoiled rich boy I’d believed he was last year. I stared at him critically, wanting to exaggerate every physical flaw I found and focus in on them. His eyes were too big. His cheekbones too pronounced. He wasn’t the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
I tried to convince myself it was true, but I was helpless.
He was still the boy who’d made love to me in the wine cellar. The only one who I felt had seen the real me. I couldn’t reconcile the two parts of him that existed. And if those different sides of him were just a lie, and he really was the hard, indifferent man who didn’t owe me anything . . .
God, I didn’t want to know. I couldn’t stomach it.
He wasn’t going to leave this room? Fine. It didn’t feel like it was mine, anyway. I’d surrendered my keys to Macalister, but my legs still worked, and I used them to take me away. There came another frustrated sigh from Royce, and he caught my elbow in the hallway, pulling me to a stop, but I shook off his hold while delivering a death glare.
It was so hushed it was nearly a whisper. He didn’t want his father to overhear. “Please.” His eyes teemed with remorse, but it had to be manufactured. “Talk to me.”
“No.” Anger made my voice shake. “I don’t owe you anything.”
TWO
OMINOUS CLOUDS HOVERED OVERHEAD like dark smoke, but I ignored the approaching storm, barreled out the back door, and marched across the stone patio. My shoes pounded down the outdoor staircase as I hurried toward the lawn and the hedge maze looming beyond.
I was lost. I needed to be lost in every sense of the word.
Harsh wind whipped through the rose garden and splashed my long, dark hair into my face. I’d been forced to color over the green hue I loved, but my snakes were still there, simply concealed under brown hair dye. Medusa simmered in my blood. She’d lain dormant until the initiation, and now she raged in the marrow of my bones.
Quiet relief swept through me once I was nestled in the narrow passage between the manicured walls of evergreen. With the impending storm, it was dark out, and the landscape lighting that dotted the path couldn’t seem to penetrate the evening shadows. I stumbled blindly deeper into the maze with no destination, my feet sending pebbles skittering over each other.