Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Help’s face whitened beneath her golden tan. Upset. Horrified. I was sending her packing at eighteen, with no prospects and no place to go, and I’d threatened to fire her family if she wouldn’t leave.
“No, everything’s good,” I said, still watching her. “Speak soon, Dad.” I hung up on the fucker—he and Jo and Daryl were going to pay, but they were a problem for a different day. I snapped my gaze to meet hers.
She tilted her chin up. The contempt she held for me was rolling off her rigid posture in waves.
The silence was suffocating and so was the idea that I was essentially ruining her life. I was choosing myself over Emilia, my feelings over hers, and it wasn’t noble or honorable, but it was who I was.
“Can I finish out the school year, at least?” she asked so quietly it took me a few seconds to decipher her request. She was perfectly composed. Proud.
Fuck, she was beautiful when she was strong. I was doing the right thing getting rid of her.
I nodded.
“Leave the week after school ends,” I instructed, getting up from her bed. I already missed it. “And it goes without fucking saying that you and Dean are done. This is the second and last time I’m telling—not asking—you to stop this shit. Tell him you’re leaving because you’ve met someone else online. Insist that he never contact you again. One glitch, Emilia, and I promise you, your family won’t just lose this job. I’ll make sure they don’t find another one.”
She didn’t answer, but I knew she got the message. She wasn’t the kind of girl to puss out when it came to her loved ones. Her family was her everything.
When I walked out of the servants’ apartment for the very last time, I asked myself if there was a chance Emilia would ever forgive me.
I wondered how much groveling I’d need to do if I ever wanted to get back in her life.
No. The price was too high. We were done.
But so were she and Dean.
The Present
I WASN’T GONNA DO IT.
At this point, I didn’t even care about the money. I’d never cared too much for it anyway. Sure, I wanted to survive, maybe take a breather from chasing overdrafts, but at what cost?
Nope, I wasn’t going to ruin anyone else’s life with a lie. Ever. I wasn’t Vicious.
I spent my night lying in bed, thinking and analyzing the last few hours. There was a lot to take in. Vicious wanted me to lie and tell Jo straight to her face that if it came down to it, I would testify against her, telling the court he’d told me things he never had.
I was a horrible liar. But a little voice inside me kept asking—and what if it is the truth? The answer was always the same—even if it was the truth, it wasn’t my truth. There were other ways Vicious could get what he wanted without dragging me into his war.
At four in the morning, I finally kicked off my blanket and slipped into my flip-flops. I knew there was no chance I was going to fall asleep after deciding I wouldn’t help him, so I might as well just read. I remembered the library I’d always wanted to visit over the years.
This was probably my last chance to see it before Vicious kicked my family and me out. And it’s the place I’ve been avoiding for ten years straight, always wondering, aching, and peeking through these doors. But no more. I wanted to see what’s behind them.
I was done with his blackmail. Done with being bought.
This time, his money would lose.
I entered the mansion through the kitchen, using Mama’s security code. It was still the same ten years later.
I tiptoed to the hall, clad in the XL Libertines shirt I called my pajamas, and headed down the ironwood floor, following the same route I had that first time I’d gone to knock on the library door. Vicious would be fast asleep upstairs. I’d read a little, inhale the scent of the old books, calm my nerves, and go back to my parents’ place.
I was silent. Which was why my shriek almost rattled the walls when I pushed the door to the library open and found Vicious in one corner, sitting at an ornately carved wooden table with four upholstered wing-back chairs. It looked like a study table you’d see in public library, only much fancier.
He lifted his eyes from the screen of his laptop at my yelp and stared at me long and hard for a few beats, until my racing heart calmed a little. Then, wordlessly, he pushed the chair opposite him with his foot in a silent invitation for me to join him. I didn’t move.
“What are you doing up so late?” My voice trembled.