Bitterness swirled in my gut, and I tossed my phone aside to get ready for the day. I had classes to attend and three stupidly attractive guys to destroy. There was no time for me to feel sorry for myself that Daddy didn't love me. That was nothing new.
I rushed my shower and threw on some clothes. I hadn't slept and was ready almost a full hour earlier than usual, so it'd be just my luck to run into the guys in the kitchen. Hopefully, though, they'd already be in the gym for their grueling daily workout. No wonder they were all cut from marble.
I breathed a sigh of relief walking into the kitchen to find it empty of toned, tattooed twat-buckets. Just Karen, our weekday cook, who was wiping down the benches with a microfiber cloth.
"Good morning, Miss Danvers," she greeted me in a soft, hushed tone, the same one she used on any of the rare moments I happened to run into her. My father's staff were all the never-seen-or-heard type. Always had been, so I was used to it.
I smiled at her, not fully awake yet, and headed over to the espresso machine to make my coffee.
She disappeared somewhere between me grinding fresh beans and steaming my milk to velvety consistency, but she’d left me a bowl of bircher muesli with fresh fruit and greek yogurt on the counter—somewhat healthier than my usual choice of Lucky Charms, but it was a kind gesture.
I hummed under my breath to a song that was stuck in my head while pouring two shots of espresso, then swirled my steamed milk to mix it before pouring it ever so carefully into my mug. Just as I was jiggling the milk jug to create the perfect fern leaf in the crema, a sharp crack made me jump, and milk sloshed onto the counter.
"Motherfucker," I snarled, wiping off my hand and turning to glare at whatever had just frightened the ever-loving shit out of me.
Then my mood soured further.
"The fuck do you want?" I snapped at Archer, channeling all of my shitty mood into my glare. "Shouldn't you be in the gym admiring your flex in the mirror?"
He gave me a sarcastic laugh. "Funny. Here." He slid a manilla folder across the island where he'd just dropped it. The sound that had startled me must have been him whacking it down on the marble surface. Prick.
I eyed the folder with supreme suspicion. "What's this?"
He arched a brow—damn that was sexy—and tilted his head to the side. "You wanted to know about your stalker? Well, that's everything. Happy reading."
I stared down at the folder like it was poisoned, but Archer leaving the kitchen jolted me out of my trance.
"Wait!" I blurted out, making him pause in the doorway. "Why did you give this to me? Is there something, like, really awful in here that you think will make me run screaming or something?" I was scared. I was also woman enough to admit that, if only inside my own head.
Archer didn't reply for a long, tense moment. He didn't even turn back around.
"Knowledge is power, Princess Danvers," he said eventually, his voice rough with some undecipherable emotion, "but ignorance is bliss. You decide for yourself which one you prefer."
The packet of documents sat on the counter in front of me as I ate my breakfast, then drank my coffee ever so slowly. It just... sat there. Staring at me. Daring me to open it.
"Shit’s sake," I breathed, reaching the end of my coffee and shaking my head at my own crippling paranoia. Chances were, there was nothing bad even in there. It was probably another stupid Archer flex. Messing with my mind.
I glanced at the time on my phone. Bree would arrive to pick me up soon, so I needed to get it over with.
Open the damn envelope, MK.
Biting down on my lip, I shoved my empty dishes aside and slid the envelope closer. Before I could talk myself out of it, I flipped the flap open and tipped the contents out onto the marble countertop.
Instantly, I regretted that choice.
They were all photographs—some blown up to full A4 size, some smaller, from a Polaroid camera. All of them were of me. Some were through my bedroom window. None of them were with my consent.
The most recent picture, taken on the weekend when I was hugging Dallas on the doorstep, explained Steele's comment about my stalker not being content to "just watch" anymore. Not that that would have been okay, either, but this sent chills down my spine.
I'll cut his touch from your skin, then clean the wounds with my tongue.
It was scrawled over the back of the photo in jagged, black-inked letters. I dropped it like it'd stung my fingers and clasped my hands to my mouth.
A million things ran through my mind. Questions, concerns, what-ifs.
Then a thought occurred to me.
Could Archer and the guys have made this up? Was this their payback for my little pranks on them? There were no photos of me with any of them... no photos from the fight on Friday night or of our run-ins on SGU campus. Was that simply because my stalker wasn't around at those times? Or because they'd orchestrated it themselves?
My mind latched onto that idea, and I scooped all the images up into a pile. If they thought they could intimidate me with a fake stalker, they were sorely mistaken.
Anger and outrage built within me as I stomped down to the home gym and slammed the door open. Then almost swallowed my tongue.
But I wasn't here to drool over sweaty, tattooed, male perfection. I was here to prove that their stupid plan had failed.
"Madison Kate," Kody greeted me, setting down the weights he'd been using and snatching up a sweat towel to mop his face. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"
Archer folded his arms, watching me, and Steele barely even spared me a glance. He just continued punching the heavy punching bag in the same steady rhythm as when I’d walked in.
Fucking prick. I’d definitely had him all wrong.
I threw the stack of photos down on the gym floor, scattering them. "You three must think I'm some kind of stupid. You can save your money and call your photographer off because I'm not buying the fake stalker story."
Steele finally stopped punching the bag, shooting an incredulous look at me, but I'd said all I needed to say. Bree would be here any minute, anyway.
"Wait, Madison Kate!" Kody shouted as I left the gym. I half-expected him to come running after me and deny that they'd made the whole thing up, but Archer's voice stopped him. And me. But they couldn't see me paused in the corridor outside the gym.
"Leave it, Kody," he barked, his voice radiating authority.
There was a pause, and I almost walked away before Kody replied.
"Archer, this is getting out of control. Fix it." He sounded deadly serious. It was a side of him that I'd only ever glimpsed before.
Archer scoffed. "Fix what? I gave her the photos. What more do you want me to do?"
Surprisingly, it was Steele who answered. "Tell her the truth," he said, so quietly I almost didn't hear him. "The whole truth."
The sound of a fist hitting leather—probably the punching bag—echoed down the hall.
"No."
That was it. Archer always had the final word.
I didn't hang around to hear any more, instead racing out of the house and meeting Bree at the bottom of the driveway.
"You okay?" she asked when I slid into her car.
I nodded, pulling my phone out of my pocket and opening the contacts screen.