As much as I hated to admit it, I liked the way she talked to me. Even when she was angry.
Especially when she was angry.
Fuck.
Hearing that word spill from her carefully guarded lips and seeing the fire in her eyes made me even harder. I liked flirty Katie. I liked smart mouth Katie. I liked bold Katie. And I really fucking liked angry Katie. Mostly because I knew that she wanted me every bit as much as she hated me. The very thought of marking her, of bruising her, of taming her, turned me on so much I could hardly see straight.
I slipped my hand beneath the sheets and wrapped my fist around my cock. I wanted all of her moans and her tiny whimpers. I wanted all of her tears, and I wanted her screams. I wanted to memorize the curve of her hips and how she tasted when she came. I wanted to take everything she had to give and leave nothing for anyone else. I wanted to ruin her.
My grip tightened, tugging, pulling, harder, faster, to the point of almost punishing myself for wanting something I knew could never be mine. I closed my eyes and saw her face, tear-stained and hopeless. Then I heard her voice begging me to stay then forcing me to leave. My heart hammered in my chest, and tiny beads of sweat covered my forehead. I stroked and tugged and punished until I came.
Everything about it was wrong, yet it still wasn’t enough. I wanted her, and I wanted nothing to do with her. And as I climbed out of bed with a sticky-coated stomach and semen-covered hand, I knew that there was only one way for this to end—with us both ripped open and raw right down to our souls.
After all, lust and hate were nothing more than roommates… with paper-thin walls.
My father had always taught me that if a burglar caught me in an alley and asked for my wallet that no matter what, I was to give him my wallet. Don’t be a hero, Katie. Do whatever you need to save yourself. That’s what I did with Sutton. I handed him my wallet, and he took my soul. He took it all. He disrespected my father. He stole my pride and stripped it bare. He made me feel cheap, and he took away the one thing that had been a constant in my life since the day I got here. He took Keaton.
The castle held me prisoner. I didn’t have guests. I had no say over what curtains I hung in my room or what I ate for dinner. I never saw my mother. I found my escape in books, baking, and Keaton, and I still managed to walk around with my head held high. I lost my father, my home, and most of my freedom, but I still had my dignity. Until now. Now, I wasn’t sure I could even look anyone in the eye.
In six months, this would all be over. At one time in my life, six months would’ve passed by in the blink of an eye. Now, I could hear the clock ticking away the seconds. Everything moved in slow motion. The wide, open halls of the castle stretched on for miles until I finally found the door leading to the South Garden. The once welcoming scent of fresh flowers and sound of the steady flow of the fountain now seemed like an infinite maze of beauty I didn’t deserve. It was only when I opened the door to my villa then slammed it behind me that I could finally breathe.
Sutton called my father a liar. He called my life a lie. Then he humiliated me in front of the one person who had always treated me as an equal. He had won. I thought I could walk in there, give him what he wanted and send him on his way. I was wrong. Sutton Thorne didn’t want me. He wanted to destroy me, and I let him.
I never should’ve given him my wallet.
For the first time since the day I arrived at the castle, I climbed into bed and sobbed until my throat burned… until my lungs felt heavy in my chest… until my head throbbed and my eyes stung… until I’d given all I could give and my body gave up. Until tears of sadness became tears of release. Losing everything once was bad enough. Losing it all twice was almost enough to kill me. I cried myself to sleep then woke up hoping it was all a bad dream.
The salty, sea air breezed through the white, sheer curtains covering my open window. The best thing—other than the library—about Thornebridge Castle was falling asleep to the sound of the waves. Morning sunlight flooded the room, reminding me that today was a brand-new day, that the pain didn’t kill me, that once again, I survived. I was a survivor.
My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. After meeting Sutton in the garden, my nerves were too unsettled for food. I gave myself another half-second to wallow in self-pity before I threw the covers back and rolled out of bed. I had a million questions and no answers, but I was more determined than ever. I’d given the world—and the Crown—all I was going to give. Last night, I purged my pain through my tears, and today I was taking my life back.
The kitchen in my villa was small and hardly stocked with groceries—a minor setback for someone who loved to cook. I never put much thought into it because I liked being in the castle kitchen. Being around Madeline and the rest of the staff made it feel more like a home and less like an institution. I spent so much time alone that it felt like I was part of something bigger when I was whisking and stirring surrounded by chatter and laughter. I loved the atmosphere almost as much as I loved the baking.
Would I give all that up now? Would I shrink and hide?
I opened one of the cabinets to find a coffee canister, a jar of peanut butter, and a bag of flour. I was creative, but that was a stretch even for me. After opening two more cabinets and finding only a rack of herbs and spices and a set of dishes that had never been used, I gave up, got dressed, and headed to the castle kitchen. No more shrinking. No more hiding. No more giving up.
Madeline hummed to herself while she peeled potatoes then tossed them into an extra-large bowl. She glanced at me beneath thick lashes but kept peeling when I walked into the kitchen. “Someone looks extra cheerful this morning,” she teased in a sing-song voice.
I grabbed an apple from a nearby basket of fruit and ran it under the faucet. She tossed another potato in the bowl. “Does that sparkle have anything to do with a prince who came in here looking for you yesterday?”
I nearly choked on the bite I just took. “The prince was looking for me?” I thought him showing up in the garden was some twisted inside joke between God and fate. It turned out that I had Madeline to thank.
She brought the bowl full of potatoes to the sink to be rinsed. “Yes. And it looks to me like he found you.”
“My mood has nothing to do with Prince Sutton.”
It had everything to do with him, only not for the reason she thought. Even the strongest metals had to break in order for the light to shine through. Last night I was broken. Today I was putting myself back together.
An older woman—the same one from the night of the gala—brushed past me. She placed a handful of carrots on the kitchen island. Madeline’s next project after the potatoes, I assumed. Whatever they were cooking made my stomach rumble again. It was warmth and comfort and Sundays after church all wrapped up in one delicious scent.
“Aw Katie, he’s not that bad.” The woman’s kind brown eyes danced with her smile. I felt an instant pang of guilt for not ever asking her name when she obviously knew mine. Although I had a feeling the castle didn’t hold many secrets this woman didn’t already know. “A little rough around the edges maybe. But he has a good heart,” she continued.
Sutton Thorne’s edges weren’t rough. They were sharp and piercing, and if I stood too close they would cut me to the bone. I still wasn’t convinced he even had a heart.