WICKED FATE
SASHA CLINTON
Copyright © 2023 by Sasha Clinton
All rights reserved.
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Cover design by Sasha Clinton.
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C O NT E NT S
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Sasha Clinton
PROLOGUE
E
lla
WHEN I WAS EIGHTEEN, I tried to make a deal with the devil. We stood in an expensive hotel suite
balcony overlooking Central Park, the metal grill molded in the shape of twisting black vines.
Yellow cabs, tourists, and carriages driven by black horses paraded down the road beneath us. It
was like being in a fairytale.
“Help me.” The words fell, choppy in my tear-stained voice.
His dark gaze swept over me. Assessing.
“And what will you give me in return, princess?” he asked.
“I’ll save you.” Again. Bolder. “I’ll save you.”
He blinked. One side of his mouth curved upward in a wicked smile. “Do I look like I need to
be saved?”
“Yes.” My stomach clenched in dire panic. “And I know how.”
CHAPTER 1
E
lla
I’ M PASTED to the wall of the grand ballroom at the American School of Opera’s Winter Ball eyeing
champagne that I’m too young to drink.
“Come on, Ella, talk to me. I’m getting bored.” My mom gives my shoulder a tap, cutting an
attractive figure in her body-hugging black mermaid gown which plunges deep enough to reveal her
new, enhanced set of boobs. “Don’t ignore me. You know I hate it.”
“What happened to your phone?” I ask, returning my attention to the fanfic I was reading on my
iPhone. My mind tries to latch onto the dreams, fantasies, and escapism those sentences provide me.
Crowds make me uncomfortable. But stories can transport me away to someplace fantastical.
Someplace isolated, with no eyes on me. With no words whispering in my ears.
A place where I never made a deal with a devil to escape my biggest nightmare.
Mom releases a frustrated grunt. “I’m sick of staring at a screen. It’s hurting my eyes.”
“Then go schmooze with these powerful people. That’s what you came here to do, right?”
“I guess,” she admits.
Despite the fancy name, the Winter Ball is not a ball with elves and fairies and singing unicorns
(which I would’ve loved). It’s an annual charity gala aimed at giving youngsters from disadvantaged
backgrounds an opportunity to enter the elite and often impenetrable world of opera music. This
year’s theme is ‘Belle-Époque dance’ with the invitations stating the dress code as ‘European Royalty
Black Tie’. Which does not explain why Mom is parading around in a cheap-looking gown that
screams modern.
The rest of the crowd in the ballroom consists of middle-aged men and women who are patrons of
the arts and have donated large sums of money to this cause. In this opulent crowd of legendary
people, Mom barely draws any notice.
The whole reason she donated to the society was to make friends with ‘influential people,’ but the
elegant silver-haired ladies and men are far too socially prominent to care about a B-list actress who
was famous ten years ago.
“Also, why have you been staring at me like I have horns? Is it the dress I’m wearing?” I point to
my clothing.
Mom scrunches her nose in distaste at the frilly satin tulle gown that nearly swallows my body. It
makes me look like a circus runaway but coupled with my minimal makeup, it completes the dowdy
look I was aiming for.
Prettiness, polish, and style are for girls who want to be noticed. Be desired. Be loved.
I don’t want any of those things.
“Do you think…Is that why nobody is talking to me? Because they think I’m with you?” Mom’s
face pales. I’m guessing she didn’t consider that angle before she decided to stick to my side at the
gala.
I smack my dry lips together. “Probably.”
“Since you made the effort of getting into that hideous dress and coming to a social gathering, why
not talk to the people here? Make some connections for your mom.”
“You know I’m not here to socialize,” I remind her. “I’m here for Francesca.”
“She’s lucky to have a friend like you.” Mom puffs up her chest, looking around the room for a
place to begin her social climbing expedition. “But you should meet more people.”
“I don’t like talking to people.” I’m the very definition of a wallflower. Invisibility and willfully
ignoring reality are my greatest skills. When one’s life depends on something, one gets the hang of it
quickly.
Given my mother’s star status, of course people were naturally curious about me when I was
young. That’s why I changed my last name when I turned eighteen, to something nobody could link
back to my parents. And I’ve taken all the precautions—no friends, no hanging out in celebrity/rich
kid hotspots, no social media accounts, no showing off my wealth and privilege. I guess it also helps
that I look nothing like my superstar mother and have stuck by my geeky over-permed hair, no makeup,
and glasses (that I don’t need) combo all my life, despite being bullied for it in school.
Mom’s lips turn in a delicate smile. “I suppose I should go and make some new connections then,
like my agent told me to.”
“Yeah. I need some peace and quiet so I can finish reading this fanfic.”
Mom shakes her head, laughing. “You just don’t have a life, do you?”
If only she knew what kind of life I really had, she’d be shocked. But I’m good at keeping secrets.
I always stay close to the shadows where nobody will notice me. But being with Mom is making my
favorite tactic useless since she’s so good-looking and keeps attracting attention from men. I feel their
gazes pricking my skin even though I’m only standing beside her. Revulsion slides down my spine
like a waterfall.
“People are staring at me,” I mutter, bunching my skirts in my fists to ease the discomfort spiraling
through my stomach in a violent vortex.
“Enjoying the attention?” Mom inquires, a touch jealous. Mom gets depressed when nobody is
watching her. Or whenever somebody receives more attention than her.
Occupational hazard, I suppose. She has become insecure about herself ever since her movies
flopped in the box office ten years ago and her career slipped off the A-list ledge. Mental illness
followed. Despite regaining some popularity through her latest Netflix show, she still hasn’t managed
to regain her crown as the top actress of Hollywood—a fact that stabs her like a thorn all the time.
“No.” I tug at the transparent lacy sleeve of my gown. “I don’t like being in front of people. I
don’t like when they look at me like they…” I swallow. My mind races. The memories of a dark gaze
resurface, twisted desire and sinister need lingering within them. I close my eyes to blot out the
memory. “Want to take me.”
“Take you?” Mom snorts. “You’ve been reading too much Little Red Riding Hood.”
“You know what I mean,” I say. “It’s when people want to possess you.”
“It’s called being desirable.”
“I don’t want to be desirable.”
Mom looks at me like I told her the Earth is flat.
She shakes her head in pity. “Ella, honey, sometimes I just can’t understand you.”
Yeah, just like I can’t understand her.
“Anyway, there’s the gallery.” Mom points to a room outside the hallway. “They have pictures of
old opera performances there. You should take a look since you like history. Never imagined my
daughter would be such an intellectual. Don’t know where you get it from. Both your father and I
aren’t smart.” Her last words are tossed over her shoulder as she throws herself into the crowd.
The gala is a pretty grand event and it takes place at a large mansion so there are many sections to
explore.
I’m sure it’ll be quiet in the gallery so I head there, weaving through the mass of people present.
Expensive perfumes assault my nostrils. Floral arrangements appear and fade at the corner of my
eyes. Waiters circle the room with glasses of champagne and the special cocktail the organizers made
for the guests tonight. I can’t drink yet since I’m only twenty and I missed the hors d’oeuvres earlier,
so my stomach is growling.
Of course, I twist my foot three times in the short walk to the gallery. I’m hopeless at walking in
heels but was foolish enough to wear them because I expected to sit at a table all night.
Moments later, I’m surrounded by exhibits. Despite my jaded heart and narrow interests, I can’t
help but be interested in the banquet of history and opulence that surrounds me.
The ‘gallery’ is a temporary display that was created only for tonight to showcase the American
Opera Society’s assets. There are framed black and white pictures, as well as old costumes from
famous operas. An old vinyl plays the shrill, high notes of a woman singing something in Italian that I
have no hope of ever recognizing. But the pitches, taut with tension, reverberate in my bones.
The sharp clicks of my heels echo like gunshots inside the vast chamber of the gallery, and I jump
at the sound. My heartbeat is a series of loud screams in my ear.
Calm down, nothing will happen.
No matter how many times I repeat the words, my heart won’t believe them. Just like no matter
how many times I try to forget what happened on that rainy day two years ago, it remains etched in my
mind. Even the sands of time haven’t managed to blur the images, the sounds, the smells, the
sensations.
It was the reason I made the deal with the devil. Well, the Devil of Brooklyn, in any case. So I
could have peace of mind again.
So far, he has kept his end of the bargain. That’s why I have no reason to be so afraid anymore.
Focus on the now.
White walls box me in on every side. Recessed lighting illuminates the framed pictures and the
costumes, which are vivid and colorful and opulent.
I’m the only one in the gallery. The others are in the garden, the ballroom, or must have gone
straight to the dinner. The gala’s dinner is pretty famous in high circles for being one of the best. The
meal is cooked entirely by Chef Michael Kaminsky, the owner of the Night Maiden, one of the most
exclusive establishments on the Upper West Side.
I creep toward a shimmering grand blue gown on display. There’s something written under it, a
description of what it is.
“It says…” I raise my fingers to adjust my glasses, only to find that I’m not wearing them. Mom
pressured me to wear contacts for this event. And I feel naked because people can see my face. I
touch my face, wondering how odd it’d look to hide it with my hands for the rest of the night.
“It’s a costume worn during the first performance of Madame Butterfly in North America,” I finish
reading.
My stomach growls for the fifth time that night, soft, long growls like a hungry alley cat.
I snap a picture of the costume and send it to Francesca, my best friend—who is still not here—
with the message: Look what you’re missing. I’ll be waiting for you in the dining room.
Then I slide my phone into my Chanel clutch.
Our seats and tables were already allocated to us at the beginning of the gala so upon getting to
the humongous dining room, I’m led to my predetermined position by a woman dressed sharply in a
black suit. She must be part of the event management team.
Once I’m seated, I stare at the candles at the center of the table. They cast light on another man
with a friendly face seated on the table right next to me.
“Hi, I’m Lucien Stone,” he says. I smell antiseptic on him. “I’m a heart surgeon.”
I’d usually avoid talking to strange men but there’s something very friendly about the guy. I sense
no hidden intentions lurking underneath those casual words. Also, he’s not a total stranger because
I’ve seen him before at other charity events. His father owns one of New York’s biggest hospitals and
his aunt is also a top actress. She used to be one of Mom’s friends. Lucien’s true blood old money, as
the hospital has been around for generations.
I respond to his greeting with mine. “Hi, I’m Ella. I’m a junior at NYU.”
My stomach picks that moment to grumble loudly once more.
Lucien chortles. “And hungry, it seems.”
“Well…” Embarrassment shifts all the heat in my body to my cheeks.
I pull out my phone, eager to bury my humiliation by cutting myself off from reality. I’m not even
halfway through the chapter I’m reading when sounds register in my ears.
Clean, distinct footfalls. A shadow rustles closer.
I turn my head up.
And there he is.
The devil. My devil.
Ethan. Standing over me like he owns the whole world, all gazes in the dining room tilted toward
him like sunflower heads bobbing up at the sun.
He’s wearing a three-piece navy suit with a tie. Although his features are schooled into a polite
expression befitting his blue-blooded background, his eyes scream ‘fuck off’ to anyone who dares to
stare into their volatile depths.
His brooding dark prince aura envelops me like a cloud of miasma.
Even up close, he looks otherworldly, like someone or something you’d read about in a novel. A
creature without a name, a figment of a dream.
His face is a chiseled sculpture of perfect angles and shadows, flesh and bone woven with the
singular intention of being breathtaking. Dark brown hair falls over his brow like threads of black
silk. His thick lashes frame eyes that are impossible to forget and even more impossible to not drown
in. The strip of his white shirt’s collar that peeks from above his navy jacket contrasts against his tan
skin.
Beads of sweat prickle the back of my neck. I shiver under the satin of my gown.
My first instinct is to scramble away from him, but I’m confined to a chair so where will I go?
Instead, I refocus, remembering the purpose of the evening.
I begin searching for the familiar silhouette of the tall, polished blonde who usually appears by
Ethan’s side on society functions such as these. Francesca. Ethan’s half-sister. She’s the one reason I
came to this stupid event. It has been a week since she has answered my calls and messages. We
didn’t have a fight or argue. One night, we were talking about her dream art exhibition and the next
day, she ghosted me.
I went to find her at her house, but her mother said she was out painting in a cabin in the woods
and hadn’t contacted anyone. Two years of friendship and she doesn’t even tell me when she’s
retreating into her creative cave. And I? I trusted her with way too much. My nightmares, my dreams,
my fears…but despite our closeness, there’s one thing I never told her about: my bargain with Ethan.
And what led to it—the events that conspired two years ago. I’ve never told anybody about them. Not
my parents. Not a soul.
Did she find out?
Is that why she’s pissed off and doesn’t want to see me?
I clutch my gown’s skirt tightly. Worry buzzes inside my skull like a fly stuck in a jar. My palms
are moist. My mouth is parched. I study the blank, white floor, hoping for answers.
The absence of my friend is an unexpected twist. I expected Francesca to be with her brother. She
often goes to events with him since they’re both single. She wouldn’t have known I was coming so
even if she was avoiding me (although I can’t fathom why she would) she’d still have attended.
My heart roils violently. Something’s not right.
I mean, I’m sure Francesca is all right, or her mother and father would be calling me. I just don’t
want her to be another me.
Whenever anything goes wrong, my mind travels back to that forbidden place. To that night.
Sometimes, the more deeply you bury something, the more inseparable it becomes from you, like a
phantom shadow following you in the moonlight.
“Wow, I didn’t realize we’d be sharing the table with someone quite so famous,” Lucien says,
gaping at Ethan who takes the seat next to him. “Nice to meet you. I’m Lucien Stone.”
Since Lucien’s head is now blocking Ethan’s face, I can’t see him. But I hear his reply. It knocks
the breath out of my lungs.
“The Stone family? Nice to meet you, too. I’m Ethan Astor, Jr. Call me Ethan.”
“Of Astor Hotels.” Lucien chuckles. “Yeah. I know.”
As I try to ignore the fact Ethan is here, he attempts to also wipe out my presence by avoiding
looking in my direction. I know he registered my presence from the way his jaw tightened as he took
his seat.
We decided we’d act indifferent around each other. It was one of our rules. But tonight, I can’t
stay silent. I have questions. Questions only he can answer. Unless Francesca is avoiding him, too.
Which would be odd. I mean, they’re not close but Francesca has always spoken well of Ethan. Plus,
Ethan never looks at Francesca with his ‘fuck off’ eyes, which is a feat given how few people in the
world have that honor.
“Don’t you wish they’d start serving dinner already?” Ethan says. Lucien nods vehemently in
agreement. Even though the devil is not talking to me, his raspy voice bruises the air, imprinting it
with his energy.
A memory, old like a rusted nail, pierces through my consciousness.
“It’s a deal, then.” His sinister voice breathes those words over my skin.
I’ve never met someone like him before. He makes my bones feel like twigs; my skin feels like
paper. It’s ridiculous, but I sense he could burn with me with a harsh gaze alone.
As I look at the gloomy sky and the big, gray clouds threatening rain, I’m certain I’ll remember
the shapes of these clouds forever. They’re silent witnesses to our agreement.
I swallow. “It’s a deal.”
The images wash away like watercolors the moment I blink. My fingers turn sweaty. I can’t
breathe.
My throat hurts like someone stuck pins inside it.
I want to ask about Francesca, but Lucien’s here and we can’t appear familiar around strangers.
It’ll start rumors.
I twist my head in time to watch Ethan shift. Our gazes collide behind Lucien’s shoulder. It’s the
briefest of exchanges, barely enough for me to catch the deep brown shade of his eyes. The intensity
hits me like a ton of bricks.
I can’t escape it.
Our secrets. His presence. The feelings I’ve kept bottled up all these months.
I stick my nose back into my phone screen, burying my attention into the fanfic I’ve been reading.
I trace the letters on the bright white screen until I reach the last line of the first chapter. My pulse
explodes in my ears like shattered glass.
But the thing about deals is that those who lose their soul in the bargain can never gain it
back.
CHAPTER 2
E
than
ONCE UPON A TIME, there was a princess who broke into the devil’s lair. She had ordinary brown hair
and eyes the color of sunlight and sin. She wanted to banish her demons.
And in return, she sold her body to the devil.
It was a bargain that was beneficial to both sides, but like all Faustian bargains, there was only
one side that lost something they couldn’t get back.
And it wasn’t me.
Ella’s presence burns a hole through my conscience at dinner. Lucien Stone chatters away like a
machine gun, and though I usually find his type of character irritating, I’m grateful for his one-sided
conversation tonight.
I’ve spotted Lucien many times at charity events, though this is my first time speaking to him.
And boy, does he talk.
“This is my girlfriend, Mira. She’s brilliant. Also a heart surgeon.” A dark-haired, brown-skinned
woman’s face stares at me from a picture. I can’t believe Lucien Stone is sentimental enough to carry
an actual photograph of his girlfriend.
I give zero fucks for sentiments like that, though.
“How nice.” I command my lips to edge upward in a smile, but they rebel. I’m polite but my
façade wears off quickly in the face of boredom.
“We became official last year,” Lucien’s still going on. “We fake dated for a while. Can you
believe it….”
I’m ready to stab myself with a fork when the first course of soup and bread is finally served. I
nibble at the bread and eat a generous spoonful of the soup, hoping for time to pick up its pace. This
evening cannot end fast enough.
I came here hoping to meet Francesca but she isn’t anywhere to be seen. Charity events like these
are usually her favorite. Given her love for opera, she should’ve been here. She definitely received
an invite.
I dig my fingers under my tie, loosening it. I’m not worried. My heartrate is faster than usual, but
that has to do with the unpleasant surprise of encountering Ella more than anything else.
I’m definitely not losing my mind over my sister.
“By the way, this is Ella. Her mom’s the actress Hannah Faber. I used to love her when I was
younger. Didn’t you?” Lucien points to the shadow behind him. At the mention of her name, irritation
flares in my chest.
I watch the princess sitting stiffly, shoulder frozen in an awkward pose. She doesn’t even bother
peeling her attention away from her phone.
“Some people have no social skills,” I remark.
Ella grunts.
We’ve done some unspeakable things together, Ella and I, but I barely know anything about her
normal life. I had no idea she liked reading so much. I suppose it fits with her personality. She’s
rather introverted. And intelligent enough to convince me into doing something I’d never have
considered in my right mind.
It was what struck me the most about her when she first barged into my life without warning. The
vulnerability in her eyes made me wait even as I was contemplating calling the security and throwing
her out immediately.
There was something about her natural, unpolished beauty and the quiet yet confident way she
made her point and laid out the benefits of the arrangement for me. The businessman in me recognized
the value and rarity of what she was offering immediately even though I was miffed. No one had
strong-armed me into giving them what they wanted before. It was usually the other way around. For
the record, I don’t love being manipulated.
Ella was the first. And the last.
She’s also the first and last person for whom I’ve gotten blood on my hands.
“I’m reading. Can’t you see?” Ella snaps at my previous accusation.
“What’re you reading?” I ask, not because I’m curious but because I’m hoping Ella knows
something about Francesca. They’re friends, those two. Have been since high school. They even
applied to the same universities and now attend NYU together, though Francesca studies art while
Ella is majoring in literature.
“A story.” Ella breaks her gaze away from her reading material for the first time since I landed on
this table and fixes it on me. Her pupils are so narrowed her eyes look like a snake’s.
“A story about princesses?” It’s a guess.
“Yes, there are princesses in it. It’s a fantasy story.”
“Is it interesting?”
“Too early to tell.”
She rotates her wrist and the light from her phone shines onto her face. Catches on her curls and
the smooth, rounded contours of her face.
I hate how quickly breath deserts my lungs.
She’s just a girl. Not even a pretty one.
At least, I don’t remember her looking like this the last time we met.
I’ve seen Ella plenty of times before at close quarters, but not like this—dolled up, without her
glasses. Her hair’s been straightened; her lips are flushed pink. Dark butterfly lashes highlight the
exquisite hazel of her eyes. It should look fake and revolting but instead she’s mesmerizing. My chest
convulses, pulse racing for what? For the girl in a tulle monstrosity that swallows her body in frills?
It even has full sleeves. My gaze slips lower, to the silhouette of her full breasts and her voluptuous
curves.
It’s an effort to look away from her, but my self-control is iron so I barely linger on her body for a
few seconds. She doesn’t seem to notice my intense, momentary fixation, and neither does Lucien. In
fact, he stops talking. Finally.
A vibration reverberates through the air.
“Gotta take this one. It’s from my girlfriend.” Lucien’s sweeps his phone off the table, grinning
like an idiot who won the lottery.
I quirk my mouth in disgust. Does he have no idea how pathetic he looks, wearing his emotions on
his sleeve? Then again, men in love are all the same. The gullible fools believe they have something
special when all they have is mediocre sex, petty arguments, and feeling important based entirely on
the whims of another human being.
The candle flames flicker in front of my eyes. Ella angles herself toward me the moment Lucien’s
out of sight.
I do her the favor of ignoring her. She hates attention anyway and having my intense gaze bearing
down on her always makes her uncomfortable.
As I reach for the glass of water the server left, Ella’s whisper cuts through the silence. “Where’s
Francesca?” She leans forward, her warm breath fanning my ear.
I hook a finger around my belt. My shirt pulls taut against my expanding chest. Her candlelightsoaked golden eyes stalk me, all innocent and curious. I cannot condone how much I’m affected by it.
She’s fucking twenty and I’m thirty-two.
“I’m not Francesca’s secretary or her babysitter.” The feeling of being caged by Ella’s presence
spikes my voice with impatience. “How would I know where she is?”
She releases an exasperated breath. “She hasn’t contacted me all week. I thought she’d be here
with you. Don’t you find it strange that she didn’t attend tonight? She loves opera.”
True. Despite my mask of indifference, I make a mental note of the fact that Francesca hasn’t
contacted Ella, either. Ella is her closest friend, and she hasn’t talked to her all week? That’s bad.
However, I quickly return to my dry tone so as to not let my panic show. She is looking for
reassurance that Francesca is unharmed. Letting my concern show will only It’ll affect Ella when
she’s already scared. There is no point in making her more anxious.
“I’ve long ago given up on trying to understand women,” I remark with a shake of my head. “I
simply accept whatever Francesca does without questioning it.”
“You aren’t worried about her?”
“Why would I waste my time on something so pointless?”
“You sound like the shittiest brother on the planet.”
“We may be half-siblings but we’re not joined at the hip. We both do our own thing. It’s called
giving someone space. Maybe if you had actual relationships with people who were not books, you’d
know what it means.”
She winces as my words slice into her. She grabs a fistful of her beautiful hair. As it slips
between her fingers, she glances back at Lucien, who is still on the phone, still out of earshot. “What
if Francesca is in trouble? What if she ran away?”
“No offence, but to get into trouble you need to have friends who can help you get into trouble and
you’re Francesca’s only friend.” That statement requires no follow up. Ella never goes anywhere
remotely dangerous and doesn’t drink because she’s underage. Only a nun lives a more virtuous life
than her. “Also, there’s nowhere she’d want to run away to. Francesca lives in a grand townhouse in
Brooklyn surrounded by the best staff and gets to do what she wants. She’s sensible enough to know
life doesn’t get any better than that.” At Ella’s scornful grunt, I add, “Don’t hate a man for speaking
the truth.”
“You’ll be in trouble, too, you know, if something happened to Francesca.”
I splay my fingers on the white tablecloth-covered table. “Yeah? What do you think happened to
her? She likely just lost track of time while painting in her studio in the middle of the woods.”
As you’d expect, cell phone reception is hopeless in a place like that. She usually stays only a
few days and messages me when she drives down to the nearest small town for her meals. There was
one time when she didn’t communicate for a week though. Maybe she’s too inspired to let real world
concerns get in her way.
“I mean,” I can almost hear Ella’s brain clink like a piece of ancient machinery. “That could be it.
She does tend to block out the world when she’s working. But it could also be that she found out
about us.”
From the way she drops her voice and cups her mouth, you’d think we’re fucking behind
Francesca’s back. We are not. Plus, I think Francesca already knows, or at least suspects, that Ella
was the person who helped me out during my surgery two years ago.
I tap my fingers on the side of the glass I’m drinking from. “So?”
“You just don’t get women, do you?” Ella points to her chest, when I’d finally managed to get my
attention off those damned breasts. “I’m her friend.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re her brother.”
“Also aware of this.”
“Maybe she feels betrayed because we had a—” She chews her lip. “—connection we hid from
her. Maybe she feels guilty because she couldn’t protect me.”
I scratch my jaw. “But it’s not her fault.”
“That’s the thing.” Ella waves her arms. “She might think she should have paid closer attention to
me.”
“Sounds irrational,” I say.
“Francesca is a good friend. Friendship’s like that sometimes.”
“Sounds more like a religious cult.”
“Listen, you’re a jerk, but—” She inhales a loud, deep, noisy breath, then almost chokes on it. It’s
one of her dichotomies: she is clumsy and elegant at the same time. She’s also still innocent and naïve
and not roughened by the reality of becoming an adult. When she tries too hard to be all cold and
grown up, it shows. “Will you at least find out if Francesca is all right? If she’s just painting in her
studio or not? I would do it myself, but turns out I have no idea where her art studio even is.”
“Guess your friendship doesn’t run as deep as you think,” I say.
“Make sure she’s alive, okay?” Ella repeats, sterner this time.
Something about that tone, so insistent, sets off a firecracker inside me. It reminds me of the past. I
don’t like to be told what to do because I’ve spent so much of my life following my father’s orders.
The familiar shadow of powerlessness crawls inside my chest, bringing the sharp, angry sensation of
losing control.
A phantom sting stabs the left side of my stomach.
I swoop forward, until my head is only inches from Ella’s. My shoulders are a helluva lot broader
than hers. Plus, I cut a menacing figure in a dark suit. I save it for occasions just like these.
“I don’t take orders from you, Princess.” I growl.
Ella makes a small, strained sound, like a cornered deer when I dip my head lower—close
enough for her to feel my hot, angry breaths washing over her rosy lips and smooth, alabaster cheeks.
I don’t bother hiding my satisfaction at the way her eyes narrow. “What was that?”
“I wasn’t giving you orders,” she says. “Just requesting a favor.”
“Request denied.”
“Please, Ethan. Do this for Francesca.” She adds as an afterthought, “Thank you.”
“You’re using magic words.” I roll my eyes. “What are we, three?”
It is fucking useless, her politeness. That nonsense doesn’t work on me. I have no interest in
wasting my night trying to track down my lost-in-a-daydream sister. That’ll take at least one phone
call to my stepmother, and she tends to mistake concern as love which is a headache.
“Also…can you move?” Ella squeaks. “I can’t see if Lucien’s still talking.”
I slowly pull back.
But not before I spear her with one more warning glare.
“You aren’t scaring me with that,” she retorts. “I’ll find out what happened to Francesca one way
or another.”
I shake my head slowly, my gaze skimming over Lucien Stone a few paces away. He has the most
idiotic-looking grin painted on his face. His girlfriend must be a professional comedian. “Reading too
many stories has addled your mind. This isn’t a detective drama. There’s no grand disappearance or
murder to solve.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you don’t care,” Ella finishes for me.
My muscles jump in protest. How dare she? Francesca is my baby sister and I will not see harm
come to her. She is probably lost in her artistic visions. There’s no point being paranoid about
nothing.
I shrug, wondering if Ella sensed my hesitation in the too-long pause between her accusation and
my response.
“Well, I care. I couldn’t forgive myself if Francesca was in trouble and I ignored her. Why is
everyone in your family so indifferent?” The sudden change in Ella’s tone throws me off. I’m not a
good man. I’m definitely not a kind man. She should know that. She should know to keep her emotions
constrained around me. They just trigger me in a way I can’t explain. “Francesca is just twenty. Won’t
you at least check up on her?”
I grit my teeth, trying to steel my resolve. It’s no good. Ella’s fragile, pleading voice slices my
resolve into ribbons. I don’t know why, but ever since I first laid eyes on her, I’ve felt this
inexplicable responsibility to see her happy. Maybe it’s because I feel guilty for what I took from her.
I can’t tamp down the sudden urge that fizzes through me to make her distress go away. To care
about her pain. It propels the words I should never say out of my mouth. “I’ll need time.”
“How much time?” she asks, latching onto my willingness to help. She probably knows this was a
momentary lapse in my judgment, and she’s sharp enough to take advantage of the fact that once I give
my word, I keep it. I’m not the sort to backpedal.
“We’re at a fucking gala, Ella. I first need to wait for this dinner to end.” I clear my throat. “Then
we’ll see.”
“Will you call me after that?” she asks.
I raise an eyebrow. Calling and messaging leave digital records that can be traced. Ella might be
nobody, but her mother is famous and while I’m not a world star, there are more than a few people
who’d like to get their hands on my weaknesses to use them against me.
“Our rules say we can’t call each other,” I remind her.
“Right.” Ella kneads her knees, the folds of her dress bunching around her shapely legs. “But…”
“Usual place, usual time,” I finish.
That’s our code. She knows what it means.
She doesn’t get to take the easy way out after she manipulated me with that voice. I need her as
uncomfortable as I am. The princess has to work a little if she wants answers. She may be pampered
Hollywood royalty, but I’m not about to lay anything at her feet.
“I can’t.” Ella’s teeth scrape over her bottom lip. “I’m here with my mom. What’ll I tell her?”
“Use that smart brain of yours to come up with something. I’m sure all those stories you’ve been
reading will be helpful when it comes to spinning one of your own.”
“Ethan—”
I interrupt before she undoes me again with her begging and raw vulnerability. “You need to
follow the rules, Princess.”
Ella clamps her lips shut. Her eyebrows furrow with quiet, grudging acceptance. I’ll take that any
day over her rebellion and tears and that sweet, broken voice that seems to burrow right under my
skin.
I stand up abruptly, returning the napkin to the table.
Great timing, too, seeing how Lucien Stone chooses that moment to arrive back at the table,
running a hand through his dark hair, muttering, “Sorry that took a while.”
“No, it’s all right. Please enjoy the dinner. I have to leave now,” I say, turning on my heel, the
soles of my black Derby shoes scratching against the rough wooden floor.
Lucien’s eyes widen. “So soon? You just got here…”
His words dissipate in the air, growing fainter as I stride away.
It’s terrible manners, leaving before the end of the meal, but I’m going to get indigestion or wear
my teeth down to nothing if I have to clench my jaw all evening at Ella and listen to Lucien make
small talk. So I exit before the first course of dinner is served. I don’t have an appetite anyway.
As I call my chauffer, I fume at the seating arrangements. This could’ve been a quiet, dignified
night, though I realize the organizers could not possibly have known about my complicated
relationship with Ella. Sometimes, I have to wonder if fate plans all these small tortures to test my
patience.
It’s a short ride to my hotel. I used to live in my family’s palatial townhouse, but I can’t stand my
family anymore. It’s too much trouble to rent an apartment and manage the cleaning staff. Since I
manage the hotel anyway, it’s the most convenient solution.
I yank away my tie and collapse onto an armchair in my suite. Cold trepidation skims my skin.
The heating is strong enough to roast me alive yet none of that heat penetrates my skin. On the inside, I
always feel cold, and no amount of warmth can melt that permafrost.
I pick up my phone and decide to get the most unsavory part out of the way fast—I call my
stepmother.
“Hello Ethan darling.” Her voice is sugared honey. Sickeningly sweet. Just hearing it gives me a
toothache. “What a surprise. You never call me.”
“Hope I didn’t interrupt you,” I say. I don’t hate my stepmother. She has never been nasty to me,
even if she has never been interested in me, either. “Have you heard from Francesca?”
“No. She’s at her studio, but…can you come home? She left something for you before she went.
Told me to give it to you if you called while she was away.”
This is new. Francesca left something for me?
“I’ll be there,” I answer.
When I disconnect the call, the sound of the clock striking midnight resonates in the space. I bob
my head up to check the time on the clock above the mantel even though I already know what I’ll see.
12 o’clock.
It’s time for the princess to leave the ball.
CHAPTER 3
E
lla
I MEET up with Mom at the stairs leading up to the venue, cradling my Chanel clutch close to my
chest. My focus has all but dissipated since I met Ethan at dinner, so I doubt I can get through any
more chapters of the fanfic. My mind is on a different track now, poring over different issues.
I pretend to head back home, though Mom does her best to drag me to a club for some “girls’
time.” I warn her that drinking too much will make her fat and that’s the end of that conversation. Then
I tell her I have an assignment to submit tomorrow and get into her chauffeur-driven car.
Since I started school at New York University, I’ve lived in the dorms, even though my home isn’t
even two stops away from college on the subway. I wanted to be alone, to live somewhere where my
comings and goings aren’t always subject to notice by the household staff.
I dutifully get off at the dorms and kiss Mom goodnight. I even go inside (because I know Mom’s
watching me), all the way to my room.
Three minutes later, I watch the chauffeur drive away. It’s then that I head back downstairs and get
an Uber to the Upper East Side.
“The Astor Hotel Central Park?” the driver confirms my destination.
“That’s right.”
I know where Ethan spends his nights—at the presidential suite of the Astor Hotel on the Museum
Mile, nestled between Central Park and top-tier tourist attractions. That suite costs $10,000 a night
but he occupies it for free since he owns the hotel.
Correction. His family owns the hotel.
I’ve always thought it was a terrible business decision, letting a $10k a night suite go to waste.
But he says it’s vacant most days anyway. During the busy holiday season, Ethan moves out to ‘just’ a
deluxe suite.
Through the cab’s window, from a distance, the lighted up hotel building looks like an old
European castle, very fitting for Ethan’s fairytale-villain looks and his family’s story. The balcony
grillwork is all old Venetian style, metal briars twisting upon each other. I remember caressing the
smooth iron with my fingertips some sixteen months ago.
My gaze arrows straight to the window at the top of the building. It’s closed, the curtains drawn
over. But light filters through the edges.
Ethan’s still awake.
Once at the reception, I use the elevator to ride up to the top floor, putting on an air of confidence
like I’m a guest staying at the hotel. I still have the copy of the card key that Ethan gave me years ago
so I insert that to gain access to the top floor. I’m shocked when it works. Why hasn’t he deactivated it
yet? Doesn’t he care about his own security?
Maybe he doesn’t need to. Who would dare touch him? He was the one who made my problems
disappear. I don’t underestimate his strength or how dangerous he can be.
There are only two rooms on the thirtieth floor and I recognize the presidential suite from the
golden plate hanging beside the door.
I visually scope out both sides of the corridor to see if there’s anyone who can hear us. It’s empty.
I know there’s a closed-circuit camera that films this floor, but Ethan owns this hotel. I’m sure he can
get someone to erase the footage. In fact, he’ll probably do it without my asking considering meeting
me in his hotel suite at night looks like we’re having a clandestine affair.
I knock on the door four times in rapid succession because it seems like an invasion of his privacy
to use the card key to open it without warning.
Silence.
The deep thuds of my heart echo in the hollow behind my collarbones. The few seconds before
someone answers the door are the most nerve-wracking because I’m afraid he might not answer.
It has been a while since we last communicated.
A soft click.
Ethan’s face doesn’t betray any emotion when he opens the door and sees me standing in front of
it. In all the time that I’ve known Ethan, he has never been expressive. Took me a while to get used to
it. Now I expect it.
“Look who’s here,” he drawls, sleep and seduction mingling in his tone. “You’re early, princess.”
“Only by five minutes…” I reply, jerking back when he leans against the door, his form so big and
overwhelming like a wall. He smells of musk and sophistication. What bothers me, though, is the fact
that he’s only wearing a white bathrobe. I can see the outlines of his pecs through the deep V where
his skin is exposed. Heat gathers in my belly like a heavy rock. And, on its heels, comes a flare of
embarrassment.
What am I doing? I’m not stupid; I know he doesn’t like me like that. And he doesn’t want to be
desired by someone like me.
“Shall I wait out here until you’re done dressing?”
“Come on.” His breaths fan my lips. I’m at least a head shorter than him but I feel like a tiny doll
in front of all his muscled strength. “We Brooklyn upper crust boys have better manners than that. I
wouldn’t leave you out alone in this deserted corridor.” An airy brush of his knuckles against the
doorframe before he adds, “Especially given what you’ve been through.”
My past. Nobody knows about that better than him. Yet, he has never pitied me or comforted me
for it. In fact, he has never treated me any differently from an average woman and I both love that and
hate that about him. Sometimes, he forgets how young I am. And how much younger I was when it
happened.
Ethan lifts one finger and curves it backward. I catch a glimpse over his shoulder into the suite.
From this angle, I can only see the big grand piano.
“You’re not an upper crust boy.” I stride in, stating the obvious. “You’re an upper crust man.”
“It was a figure of speech.” Ethan waves his hand at the surroundings. It’s really quiet. I can hear
his heartbeat and mine. They’re in perfect sync. “You’re making me feel old now.”
“Sorry I hurt your ego,” I scoff.
Personally, I don’t think there’s anything good about being young. Because the younger you are,
the more defenseless you are. Ethan is much older than me. Maybe that’s why he has the kind of
resources I can only dream about. His age never bothered me before because I saw him as a protector
figure, but right now, standing so close to his bare skin, feeling the dampness of my palms and the
jumpy cadence of my heart, my emotions toward him are decidedly not platonic.
I caress the edge of the open door with its soft and polished edges, hoping to bleed away my
sudden nervousness. “The doors seem thin.”
“Did you just express dissatisfaction at the quality of the Astor Hotel’s doors?” Ethan cocks an
eyebrow upward, a threatening rasp to his tone.
“They’re thin,” I confirm. “Plus, sound carries in big, open spaces like these. Acoustics.”
He considers this argument with an unmoved expression. “I thought you were getting a degree in
literature, not physics.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m an idiot,” I argue.
I catch a whiff of whiskey as soon as I’m inside the suite. Not that I ought to know what whiskey
smells like, since I’ve never had a sip of alcohol in my life, but I got used to the smell after visiting
Ethan so many times.
Sure as day, there’s a bottle of The Macallan lying open, which is ironic given that he can’t drink
due to his health issues. I think he just likes to luxuriate in the smell. Before his surgery, he used to
love whiskey. Francesca told me that. Sparkles of light from crystal chandeliers hanging overhead
glitter on the surface of the amber liquid like diamond dust. I remember how he offered me a glass the
first time we met here even though I told him I was eighteen.
“There’s no right age to appreciate a good thing,” he said to me, but I still refused to take it. I
didn’t want to start and then become an underage drinker and cause problems for my parents. Anyone
who knows me knows that I’m the most law-abiding person alive.
Except when it comes to certain things I did with Ethan. And made him do.
“Everything to your taste?” Ethan’s mocking voice trails me as I inspect the suite, nostalgia
crowding my chest. “Don’t tell me the bedsheets are too thin as well. They’re Egyptian cotton with a
thread count of a thousand.”
“I wouldn’t know a thousand thread count bedsheet from a hundred thread count one if you held a
gun to my head.” I saunter over to the sofas arranged at the center of the suite. Ethan’s room is
separated from the rest of the suite by a door which is closed. It has been closed every single time
I’ve been here. Sometimes, I wonder what’s inside. Perhaps the corpses of the people he murdered.
Or maybe it’s his mistress. Or girlfriend—though I can’t imagine someone like Ethan having a
torrid affair with anyone. He’s not the passionate, emotional type to be led astray by lust and feelings.
Judging from his personality, even a business-merger-marriage seems like a distant prospect for him.
“I don’t have all night, so can you please sit down?” His biting tone startles me.
I spin around, and my breath catches, because he’s right behind me, eyes blazing down on me with
their usual impatience, their usual black warning: Fuck off.
So it’s not going to be good news, then.
“Francesca…” I stutter.
“She’s not in the studio. Or in the area.” He kneads the skin between his eyebrows like he can’t
believe this. “She’s in London.”
“London? The one in the UK?”
“Yes, that one.”
“Was she kidnapped?” It’s the first conclusion I leap to.
Ethan shrugs. “She left of her own accord. And apparently, she isn’t coming back until we—yes,
that’s you and me, princess—go and retrieve her.”
“Me and you.” My mind is a racecar, the thoughts flowing fast and easy. “What do you mean?”
Ethan inhales a frayed breath and reaches for a glass of whiskey. He gestures at an envelope on
the end table.
I touch the envelope, brushing my fingers against the paper hesitantly before pulling out the letter
it contains. The clock ticks in time with my scared heartbeats. I don’t know what I’ll find there. A
ransom letter, a threat, an obituary….
“What in the world?” My mouth gapes open when I recognize the handwriting as Francesca’s.
The words are scrawled neatly, and I read through it all in less than a minute.
To Ella and Ethan,
I love you both so much, but you guys really need to take a break before you burn yourselves
out. Ella, you have no friends except me and your books, and Ethan, you work all the time. Neither
of you has left the city in years even though you have so much money. That’s just depressing! You’ll
both end up being lonely and missing out on life this way.
So, to help you out, I’ve decided to stage an intervention. I’ve moved to London and I’m not
coming back until you two join me on my trip across the UK where I’ll show you great sights and
expand your horizons. It’ll be fun, I promise. And to make the decision easier, I’ve attached tickets
to coincide with the winter break. Yeah, I know it’s a busy month for the hotel, peak tourist season
and all. But Ethan, you need to leave things up to your staff sometimes. Trust that they’ll do a
good job without you.
By the way, I’m totally serious and I’m not going to come unless you two take a break from
your routines and come save me. Btw, in case you don’t fly by the dates on the tickets, I have
stronger measures up my sleeve that I have no qualms using.
“Stronger measures…” I trail off. “This letter is ridiculous.”
I would ask if Francesca really wrote this if I wasn’t sure that she did. This sounds exactly like
her. She has been telling me to go on a break and get out into the world more for as long as we’ve
been friends. But I never imagined she’d take it this far.
“Francesca has always been impulsive,” Ethan cuts in. Irritation fans across his forehead in a
series of lines. “I have no intention of going along with this childish whim of hers. Christmas is the
most important time at the hotel. She picked the worst time to throw a tantrum.”
I clench my fingers. I feel bad for Francesca because she probably wanted to go on vacation with
her brother but I know what kind of person Ethan is. This is typical for him.
However, I’m not him. I fold the letter. “I’ll go. I had no plans for winter break anyway and I can’t
say no to free tickets.”
Besides, I’ll definitely be safer in the UK where I know nobody and nobody knows me than here,
where the past is engraved on every street corner and every dark cloud in the sky reminds me of what
happened.
Maybe Francesca is right. Maybe I need a change of scenery after all.
“Be sure to bring her back,” Ethan says, before adding, “Once your little girls’ trip is over. She
has assignments to submit in January and she’s already been skipping university.”
I nod. In a way, I’m relieved Ethan won’t be coming. It’d be so uncomfortable if he did. Even
setting aside the fact that we’d have to hide our past connection around Francesca, just his presence
would make it hard to focus on anything else. Francesca and I are friends, but Ethan and I, we’re just
two people in debt to each other. I’ve never known or interacted with him on a personal level. Don’t
get me wrong; I know a lot about him. Even about the dark things he hides from the rest of the world. I
researched him before I made the bargain. Also, Francesca tells me things sometimes.
However, in the light of how high my heart leaps in my chest when he brushes his hair back, I’d
prefer not to find out more.
I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. “Alright, thanks for finding out about Francesca. I’m really
grateful. I’ll get out and leave you to enjoy your night then.”
Gripping the envelope tightly, I swivel and arrow toward the door, ready to leave.
“Ella.” The tanned, muscled column of Ethan’s throat ripples. I can’t tell if he’s angry or
disappointed or sad. Even though the chances of that last one are minuscule at best. “There’s no
reason for us to run into each other again.”
I stiffen. “Right. I know that.”
What’s the point he’s trying to make? That I shouldn’t attend any more society events where we
might run into each other? Because he has to know that I don’t. Or that he doesn’t want me asking him
any more favors?
“I hope you won’t get into any danger while you’re abroad,” Ethan continues.
“What exactly are you trying to say?” I steady my hands by placing them on my hips. “I’ll be with
Francesca all the time. How many pairs of tourists are getting mugged in London on the daily, you
think?”
“Probably more than you imagine. But it’s not—” Ethan’s eyelids lower, as he leans against the
plush armchair. He’s trying to say something, but for some reason isn’t saying it. “I don’t want you to
get hurt unnecessarily.”
I snort. “There’s crime in New York, too, you know. Who is to say you won’t get hurt staying
here?”
Ethan twists his mouth into a sardonic smile. The magnetic pull of his dark gaze makes my legs
tremble where I’m standing.
This is what real danger looks like.
“I’m a monster, princess.” Ethan replies, his voice steady. “Nobody can hurt me.”
CHAPTER 4
E
16
YEARS
than
ago
I WASN ’ T ALWAYS A MONSTER. Once, I was a boy. A boy who lived with his divorced mother in an
apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. All I remember about my mother was how heartbroken she was after my
father divorced her, how much she cried while watching romantic movies.
Love was her addiction. Romance was her drug of choice. And “happily-ever-after” was the
dream she chased all the time.
Which was ironic, given that her happily-ever-after with the heir of Astor Hotels had turned into a
tawdry soap opera when he fell in love with another woman, got her pregnant and slapped a divorce
on my mother.
He’d always been indifferent to her, treated her like an expensive necklace he bought and
expected to always shine for him. She’d been enamored with him from the start, but he’d only married
her because her father was a bank president and they moved in the same rarefied circles. My mother
was refined, elegant, graceful. She was also obsessed with my father. He was the prince of New York
high society, every woman’s dream, and she had once held that prize jewel in her hands.
She couldn’t cope with losing it. With losing her social status and the only thing she’d wanted in
her life. She isolated herself from her friends and social circle, afraid they’d pity her, and that’s why
we lived in Hell’s Kitchen where nobody would know us. She didn’t bother working since child
support payments were generous and we lived well on them.
Despite being betrayed by love, my mother loved me. She gave me everything I ever wanted,
everything I needed. She doted on me because I was all she had left.
My mother died when I was sixteen, after which I moved back into Dad’s Brooklyn townhouse.
And that’s when I realized I could no longer be a boy. Or a child.
Because my father didn’t want a son. He already had an adorable son and daughter with his
mistress—the perfect family. He wanted someone who could be ruthless, who could handle the dirty
work, who could take over his business and do whatever was needed to make it number one.
I never knew what kinds of connections with what kinds of unsavory people it takes to be
successful. Or how much manipulation and ruthlessness and stepping over lives it takes to hold onto
that precarious #1 spot.
I was naïve because back then I was still a boy. I didn’t want that to change. But I no longer had
my mother to protect my innocence or fight for my freedom with her love.
So I accepted my fate and became the monster my father hoped I’d become. The one who would
protect his precious “real” children from the darkness. Of course, he’d give me the hotels business.
But he’d give Elliot and Francesca handsome trust funds they had done nothing to earn.
They would never have to do anything to earn them.
On the day I arranged for our rival hotel’s CEO framed for insider trading and made him lose the
contract for a hotel partnership in Dubai, I was only nineteen. It was my first great success. My father
bought me diamond cufflinks. I threw them in the fireplace and watched them burn that same night.
What use are fine things like that when one’s hands are dirty?
Present
S HE’ S GONE.
Ella’s gone.
As I wake up in the morning, it’s my first thought. My second is: I hope we never see each other
again. But that’s a useless hope more than anything.
I dress quietly in my suite, choosing casual clothes today since it’s the annual family Christmas
dinner. I swear, I spent three days coming up with an excuse to wriggle my way out of this one, but my
father saw through my lies and, as my boss, ordered me a compulsory day off. All so his wife
wouldn’t feel guilty about my absence at the dinner.
He’s such a devoted husband now.
A hot, acidic trail burns up my throat at the thought of acting polite and pretending we’re a perfect
happy family and have always been this way. Always been just the five of us—Dad, Marian,
Francesca, Elliot, and me. Like my mother was never part of all this. It has been years since anybody
mentioned her on Christmas. Or ever.
I accidentally knock over the tall golden vase at the entrance, cursing as pain shoots through my
toes.
“Dad didn’t buy your excuse about an emergency meeting on Christmas?” Elliot’s lazy, languid
drawl refocuses my attention. My lavish childhood home in Brooklyn stands proud under a steady
drip of snow, an appropriate backdrop to Elliot’s golden-boy features. He still looks like a college
student in his red sweater and dark jeans even though he’s only six years younger than me.
“There’s no need to greet me at the door,” I bite out, limping inside, irritated that he saw me make
such a fool of myself while I was distracted. I like to keep my indignities as private as possible. “I’m
not a king. I don’t require a personal bodyguard to welcome me.”
“You asshole. I came out for air, not to stroke your ego.” Elliot follows me in.
I stride hard and fast, rubbing my head. The familiar images of my childhood dance around me.
Dark wood doors, the plush red carpet, crown moldings from decades ago, the starched, purple
curtains hanging over closed windows.
I’m glad I decided to move out at twenty-two. I couldn’t stand this place even back then.
“You look worse than you did last year,” Elliot pipes up with a sharp smile full of teeth. Making
snide remarks is his favorite hobby.
“And you look like you’ve vacationed on a beach all year. Is it fun to live it up at the expense of
other people’s hard work?”
“What’re you complaining for? Dad gave you the hotel because I’m a good-for-nothing and
Francesca is off pursuing her dream of being an artist. You owe your billions to my laziness.” He
quirks an eyebrow, challenging me to argue.
I snort. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Well, Merry Christmas anyway.” Elliot slaps a hand on my shoulder. “This is the only day of the
year I get to see you.”
“By the way.” I tap my finger against the thick wooden door, trying to delay the inevitable meeting
between my stepmother, Dad, and me for as long as possible. “Any reason you’ve been frequenting
Sharma Ventures downtown all of a sudden?”
It doesn’t make sense, Elliot setting foot in a place of serious business like that. When the security
detail I hire to tail him told me he’d been going to a new place, my first guess was a nightclub or
some drug kingpin’s mansion, not a venture capital firm. Elliot is nothing if not fun-loving and
reckless.
“What, you still stalk me?” The corners of his eyes soften but his gaze is hard and filled with
venom. “Talk about an obsessive sibling.”
“After the stupid orgies and drug parties you’ve pulled over the years and the trouble they’ve
gotten me into, be grateful that keeping an eye on you is all I do. So, what’s this about Sharma
Ventures?”
“I’m—” He blinks, his gaze snaking away before coming back to mine. “I’m involved with
someone there.”
“Sexually involved? Or drug involved?”
“Obviously not drugs. I told you it was only that one time. I’m not a regular user.”
“So you’re dating someone?”
Who? It can’t be Zara Sharma, the CEO of Sharma Ventures, even though she’s strikingly beautiful
and exactly Elliot’s type since he has always had a thing for older women. But she’s too smart to give
him the time of the day. I’ve met her a few times at business conferences at the hotel. She’s serious
and intimidating and gives off the vibe that she isn’t interested in relationships. She has even more of
a problem coming across as friendly than I do—and that’s saying something.
“I’m not dating. I’m just”—he clasps his hands together—“looking around, I guess.” Discomfort
oozes from him as he grinds his fingertips against each other.
“I hope you’re not selling our business secrets to the venture capitalists over there so they can
take us over,” I say.
Elliot flashes me a beatific smile. “Now, that’s an interesting idea. I’ll have to try it.”
Before I can probe him further, he dashes ahead. The smell of cinnamon and booze seeps into my
nostrils as we emerge into the formal living room. It’s adjacent to the dining room and I can see
glimpses of the grand turkey dinner my stepmother had the staff prepare for today.
Bottles of expensive wine, whiskey, and glasses of warm eggnog are arranged on silver trays on
top of the various small coffee tables scattered around the living room.
“Ethan, I’m so happy you came.” Before I can come to stop, Marian dashes forward and pulls me
into an effusive hug in the hallway.
I guess it’s too late to tell her I don’t want to hug the woman who destroyed my parents’ marriage.
Every year I think I’ll say it, but I’m tongue-tied by her onslaught of affection.
“Merry Christmas,” I mutter. She glows at my greeting. I’m supposed to be mean and bitter. What
am I doing being such a people pleaser?
From the sofa where he’s lounging, Dad showers me with an approving nod.
“You should come over more often,” my stepmother chides, guiding me to the drinks. “We all miss
you so much. This is your home, too.”
“I was here a few weeks ago,” I remind her. “To get Francesca’s letter.”
“Right. Can’t believe she’s in London. Christmas feels incomplete without her.” A wistful look
enters Marian’s eyes. She rubs her fingers, kneading her thumb over her wedding band. “She hasn’t
called me even once, but I suppose she likes her older brothers more. Children forget their parents so
easily these days.”
“Nope.” Elliot shrugs. “She hasn’t called me, either.”
I go for the eggnog straight away. My mouth needs something to do so my silence doesn’t seem
awkward. I stopped drinking alcohol after the kidney transplant I had. I only keep whiskey around in
my suite to smell it, to test my self-control. To torture myself with constant proximity to something I
can’t have.
Because my life is simply full of those things. Things that are close enough to touch but
impossible to possess.
Dad, who has been scrolling through his phone jerks to his feet, a worried line digging between
his brows. “Elliot, I thought you and Francesca were close.”
“Not since she started college,” Elliot replies. “She only talks to her friends these days. It’s a
phase, I think.”
My father claps his hands to demand attention. Swallows hard. “So Francesca hasn’t contacted
any of us for weeks, and none of you thought this could be bad?”
“She wrote me a letter,” I interject. “Before she left.”
“A letter.” Elliot scoffs. “What is this, the dark ages? Next she’ll be sending us carrier pigeons.”
“Oh Elliot dear, stop. This is serious,” Marian chides. She’s pinching her temples now. “Ethan,
what did the letter say?”
“You didn’t read it? You were the one who gave it to me.”
“Of course I wouldn’t read something meant for you!” Marian’s face flushes bright red.
Dad claps his hands again. “Never mind. What did it say?”
“Francesca said she wants me to come to London. That she won’t return until I bring her back
myself. Obviously, she’s being stubborn.” I take a sip of the eggnog while three pairs of eyes grow
wide for further answers. “Don’t worry. Her friend Ella went to retrieve her.”
“The nerdy girl whose mother is that old actress? The chick who is always in la-la land and can’t
even talk to people normally?” Elliot scrunches his nose. “Oh, I’m certain she’ll bring Francesca
back. Because she seems so competent and worldly.”
My fingers cut into the glass I’m holding. Elliot’s annoying in the best of times, but the way he’s
talking about Ella is more than annoying. It’s infuriating.
What does he know about her, anyway? She’s more reliable than him at least. He, who
disappeared on a wild trip around the world when I was dying and needed him the most. If not for
Ella, I wouldn’t even be here.
“Cut the sarcasm,” I snap. “Ella is Francesca’s friend. Francesca asked her to come to London.
I’m sure she’ll listen to her.”
“Well, have you at least called this Ella and confirmed that she’s with Francesca?” Elliot
counters.
“Why would I call her?”
“Because Francesca is your sister!” My father booms. “And neither of you seems to care that she
is in a foreign country all alone while none of us know her whereabouts. Not to mention the fact that
she hasn’t communicated with any of us in two weeks which could mean she might be dead.”
Marian hiccups. I can see the tears at the sides of her eyes but she is biting down on her lip,
keeping her emotions under control.
“She’s not dead, Dad. Stop scaring Mom,” Elliot says.
“Ethan, call Ella this instant,” Dad demands.
He’s being overdramatic. I should tell him off. But I’m so accustomed to taking orders from him
because that’s the only capacity I see him in these days. My fingers move on their own. Grabbing my
phone. Tapping her name.
By the time I’m disgusted at myself for being so unthinking, Ella’s voice is already breathing
down my ear.
“Ethan? Why’re you calling me? Didn’t we agree we’d never contact each other again?” I guess
my sudden call—at what has to be a late hour in England—has caught her off guard. I can hear her
drowsiness through the phone. Hear the rustle of sheets behind her.
“Emergency here. Are you with Francesca?”
“No.” A yawn. “I just got here a few hours ago. To the hotel, I mean.”
“And Francesca?” I probe. I have no manners. I don’t even bother asking her if she’s okay or how
her flight was. We’re not in a relationship where I can care for her, so why pretend?
“The thing is…” I hear Ella biting her fingernail on the other end. Then she goes silent, only her
breaths rising and falling like the background noises in a bad porno.
“Ella? Talk,” I bark in a loud voice. The eyes of everyone in my family are on me. There’s so
much expectation glowing inside them. There always is. I can’t fail in front of them. Ever. Because if
this family is a house, I’m the foundation. My father told me that himself when I was young.
My function is to hold the weight of everyone else. To make sure the beautiful beams and
magnificent staircase don’t collapse in an earthquake. I’m never seen, never acknowledged, my
strength always taken for granted. Not until I collapse and fail in my duty.
Then, there will be no place for me in this family anymore.
“Well, the thing is that I haven’t seen Francesca. At all. She’s not at the hotel and the lady at the
reception said she never checked in,” Ella mumbles. Her voice, soft and sleepy, contrasts against my
hyperactive heartbeat. “She didn’t pick up her phone, either. I called her so many times. I wanted to
look for her but I fell asleep because I was so exhausted after the flight. I’m sorry. I’ll start searching
for her right now. Oh my god, you must think I’m—”
“No. Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Just forget it and go to sleep.”
“What about Francesca?”
“She’ll be fine. She knows you’re at the hotel. She won’t abandon you.” However, given my
sister’s level of irresponsibility, I can’t make any promises. “Do you have money? Can you—”
“I brought my mother’s card. I’ll survive.”
“Great. Bye then.”
I hang up before my family gets too curious about Ella and my relationship. I may have crossed
the line there toward the end. Are mere acquaintances supposed to care about someone else’s
financial situation?
“Ella says Francesca isn’t at the hotel,” I inform flatly.
The statement resonates in the chamber of the plush living room like the aftershocks from a
detonated bomb.
A sob breaks free from Marian’s throat. She’s so predictably weak and melodramatic. My father
dashes to her side, holding her in his arms. “Now, don’t assume the worst.”
Elliot shakes his wineglass, a smirk painting his face. “See? I told you. That Ella girl isn’t
reliable. She doesn’t even know where Francesca is.”
“How’s that her fault?” I retort. “Our sister is the one who invited her to London and then
disappeared on her.”
“Well, now what? Francesca is gone. We should call the police.” Elliot inquires. “What are our
other options?”
“Ethan.” My father looks to me like I can make this all go away by waving a magic wand. “Do
something.”
“I’ll try calling Francesca,” I say.
I move out of the room then, to give my stepmother some space for her emotions and to spare
myself from her whining. I don’t like when she cries. It’s awkward for me because I don’t want to
comfort her but ignoring her will just make my father think I’m a sociopath. I’d pick being a sociopath
over being a people pleaser any day, though.
I jump onto the deck in the backyard, my call ringing on Francesca’s phone a repetitive spiral in
my ear. “Damn it. Pick up, Francesca.” The curse leaves my mouth easily. Frustration balls into a
hard rock in my stomach.
And then, someone picks up the phone.
“Hello. Francesca? Where are you? This is not a joke anymore.” I say in my most savage tone.
“Sir, who is this?” A man. British accent. His voice is deep and authoritative.
I grab my hair. What’s my sister up to? This man’s voice has already got my mind buzzing with a
hive of possibilities, some of which I don’t even want to consider. “I’m Francesca’s brother. Who are
you? Her boyfriend? Where is she?”
He coughs into the phone. “I’m a constable of the West Yorkshire Police, sir. The owner of this
phone has been arrested and is currently in police custody.”
The ground under me shakes violently. Police. Francesca is in prison. Great. She managed to get
herself in big trouble this time. Was this why she didn’t call and didn’t show up at the hotel?
“What? Where is this police station? Why was she arrested?”
“We took her in for assaulting a local gent at the pub. I’m speaking from the Huddersfield Police
station.”
Huddersfield? My mind races, and the gaps in my geographical knowledge becoming evident.
Where the hell is Huddersfield? I’ve never heard of the place before. In West Yorkshire somewhere,
I’m assuming, since the officer told me so. She’s in for assault. I’ll need to get a lawyer to her
quickly. Astor Hotels works with Allen & Overy for our hotel business in London, but I’m sure the
partner who handles the company’s legal proceedings will be happy to oblige me if I pay him extra
for this headache. Oh, what a clusterfuck this is.
Assault. I scratch my ear. This wasn’t the worst possibility I calculated, but it’s right up there. I
have no idea what Francesca is up to anymore. Is she trying to rebel at twenty?
“Okay. I’ll have my lawyer come down to the station.” I put the call on speaker so I can type an
email to the aforementioned lawyer on my phone. My fingers zip over the screen. I misspell half the
words. “She won’t be questioned until the lawyer gets there, right?”
I’m so absorbed that I don’t hear the clicking of footsteps, nor see the shadow creeping up behind
me.
“We’ve already provided a lawyer for your sister,” the police officer informs me.
“Well, I’m providing a new one,” I assert gruffly. “Why didn’t anyone call us when she was taken
into police custody? It’s part of her rights; she should get a phone call.”
“We let her know we could make one to her family. She refused to call anyone.”
Oh lord, Francesca. Was she too embarrassed to call us? That doesn’t sound like her, though.
She’s the type who talks too much and goes crying to Dad or Elliot at the first sign of trouble. Still,
that was decades ago. As for us, I can’t remember any instances when we’ve spoken to each other
recently beyond superficial small talk.
Maybe Elliot was right when he said she isn’t close to either one of us anymore.
I push a stream of air out of my mouth. My chest is constricted with fear and unnecessary worry. I
rotate, and my hip meets the back of a garden chair.
And the smell of wet metal and crisp snow burns my nostrils. It’s like my fingers are still
imprinted on the metal from years ago, and I can smell my hopelessness.
“All right, can you let me know the number of this police station? So I can call again if I need to?”
I say, pulling my mind back to the present where it’s needed. The past will swallow me up in this
house if I give it free reign.
The officer obliges and I note it down on my phone. Shaking the tension from my shoulders, I end
the call and turn back.
My heart jerks.
Dad is standing right behind me.
Moonlight lines his cold eyes. “So she’s in prison? My daughter?”
His jowls tremble in disbelief.
I scrunch my nose. This is a bad time to be petty but all I can focus on his how possessive he
sounded when he called her ‘my daughter’.
“Yes, like you heard.” I nod. “She seems to have assaulted someone.”
“What? Why would she?”
“I don’t know.” I close my eyes. “I have no idea what’s going on with her. But I’ve contacted our
lawyer in London. He’ll get her out—”
“You have to go,” Dad says. His tone is firm but deadly. It feels like an iron cage shutting around
me. I bristle at the way he simply assumes I’ll listen to him and follow everything he says without
question. Didn’t he stop to consider that I have work tomorrow?
My hands open and close at my sides as I fight for composure. “Dad. The lawyer is more
competent than me. He can handle—”
“You’re her family.” My old man sticks a finger in the air to make his point. “Do you think she
wants to see a strange guy she doesn’t even know when she’s in prison? What if she doesn’t trust him,
thinks he’s a fraud and refuses his help?”
“She’s not that stupid.” But honestly, I do think Dad has a point. Francesca was stupid enough to
not call, so there’s no telling how far her idiocy stretches.
“Ethan, take the first flight out to Yorkshire or wherever it is.”
“But the annual shareholders meeting is coming up and—”
“Family is more important than work. I’ll see to things at the hotel. Don’t stress yourself on
account of that. I’m sure that you’ve done all the work already. You’re the sort to never leave anything
to the last minute.”
I can almost hear the air fighting inside my lungs, my breaths refusing to get out. The shareholders
meeting is important to me. It’s my chance to show people what I’ve done, to make sure they know
that it’s me, not my father who runs the company now.
“But—”
“Ethan, don’t be difficult.” He rubs his forehead like I’m a two-year-old trying his patience.
I want to ask him why he doesn’t go if he’s so worried about his precious daughter but I know the
answer already. He doesn’t want his wife to know that their daughter is in trouble. She’s mentally
fragile and will worry herself to the psychiatrist’s office. His sudden trip to England will definitely
raise questions. Elliot, obviously, is just an overgrown incompetent frat boy so his presence in
Huddersfield will not help matters. If anything, he might influence Francesca to snort cocaine once he
gets her out, which will just get her into prison again.
No, I might hate missing the shareholders meeting and might not be particularly close to my halfsiblings but I can’t abandon Francesca. It’ll only be a day, anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow and then I
can proceed with the meeting as planned.
“Okay. I’ll leave.” My attention slides from the cold stone floor to his green eyes. “Do you want
me to stay for dinner or—”
“Of course you will stay. Marian would realize something was up otherwise. Tell your secretary
to get started on booking your tickets.”
I try to erase the bitterness at the back of my throat.
I’m not doing this for him, I remind myself. I’m doing it so my sister doesn’t end up being
imprisoned in a foreign country. Because unfortunately, her father is a coward, her mother is
hysterical, and her brother is a hedonistic teenager in the body of an adult man.
She only has me.
“Of course,” I reply.
Dad’s lips break in a smirk. “Good. Go quietly. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll tell them Francesca
answered the phone and she’s busy partying with new friends she made in London. Teenagers spend
all night at clubs these days, right?”
“How would I know? I joined the company at eighteen.” I slide my phone back into my pocket.
“Maybe you should check with Elliot. He’s the expert at partying.”
“Got it.” Dad fades away quickly. “Don’t be out here too long. Your mother will be expecting
you.”
I grunt in assent as I drink in the dark garden and gray skies with my eyes.
When I was on the verge of dying before the surgery, I used to come to this spot a lot. It was my
favorite place. Because I could see the open sky from here, feel the wind on my face without leaving
the house.
Here, I felt insignificant in comparison with the vast world around me. Maybe that’s my problem
these days. I’ve become so powerful, so successful, so wealthy that I’ve forgotten that no matter what
I do, when I return to this house, to this place, I’ll still be insignificant.
Still fighting to be free.
CHAPTER 5
E
lla
HOT WATER from the showerhead lashes against my back, the pressure too intense to not hurt. I could
turn it down, but I like the sting those needles of water leave on my skin as they pelt me. It feels like
the pricking of water is slowly breaking me down, dissolving my skin, numbing my nerves.
Everything is hard and painful until you get used to it. Then it’s familiar and pleasurable and even
the pain and scalding heat becomes something you crave because it keeps you sane.
The hotness from the water sinks right into the core of my body, warming my tissues from the
inside. I spent all day haunting London looking for Francesca. As a result, I’m colder than a snowman.
She left me a note at the hotel I’m in, which should have been enough, but it seemed like it was
written a while ago, which meant her recent whereabouts were unknown.
Dear Ella,
Thank you for coming to London. I’m addressing this note to you because I’m sure Ethan didn’t
come. But don’t worry. I have my methods to ensure that he gets away from work and family for at
least a few days and sees new places for a change. He’s bullheaded and inflexible so I’ll have to
do a lot of scheming to get him to follow the trip itinerary. But I want you to have fun while you’re
here. I have loads of great sightseeing trips planned for the two of you but I might not always be
able to go on them with you. Rest assured, I’m right here watching over you and meet up with you
when the time is right.
I hope you look forward to my surprises.
P.S. Please don’t show Ethan this note or mention it to him.
I folded the note and placed it in my purse. I should’ve let it go, but what I’ve been through means
I can never stop worrying.
I remembered that Francesca told me once, long ago, that she wanted to party in London one day.
Thinking she might’ve done it, I checked out a lot of clubs, but I didn’t find her in any of them.
However, I did get a slight clue at an art gallery. It’s a small and nondescript spot located in a notso-fashionable part of London, but since the day Francesca discovered it on Instagram, she has been
obsessed with it. I knew that if she ever came to London, she’d definitely visit that gallery and talk to
them about displaying her artworks. She’d also likely buy the painting that she has been eyeing for
years.
And the thing is, when I visited, that painting was gone.
Coincidence? Could be, but something tells me it isn’t. That painting was on the gallery walls for
the better part of two years and now it suddenly “happened” to be bought?
I don’t know why she’s doing this, though. Avoiding me. It’s making me anxious.
What makes me more anxious is that Ethan called. He sounded stressed. He rarely sounds
stressed. It seemed as though he hasn’t been able to get in touch with Francesca, either. It could be a
prank. She wanted us both to come to London and this disappearing act might be a way of making sure
that happens.
Or it could be something really bad. Like she actually disappeared.
All the warmth from the hot water flees my senses at the thought.
I’d hate for Francesca to go through even a fraction of what I went through. Luckily, she has her
father, mother and Ethan. They’ll save her. She has me too. She’ll never have to be afraid and alone
and keep everything bottled up. That’s almost as bad as the event itself. The loneliness and isolation
that follows it.
When it happened to me, Mom was going through a slump in her career. She had started to fade as
an actress after a string of successful movies. She didn’t know what to do with her life, or how to
regain something that she’d never had control of in the first place. Fame comes and goes at its own
whims. But for those whose livelihood depends on it, like my mother, they can’t cope with its loss.
Because it’s like losing everything.
Mom started to do drugs and hypnosis and whatnot. I knew every time I spoke to her that she
wasn’t listening. She was inside her head, battling the fears that had teeth, trying to avoid the reality
that held her by the throat. If I’d told her what had happened to me, it’d only have made things
emotionally harder on her when she was already depressed. I doubt she’d have been able to help me
anyway. She wasn’t even able to help herself. Even now, though she is getting good roles, she hasn’t
recovered completely. That’s why I can’t tell her. I can’t burden her with my secrets and my pain
when she can’t even resolve her own.
I turn off the shower, vowing to myself that I’ll never go into showbiz or do something that means
I can’t be there for the people who need me when they need me. Except I’m such an introvert that
there’s nobody who actually needs me.
I stumble out of the shower wrapped in a towel and skip across the room to my luggage to retrieve
my clothes. Right as I drop the towel, the door cracks open.
Ethan walks in.
How can you tell if you’re having a heart attack?
Because I’m pretty sure I’m having one right now.
His eyes stalk my shivering body and numb, red face. My brain has shut off so I can’t discern his
expression or what it means. My muscles have gone into paralysis.
My heart isn’t beating. The last person I ever expected to catch me semi-naked is seeing me naked
right now. The shock is so great it causes my body to tremble. My throat constricts to block the flow
of air to my lungs.
Ethan is here. Inside my room. In the flesh.
And I’m naked.
All of my exposed skin turns red in humiliation.
“What’re you doing here?” I chatter through my teeth. “Get out!”
To his credit, he’s out of my line of sight before I can even complete the sentence. The door clicks
back into place.
I collapse on the floor, shaken. His expression was so deadpan, so poker-faced, I’m not sure what
he thought of it. Thought of me. He didn’t even blink. He has probably seen dozens of naked women.
Still, that’s different from seeing his sister’s best friend. I’m not like those women. I’m just a normal
girl.
I dig my fingers into my hair.
Oh god, why am I making such a big deal of this? He’s just Francesca’s brother and it was just an
accident. He didn’t look like he deliberately barged in so he could see me naked. I mean, this is Ethan
we’re talking about. He avoids me like he avoids chlamydia. He even told me he never wants to see
me again. Can I stop acting like this is the catalyst for World War 3?
But my nerve endings won’t stop tingling from that encounter. It’s becoming hard to convince
myself it was merely a split second of embarrassment that will be forgotten by both parties by
tomorrow. The punching weight in my stomach says it’s…something more, a boundary we shouldn’t
have crossed. It feels like I show too much of me to him, it’ll change what we are.
I can’t ascertain the answer to that even after I’m fully clothed in my boring navy silk pajamas. I
duck my head out the door. Ethan’s tapping away on his phone outside the room, a small suitcase
keeping him company. The bags under his eyes tell me he barely slept. Even though I’m curious as to
why he is here in London, the answer can wait until I’ve chewed him out.
Popping my hands on my hips and I stalk toward him and scream. “You don’t know how to
knock?”
“Good evening, Ella. How has your stay in England been so far? Better than mine, I’m sure.” He
bares his straight white teeth in the imitation of a smile but it’s too cold to be a real one. “And I
knocked. Many times. Only you didn’t answer. So I assumed you were out.”
“I was in the shower.”
“Yes. I know now.” He sighs. “I hope you don’t mind the inconvenience of my presence. I’ll be
staying here tonight and be gone tomorrow. Seeing as it is my hotel and the suite has been reserved
under my name and you’re not a real guest anyway, I hope you understand that you have no say in the
matter. It’s just a booking error.”
“What?” I gape at him openmouthed when he barrels past me into the suite. “Booking error? You
know it isn’t that.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he confirms. “Don’t argue with me or test my patience right now. I’m in
a shitty mood already.”
Silence wraps around the air as I pout. But the quietness between us breaks apart almost as soon
as Ethan releases a growl and throws himself on the sofa.
“Something happened, right?” I start. My words are clipped by the grinding of his suitcase’s
wheels across the marble floor of the entryway. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be in London. Not after you
called Francesca’s behavior impulsive.”
“I called Francesca yesterday.” Ethan rubs his temples. “And a police officer said she had been
arrested and needed me to get her out.”
“Oh my god, is she—”
“Before you start freaking out, she isn’t actually in prison. In fact, I have no idea where she
actually is. The call was a trap to get me to fly to London since I refused to do so by the tickets’
deadline. I even hired a lawyer to get her out of police custody. I looked like an absolute idiot when I
showed up in Huddersfield claiming that the police had my sister and weren’t letting me see her. I’m
lucky the Chief Inspector didn't call the local psychiatric facility to take me.”
I can’t suppress my laugh. “That sounds hilarious. I’d have liked to see that. In the letter,
Francesca did mention she’d resort to stronger measures if you refused to follow…” I trail off,
raising a hand to my open mouth. “Wow, she’s determined.”
A frown crinkles Ethan’s forehead. “I’m humiliated that I actually fell for her transparent lies.”
“So what now? Where’s she?”
“Don’t know. Dad is extremely worried. I can’t believe she’s being so irresponsible. And right
before the shareholders meeting, too. She picked a bad time to play games.”
“You think it’s a game?”
“What else would it be? She even had someone impersonate a police officer. That’s some
elaborate planning.”
“But we should still find her.”
“We? No, thanks. I don’t know what I might do if I see her now. I’m sick of being led around by
the nose by my sister. First, she springs that stupid letter on me, then she worries everyone in the
family by pretending to be in prison and forces me to come get her. Then I discover she’s gone
without a trace and is playing some sick, twisted version of treasure hunt with me. It’s such a waste of
my time.”
“Well, family makes everyone feel like a fool,” I add, trying to sound sympathetic. Ethan sounding
pissed off is nothing new, but right now he sounds so…frustrated. A little scared, too. He came all the
way here just to discover he still doesn’t know where his sister is.
Francesca is my friend and I understand her to an extent, but this time, I really can’t understand
what she’s trying to pull. I don’t get why she’s so adamant about drawing Ethan into the holiday plan.
The guy doesn’t look like he’d enjoy a trip around the UK anyway. Some people can’t enjoy life no
matter what.
“Aren’t you angry?” Ethan’s question is directed straight at me. “Francesca invited you pretending
it’d be a vacation, you’ve been alone for two days in a London hotel room, and she hasn’t called you
once. Plus, it turns out she didn’t reserve this room for you and it’s being taken over by me.”
“But you’ll be gone tomorrow, right?” I supply.
Ethan grunts in response. “That depends on whether the lawyer and two private detectives I hired
can find Francesca by tonight.”
Hiring private detectives, and two of them? That’s the kind of over-the-top action Ethan would
take. Back when he was remedying my situation, he overdid it, too. That’s why my mother’s agent is
serving a life sentence right now, even though kidnapping without demand for ransom can only get you
five or six years, and that’s only if there’s any evidence left to prove it.
“She’s still in London. I think.” I clasp my hands behind my back. I don’t know if this is a good
time to bring up the art gallery thing because it seems like the private detectives might get to that on
their own.
“I hope you’re right. I’m not in the mood to hop by Paris or Ibiza on my way to New York. I don’t
speak a lick of French or Spanish.” Ethan lies flat on the couch, and I can see that his eyelids are
drooping. He hasn’t even bothered to change out of his suit into something more comfortable. He just
tossed the jacket on the coffee table and unbuttoned his sleeves.
“I’ll let you rest,” I whisper, wondering if he isn’t changing into more comfortable clothes
because I’m hanging around.
Ethan yawns, sticking his arm under a cushion. “Don’t mind me. Do whatever you were planning
to do. Your room’s that one, right? Make sure you lock the door.”
“Why?” I can’t resist arguing. It’s an instinct when I’m with him. It’s the only way I can get him to
talk, to open up about his thoughts. Not sure why I want him to open up, though. Maybe so I don’t feel
like I’m the only one who is an open book in this relationship. “Are you planning to steal my books
while I’m asleep?”
“No, it’s just the sensible thing to do when there’s a man sleeping outside.”
“You’re not a man. You’re Francesca’s brother.” And the guy who makes my stomach do
unbelievable somersaults.
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t correct me. “Good night, Ella.”
ETHAN , of course, doesn’t sleep. He has insomnia. That’s the reason we always met at night. And the
fact that I’m keenly aware of this and also, that we’re in the same suite and he’s not sleeping makes it
impossible for me to sleep, too.
I hear him stir and move around outside. He probably rested for four hours, tops. When his feet
stamp on the floor, my heart leaps to my throat. The clatter of glasses, him pouring water, drinking,
slamming the glass back onto the table has me twisting and turning.
He shuffles his feet. Then the sound subsides. I think he’s staring out the window or maybe he’s
trying to sleep again. The clacking of keyboard keys is nowhere to be heard, so he isn’t working. A
few minutes later, a constant knocking against the coffee table glass starts up. It’s not my door he’s
knocking on, but after a while, it gets irritating.
I give up the sleeping act and sit up on the bed. Not gonna win an Oscar for it anyway.
Nudging the door of my room, I peep into the living area where Ethan is spacing out in front of the
window. The lights of London glitter outside, painting specks of yellow on his cheek. And though he
usually reminds me more of a demon than anything else, he looks so pure and innocent now, like an
angel.
“Can you stop making that sound? It’s disturbing me.” My voice carries through the room like a
trumpet.
Ethan jerks back and withdraws his fingers from where they were tapping the window glass.
“Sorry. Didn’t think it was loud enough to wake you.”
I contemplate hiding back in my room now that I’ve dealt with the noise issue, but something
about Ethan’s lonely profile tugs me closer to him. I know he won’t appreciate my concern, I can’t
stop myself from asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I never sleep.”
“But you were so tired earlier.”
He waves his hand at me, gesturing me to back off. “I’m fine now. Don’t worry your pretty little
head over me.”
“To be honest—” I inhale deeply but the suite no longer smells like lilies and expensive soap. It
smells like Ethan, a scent that I can identify as easily as breathing. “I couldn’t sleep either.”
“Because of me?” A slanted eyebrow.
“No. I’ve just been thinking is all,” I lie, wrapping my arms around myself. “About various
things.”
“Not about Francesca, I hope.”
“About her, too.”
“She’s probably fine if she has the energy to be playing pranks.” He tilts his face back at the
window, back at the glittering, empty city beyond. It mirrors the glittering emptiness of his dark eyes.
“She’ll eventually show up when she gets bored.”
“You must’ve had one hell of an experience at Huddersfield.”
Ethan’s shoulders collapse. “I wish I never had a sister. It’s too much trouble.” He watches me
with a weary expression as if he’s waiting for me to do something. When I don’t say anything, he
adds, “No need to hold back on the opinions. I already know I’m a heartless monster, the worst
brother etc. etc. Your criticism isn’t going to wound me.”
I creep an inch closer to him. Drag my fingertip across my lip, wondering if I should say this. “If
you were a heartless monster, you wouldn’t be trekking up England looking for your sister. Nobody
else in your family is here.”
“That’s because they’re smarter than me.”
“No, it’s because they’re using you to do what they should be doing.”
“Huh?” He does a double take. I’ve never seen him looking flustered before. Annoyed; yes.
Irritated; all the time. But flustered? Never. “Excuse me?”
“They pretend to care while you’re the one who actually cares.”
Ethan’s eyes go wide as saucers and his lips curl in a disgusted semi-frown like I just claimed the
Earth was flat.
“I don’t care about Francesca or anyone else,” he snaps in an offended voice. “I wouldn’t even be
here if I hadn’t gone to that family dinner.”
“That’s a lie.”
He growls. Literally growls. That sound, coupled with this dark room should make me terrified.
Instead, every nerve in my body burns with excitement and anticipation. Anticipation for what, I can’t
say. “What’re you trying to do here, princess? Because you aren’t convincing anybody that I’m a
saint.”
“I’m not saying you’re a saint. I’m just saying you probably don’t realize how much of what you
do is for the sake of making other people’s lives happier. When we first met, you said….” I don’t like
to bring up the past, but I’ve already started so it’s too late to backtrack. The fleeting, distant images
of his intense gaze, the blurry edges of the hospital room, the sick pallor of his face, all of it swims in
my head like a soup. “That you felt you’d failed. Because of your health. Now you’re doing
everything to compensate for something that wasn’t even your fault. Tell me, do you actually like
hotels? Do you really love them so much that you spend all day obsessing over their profits and
losses?”
Ethan’s shoulders stiffen. He twists around, his eyes blaze with the most zealous ‘fuck you’ I’ve
ever seen. “It’s a relief you don’t study psychology because you’d flunk the first semester.”
“You’re evading my question.” I retort.
“Yeah? What about you? You never told your mother that you were kidnapped and almost raped
by her agent. Is that because you love her? Isn’t that because you’re afraid to discover that she doesn’t
really love you or care about you at all? That she’d never have done anything for you even if you’d
told her because she’s obsessed with herself?”
Every word is like a whip physically flaying my skin. A heavy stone settles in my chest.
Resistance and denial rise up my throat like acid reflux. “My mother has issues, but she’d never
abandon me.”
I don’t like the spiraling sense of unease in my gut, the nagging worry that Ethan’s statement is
more than casual cruelty or cynicism. That it actually contains a grain of truth. I wish I could shake
myself from the inside. It’s I who decided not to tell my mother. It’s not my mother’s fault.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Ethan slides a sinister smile at me, satisfied now that he has sown
seeds of discord in my heart. God, just when I was convincing myself he’s a decent person, he shows
his true colors again. “Family is just a nuisance at the end of the day.”
“Yet we both spend all our time trying to please those nuisances?” I say. “What does that make
us?”
Ethan’s eyes narrow. I can tell I got him, because his lips curl in that irritated way, but he’ll never
admit to the fact that I’m right. It’s not because of his ego. Even he admitted to it, nothing would
change. Because all said and done, he can’t quit the family business. He’s in too deep already. And I
have no job and no way to support myself if I moved out of my mother’s house now. There’s a reason
my world revolves around keeping her mental state stable.
We’re both just puppets on a string at the end of the day.
“That’s too many truths for one night, princess.” Ethan’s voice is so low, so soft, I wonder if I’m
hallucinating. I’ve never heard him sound so…defeated.
“Then give me one more,” I whisper. “Don’t you want to be free?”
Silence swells between us as Ethan pauses too long. He blinks at the city beyond the glass
windows. If I were a writer, this is the metaphor I’d use for us: two birds trapped inside a gilded
glass cage, looking out wistfully at the world beyond it.
Ethan turns to me, his expression a crumpled mask of tiredness. “Free from what?”
“From everything. From the people who define us, from all the scheming and lying and cheating
we do to keep those people happy, from this life which we live even though it isn’t ours.”
“Talk about yourself,” he drawls. “I’m only doing this because it’s the best path.”
“Running people’s lives over a few million dollars, and whitewashing the truth is the best path?”
The scathing that pulses in my voice could make anyone wither. Not Ethan. He’s too deeply in denial.
He has grown so accustomed to being soulless, to sacrificing his humanity for the sake of business
glory and his father than he no longer sees the problem with it. That scares me.
When I first met him, he still had some of his humanity left. It’s what made me want to help him.
“Use your brain, Ella,” Ethan turns his back me. “My father is a powerful man. I don’t even have
a college degree. Freedom is what you and I should be scared of. If we ever got free, we’d starve to
death.”
“You need the money?” I laugh so hard, I have to grab the wall to keep steady. “You’re a
billionaire.”
“I’m hypothetically a billionaire. I need the transfer of ownership of the remaining shares to
actually be one.”
“That’s just a formality. Your father already wrote your name into his will, didn’t he?” It was in
the news a few years ago. I keep up with the business section sometimes. Okay, since I met Ethan.
And Francesca had started telling me about the complex politics in her family.
“I’m greedy.”
Breath empties from my lungs the moment I realize how close I’ve gotten to Ethan. His exhales
linger seductively over my skin, peppering my neck with goosebumps.
The effect unsettles me. His eyes like dark glass shards. Even in the darkness, I’m acutely aware
of his presence, of every line and detail of him as if he were a pencil drawing on a canvas. “When I
want something, I want all of it. Every last piece. And I make sure to take it. By any means possible.”
Spit dries up in my mouth. Ethan’s words foul the air between us. They mean nothing, but I want
them to mean something. My body’s reaction makes the situation even more confusing—it leans into
him, physically craving something that doesn’t even have a physical form. It’s in moments like these,
when he lies to my face with that cold mask of indifference, that I start to feel strange things.
Curiosity. Pity. The maddening need to peel back his layers and get him to confess the truth of who he
is.
My relationship with Ethan is contradictory to say the least. I don’t like him but I trust him. I seek
him out when I shouldn’t. Every time I’m in his presence, something dark and heavy pulsates in my
blood. And even though I’m terrified that the dark, slithering thing will devour me one day, I also
enjoy how forbidden and delicious and warm it feels inside my veins.
I had to strike a deal with the devil to get my freedom. Some days, I’m not sure if I’m free or if
I’ve somehow made my situation worse. The only consolation is that Ethan will never tell anyone
about my secret since I know his weakness.
Because regardless of what the stories say, everyone—even the devil—is vulnerable.
CHAPTER 6
E
than
“WHEN WERE you going to tell me about this?” I ask, coffee burning on my tongue the next morning.
Funny, how the coffee tastes the same even though I’m in London. I don’t often focus on my
accomplishments, but the fact that Astor Hotels have achieved such a seamless, unified standard
across its hotels under my leadership does make me proud.
“I wasn’t aware I had to tell you anything, least of all my going to an art gallery,” Ella replies,
tapping her boots on the carpet. Her curls are bundled up in a ponytail at the back of her head but a
few tendrils have escaped and are falling over her honey eyes. Ever since I saw her nearly naked last
night, I haven’t been able to chase away the painful tug in my gut that springs inside me when she’s
near.
I never saw her this way before. I never felt this way for her before. Sure, I always experienced a
strange tension around her, but that was guilt and regret more than anything else.
“Fine.” I put down my coffee mug on the tray with a clatter. “But if you get lost chasing after
Francesca, I’m not going to come to your rescue.”
She folds her hands in front of her chest, jutting out her bottom lip in disdain. “I’m not a damsel in
distress. Why would I need you to rescue me?”
The defensiveness in her tone makes me back off. All right. This strategy isn’t going to work. I
switch. Throwing my head back, I smile at her. “I have more resources at my disposal, and Francesca
is my sister so I thought we might cooperate. It’ll be in both our interests.”
“Now you’re negotiating with me?” Ella pretend-chokes. “You should’ve done that earlier.”
“Great to see we’ve reached an agreement. Now can you tell me about Francesca and this art
gallery?”
“It’s a clue I found while looking for her all over London.”
“Sherlock Holmes, are we?”
“Well, this is London. I can be anything here.”
“Moving on. What did you actually gather about the art gallery?”
“Wait. Why’re you interested? I thought you hired two private detectives.”
“I fired them this morning.”
She blinks. “Already?”
“They were useless,” I say. “They couldn’t uncover anything useful. She’s definitely using a credit
card since she’s never lived without one. I’ll get more help from the credit card company.”
“Then why don’t you call them?”
“Already got someone on it.” I fold my arms against my chest, glaring at her. She has a way of
getting me off topic very quickly. “Now, back to the gallery.”
She clicks her tongue. “It’s nothing. Just a hunch.”
“I’d like to hear about it, either way.”
“There’s a place that Francesca always wanted to visit. She had her eye on a painting there, and
someone just bought that painting. I tried asking the owner and they sort of indirectly implied that it
was a girl my age.” Ella tucks a stand of her hair behind her ear.
“That’s not a clue. Not unless you can get them to give you details of where she is right now,” I
say.
“As if they could give me that.” Ella swings her feet. “Yeah, I just thought I might check out the
area near the gallery. She might come back to buy more stuff or just look around. If I observe from a
café somewhere close—”
“You were going to freeze your ass off in a café on the off chance that Francesca shows up there
again?” A sharp discomfort lodges itself in my chest. I scoff, incredulous. Ella’s devotion to finding
Francesca is irritating given the latter’s continuously immature behavior. For goodness sake,
Francesca just messed with her by inviting her to a foreign country and then abandoning her without a
word. My sister doesn’t know how big a step it is for Ella to go somewhere on her own after that
incident, how scared she is of the dark, and how easily she gets nervous.
Francesca doesn’t deserve a friend like her.
Ella balls her fingers into fists at her side. “Well, I have nothing better to do. I can read a book
while I wait. Also, I didn’t mention this, but Francesca left a note that she’ll meet up with me when
the time is right.”
“A note?” I jerk forward. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“Because she told me not to. I think she’s fine, or she was when she wrote that note. It only
mentions that she has a lot of sightseeing planned for us and she’d meet us when the time was right.”
“When the time is right? When will that be? When the stars align in some obscure constellation? I
can’t wait that long.”
Before I can tell her to show me the note, a knock at the door redirects my attention and the words
I was about to say are forgotten. The butler strides in, all elegant grace in his crisp tailcoat who tails
flop behind him like faithful twin dogs. He’s probably here to iron my shirt—that service is
complimentary with the suite.
His old, lined face and blue-chip eyes crinkle in a joyful expression, like he’s happy to see me
again. “Good morning, sir. A pleasure to see you again in London.”
“Good morning,” I mutter back.
He is the best at the hotel and always serves me whenever I’m at the Astor in London so we’ve
gotten a little familiar with each other over the years. I sent his granddaughter a present for Christmas
last year. I do that for all the long-serving staff members. Small gestures like that make them feel
valued and it means I don’t lose highly trained staff.
I spring to my feet to retrieve my shirt. The butler comes to a halt near Ella.
“Someone left this for you at the lobby, Miss.” He deposits a rectangular piece of paper in her
hands. “Told me to tell you it was from Ms. Francesca Astor and she absolutely needs you to come to
this.”
I let my gaze roam over the colorful leaflet the butler just handed Ella. I can’t read anything from
so far away. She’s poring over it with careful attention. Unlike her, though, my patience with
Francesca ended last night and now I’m a man on a hunt. I need to find Francesca, put a stop to this
ridiculous game of hers, and ship her back home on the first flight out of London. Then I can finally go
back to preparing for the shareholder’s meeting and engineering the downfall of Gibson Hotels’ deal
with that company in Saudi Arabia.
A gasp slips from Ella when I snatch the paper from her. “What is this nonsense?” I brandish it at
the butler. “Francesca was at the hotel? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I wasn’t aware that we had to inform you of Ms. Astor’s presence at the hotel.”
“If you ever see her again—even on the street—you are to report to me immediately,” I command,
returning the piece of paper to Ella. “Make sure the rest of the staff know, too.”
“From what I heard, this document….” The butler clears his throat, his eyes tracking left and
right. “It was delivered by a courier.”
I spring into motion immediately, arrowing toward the door. “Where is the guy now? If we get
him, he’ll have answers—”
“He left a while ago,” the butler informs me, straightening his cravat. His expression suggests that
he doesn’t particularly care to be commanded. Also, he looks almost gleeful at me missing the man.
Like he’s in on this game, too.
Stop, I tell myself. I can’t start suspecting everyone. Besides, why would he help Francesca? He
doesn’t even know her that well.
“Did Francesca say she’d be going to this?” Ella jabs her finger at the pamphlet.
The butler grunts. “As far as I know, the reception lady mentioned nothing about that.”
I crane my neck over Ella’s shoulder to read the letters, but all I see is red. My mind’s still
seething at the fact that I narrowly missed getting a hold of one of Francesca’s co-conspirators.
“What does it say?” I ask.
“It’s about a students’ night at a venue here in London. There’s cheap booze, too,” Ella replies. “I
think it’s meant for us. Francesca is probably going to be there tonight.”
My answer, a raspy cough, comes instinctively. “No, she won’t. She’s just wasting time teasing
us. I’m not falling into her trap again.”
“It’s alright. I’ll go alone, then.”
“I’d suggest not wasting your time. And bars filled with students and loud music aren’t the safest
places.” I let that last statement linger.
Ella bristles. “Don’t worry about me. You’re returning to New York today. Aren’t you?”
Yes, that was the plan yesterday. It’s still the plan. As long as the credit card guys find something,
I can get my lawyer to make sure Francesca is all right and will call her mother. That means my job
here is over.
I have no reason to hang around and babysit Ella.
“Suit yourself, then.” I dish out a shrug. “I’ll be gone by evening anyway.”
2
YEARS
ago
THE FIRST TIME I clapped eyes on Ella was when Francesca brought her home one day after school.
They were both sixteen and I had zero interest in my sister or her friends because I was too busy with
work. She was just another one of my sister’s revolving door of friends and I didn’t bother talking to
her. However, Ella stuck around and became a fixture at thanksgiving dinners year after year. I even
saw her at the hotel a few times, eating with Francesca.
“This is my new best friend, Ella Faber,” she said, and that was when I first learned her name.
“Her mom’s Hannah Faber. You know her, right?”
“The actress.” I offered her my hand to shake, but Ella, whose face was half-buried under glasses,
refused to even look straight at me.
“Hello,” she mumbled. “Nice to meet you.”
That was the only meaningful interaction we had prior to that fateful night in September when she
charged into my suite, even giving hotel security a run for their money.
“What the fuck? What’re you doing here?”
“I had to meet you.” She sounded winded and breathless and terrified. “Francesca said you’re
sick. That you have kidney failure and need to get a transplant fast. Why aren’t you in hospital?”
I will be soon.
“How is that any of your business?” I barked out, my feral temper getting the best of me. Being
sick made me feel useless and weak, and I asserted my power in all the small ways that I still could.
With a raised voice. Sleeping in a luxurious suite instead of a depressing hospital bed. Surrounding
myself with food and drink that would destroy my liver but was a symbol of healthier times that I
didn’t want to let go of.
“I…I want to ask you a favor,” she panted. It was then that I spotted her trembling legs. The
scratches on her knees where blood had stuck and dried over. The haunted look in her red eyes. The
red marks behind her knuckles as well as the bruises on her throat, shaped like fingers.
I acted on instinct, blazing closer to her, so close she reeled back in terror. My eyes flashed at the
signs that she had been through something. “Who the fuck did that to you?” I demanded.
She hiccupped, too intimidated to give an immediate response. But then she squared her
shoulders, took a deep breath, and spoke clearly. “I’m sorry for your illness. Francesca’s very sad
that you haven’t been able to get surgery yet.”
“Getting a donor takes time,” I told her.
“I researched a bit and we’re both the same blood type. I’m young and healthy and though my
being female could be a problem since you’re a male, I want to at least try.”
“Are you suggesting I—”
“I won’t pretend I care about you or your health. Yes, you’re Francesca’s brother, but the reason I
want to help you is because I want you to help me.”
“Help you how?”
“Something bad happened to me...” Her lips shivered. Her shoulders tensed up. I could tell it hurt
her to even say the words. “I came straight to you because I need someone gone from my life and
Francesca once told me that you had connections. I don’t believe this will be fully legal, but you seem
like the type—” She seemed bereft of words to describe my nature.
I sensed the resolve in her voice and I felt mine waver. It was a ridiculous argument. I should be
angry that even though I was ill, even though there was no certainty about how long I’d live, she
wanted to use me. In return, she would also let me use her.
She was offering me a deal. A bargain we’d both strike in the most desperate moments of our
lives in order free ourselves from that which scared us the most.
“Fuck you.” I slammed my fist.
She didn’t even flinch. “I’ll even do that if you’ll help me put this person away.”
“You must be desperate indeed. Why not ask your mother to help you? She’s rich, isn’t she?”
“I cannot...she isn’t as resourceful as you, and this person I want gone is important to her. I’m not
sure she’d…”
“Believe you,” I finished her sentence for her.
“No, that’s not it. It would hurt her, if she found out what happened. She’s already in a fragile
emotional state. I don’t want to stress her.”
“So you’ll offer me your body instead? You must have a messed-up relationship with your mother
if you won’t go to her after you were—” I scanned her body. The telltale marks told her story more
clearly than words could have, though I still needed more details. “Assaulted, I’m guessing?”
“It’s not my mother’s fault!” She leapt to the defense of her shallow parent without hesitation.
I should have mulled it over or told her to get out. I didn’t need her and definitely didn’t need to
get my hands in a complicated situation. But her fragile body awakened a hidden protective instinct in
me. I knew she’d been through shit and every fiber of my being screamed to hold her and save her and
fix what had been done to her. To not let her step out of this safe, guarded room onto the cold,
dangerous streets outside in the state she was in.
“I’ll think about it on one condition: tell me what exactly happened to you.” I motioned her over to
the empty, soft bed, knowing that she needed safety and comfort more than anything else now and a
downy bed could give her more of that than me. “And, princess? You’re staying here tonight.”
CHAPTER 7
E
lla
Present
S OMETIMES , I think my desire to act brave gets the best of me. Like right now as I’m walking to a club
in the middle of the night with nothing more than my phone and debit card and the conviction that I’ll
find Francesca there.
Light from the streetlamp slicks over wet asphalt. The puddles look like abstract paintings, a
profusion of multicolored lights. London smells different from New York. It smells like ice and
smoke and feels like a postcard frozen in time. A complete contrast to the constant hustle and bustle of
New York, the heat and motion you can feel coming off the streets even in the dead of winter.
Here, past midnight, all activity grinds to a halt. I feel like I’m wandering through an empty forest
of buildings. A shiver skitters down my spine.
I admit, I was disappointed at Ethan suddenly leaving. Last night, he opened up to me about his
fears and for a moment, I could relate to him so much. It was like we were each other’s reflections,
tormented by the same feelings and sharing the same desire to be free. Despite his denial, I caught the
longing in his eyes. A glint of desperate, hopeless desire. It was the same thing I saw when I first met
him. That sliver of humanity under the ice-cold persona. That trace of frustrated powerlessness under
the façade of control. I wanted to talk more, but he shut it down.
The too-loud laughter of some stranger on the street shocks me back into the present. My clammy
fingers slide over the smooth metal body of my phone as it vibrates under my touch. My mother’s
caller ID pops up on my phone screen and my eddying thoughts coalesce into a full-blown storm. I
take the call immediately.
“Hey, Mom, what’s up?” I ask, opening and closing my fingers in worry. Air thunders in my lungs
like a bomb waiting to go off. Mom doesn’t usually call me more than once a week. I hope
everything’s alright.
“Hello, Ella. I just wanted to tell you that I’m having people from Harper’s Bazaar over to our
house tomorrow. They’ll be in there all evening for a photoshoot. It’s for next month’s cover. Can you
believe it? I’m going to be on the cover.”
“Wow, that’s awesome!”
“Yeah, right? So, I just wanted to tell you to stay over at your friend’s for tomorrow. I don’t want
you getting in the way of the photoshoot.”
“Of course,” I mumble, not even bothering to add that I’m in London. My mother tends to forget
details like that quickly anyway. I’ll tell her today and she’ll have forgotten by the evening. I guess
she trusts me a lot, to let me handle my own affairs.
Or maybe Ethan’s right and she just doesn’t care about anybody but herself.
I squash that thought before it goes any further, tightening my fingers around my mobile phone. “I
can’t wait to see the results of the photoshoot,” I squeal in fake delight. “I know you’ll look
gorgeous.”
“It’s my first big cover appearance in a decade,” my mother says. “I got botox so my face looks
younger. I just hope the photographer knows how to work my angles. The last time I had a major
cover shoot, the guy was so uncooperative and the lighting was terrible. I ended up looking like a
panda!” The slap of her hand against the phone reverberates through my ear. Mom tends to obsess a
lot over her appearance, but I suppose that comes with her industry. I’ve lost count of how often
people have preyed on her insecurities.
“Mom, you look beautiful the way you are,” I remind her in a gentle, reassuring tone. “You’re the
best-looking actress in the world.”
“Oh, of course, sweetie. You’re so nice. I only wish everybody thought the way you do. But these
days, people are so critical. Someone called my nose bulbous the other day. Can you believe it?” I
hear the long swallow on the other end and my heart does a terrified flip. Insecurity and depression
go hand in hand for my mother. If she gets too invested in going down the rabbit hole of what other
people perceive as her physical imperfections, she’ll spiral toward depression.
I remember how it was during my teenage years when I had to pry the bottle of Jack Daniels from
her cold fingers forcibly night after night, when I had to drag her out of bed and force her to take a
bath every week, force her to stay with me when she threatened to slip away from this world. Her
quiet indifference toward me, the lack of interest when she saw my face broke my heart every time.
I know none of it was her fault. It’s the illness. But managing a parent with depression wasn’t easy
at first. I’ve grown used to it now, though.
Now, I can say all the right things that will keep her from crashing. I make sure she takes her
medicines, too. But sometimes, even that doesn’t help.
“Don’t take what those people say seriously. They’re messed up,” I tell her, smoothing away her
insecurities. Trying to sound convincing despite the lump in my throat. Even though I sound calm, I
don’t feel calm. My limbs are shaking. A single misstep could make me end up right back where I was
during the worst years of my life, praying my mother doesn’t drink herself to death while I’m not
around. For the longest time, I didn’t leave the country because of that fear. In fact, that’s the reason I
attended college in New York even though I was offered full-ride scholarships to Stanford and
Dartmouth.
These days, Mom’s condition has improved a lot. We hired a full-time housekeeper, too. She’s
aware of Mom’s condition and makes sure to give her the meds on time.
I’m probably just being paranoid because this is the first time I’ve been so far away from Mom.
“Yeah, you’re right. I need to stop caring about other people’s opinions.” Mom exhales. “Looks
like it’s time for my yoga session now. Catch up with you later, sweetie.”
“Okay. Bye, Mom. Take care and call me if there’s anything else—”
The call fades before I have the chance to complete that sentence. I’m back in the dark night
walking all alone. My heart pounds every step of the way but I remind myself to stay strong.
I can’t be a victim of my fears and trauma forever. I have to move on now that the perpetrator is
behind bars and can never hurt me again. But the scary part is that even the knowledge he is in jail
doesn’t reassure me at all. Because there are hundreds of men like him in the world, and I could run
into any of them at any point.
My nerves intensify as the bass from the music playing in the club gets within earshot. Music and
laughter spill out from the venue. I place a heart over my coat-clad chest and charge in through the
doors, where I’m immediately met by a guy who makes me buy a ticket for five pounds. Because I
don’t have my student ID, I have to shell out three more pounds for a Jaegerbomb—which I can
legally drink since the drinking age in the UK is eighteen.
I’ve never been in a wild, tightly packed crowd like this one, and I was nervous how I’d fit in.
But the moment I weave between the other students, tension ripples out of my body. The sweaty limbs
of strangers sliding against my skin is creepy, but knowing that there are so many people also
comforts me.
I’m not alone.
Nobody will kidnap me in a public party like this. Someone will see. Someone will say
something. There will be proof. I’m with all these people.
I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m fine.
The voices in my head quieten. If I knew that partying was the way to solve all my nagging
worries, I’d have done it before. Still, now that I’m here, I can clearly see that I stand out. Unlike the
other girls, I’m not wearing a bodycon dress or leather pants or anything remotely party-like. Instead,
I’m in my usual ensemble of vintage floral-print dress, boots, and thick, oversized coat with a
checked scarf. I look like I belong in a cozy Christmas card.
I also don’t know what to actually do at a party. Dancing is out of question and doing shots or
playing a drinking game like the group of guys in the corner doesn’t seem like a great idea, either.
“Hey, you look lost.”
The British accent is what has me spinning around. I come face to face with a lanky, red-faced guy
holding a glass of beer. His body is hidden under an oversized dove-gray hoodie and baggy jeans.
Maybe it’s because I’m in the middle of a whole room of strangers. Maybe it’s because his smile is
far too friendly…his presence is an anchor, a face with a form in a sea of uncertainty.
“Hi.” I hop closer to him, too eager.
He makes a gesture with his hand about the noise and not being able to hear me, then suddenly
grabs my wrist and pulls me. The sudden action destabilizes me and I end up involuntarily following
him along.
When we come to a stop outside the restrooms, I manage to extract my hand.
“Sorry, couldn’t hear you there at all.” He takes a gulp of beer. “You were saying something?”
I wasn’t, actually. But a sudden bright idea takes root in my head. Now I’ve managed to get his
attention, maybe I should use it. After all, tonight’s purpose is neither partying nor getting overfriendly
with college boys.
“I’m looking for someone.” I immediately pull up Francesca’s picture on my phone. “Have you
seen her?”
“Who’s she? Your girlfriend?”
“My best friend,” I correct.
“Yeah, I may have seen her.” He crowds me, all of a sudden. His hand presses into my cheek as
he traps me against the wall in front of the restroom. “She has eyes like yours, doesn’t she? But yours
are sexier.”
“Um…” My back is fighting against solid weight behind it that will not yield. “Can you move
back a little?”
He does the opposite. He closes the sliver of space between us by pressing his body against mine.
His hand finds purchase on the curve of my ass. “It’s cold out there tonight. I think we should stay
close to stay warm.”
Panic floods my chest and chokes my airway. I can’t believe this is happening.
Sweat breaks over my brow. I’ve been in this situation before. Experience should help me. But
like back then, I stand frozen. Shocked. Blood rushes in my ears. My legs might as well be strange
appendages attached to my body that I have no control over.
My lungs hurt like there’s broken glass scraping their insides. Every breath is a reminder of the
memories I thought I buried but that are still lodged in my deepest subconscious. I close my eyes then,
accepting my twisted fate. Shrinking my soul so it’s tiny enough to disappear. I try to blank my mind
so this doesn’t leave an imprint on me. All I can hope for is that it’ll be over soon.
The stranger’s hands move, cupping my ass and I feel so sick I want to throw up. I probably will,
if this goes on long enough.
No. No. No. No.
I scream the word a million times in the confines of my head, but I can’t force it out of my mouth.
My primal instinct has taken over and my body freezes, my throat clenching shut. It’s what I am used
to. Being quiet. Shrinking back. Blaming myself. Not asserting myself, standing out, or causing trouble
for my mother.
My mother’s agent trained me well, and I can never break away from that mindset. I don’t even
think to fight back. What’s the point? There’s nowhere to run. Wherever I flee, I’ll end up back here.
Clack!
The sharp thrust of footsteps rents the air. It’s not the soft grind of sneakers like the ones students
wear but proper dress shoes. Like the ones Ethan wears.
My eyes fly open. A booming voice slices through the space, drowning out the dance music.
“Francesca, are you in this club?!”
Ethan. I sense his presence before my eyes snag on his expensive pinstriped suit. He looks more
like the devil now than he ever did with that blood red tie, the darkness of the space deepening the
hollows of his cheeks.
I turn toward him. As the student’s hands fall from me in surprise, I leap toward Ethan without
thinking.
“You’re finally here.” I say in a sugary voice, locking my arms around his shoulders. “I was
waiting for you.”
“What are you doing?” Ethan cocks an eyebrow, untangling my arms from him. Pushing me away
like he couldn’t care less if some random guy keeps feeling me up against my will. “Get off me.”
I know Ethan Astor Jr. isn’t a saint. He’s not the type to help someone unless he gains from it. And
I know he isn’t about to turn into my knight in shining armor now.
The handsy guy scrabbles toward me as if to retrieve me now that Ethan is acting like we’re
strangers and I’m just a drunk girl who mistook him for someone else. Ethan turns away, breaking
away from me with a faint flush like he’s embarrassed to be here. Maybe he saw me with the other
guy and thought it was consensual?
I make a helpless sound. Ethan only blinks at me in puzzlement. He can’t abandon me here to the
guy who just groped me. Short of explaining everything explicitly to Ethan, there seems to be no way
to get him to understand my predicament.
“Please cooperate with me here,” I hiss through clenched teeth, clutching the lapel of his suit
jacket that feels like a million bucks.
Ethan pulls back sharply.
I cannot let him go. He’s safety, the one way out I have. The only thing I trust when everything else
is crumbling around me.
My mind races as a look of suspicion creeps over the drunk guy’s face. He takes one more step
toward me.
Flashbacks of the past are eating my brain alive. I cannot afford a repeat of those events. It took
me so long to finally come out of my shell and show some courage. Why is this happening now?
How can I make this more convincing? How?
I do it without thinking, then. Get on my tiptoes and brush my mouth against Ethan’s like it’s
nothing. Like it can ever be insignificant with someone like Ethan.
That single contact sends electric storms ripping through my flesh.
My world narrows to the weight of his lips on mine. The scent of him mixed with alcohol burns
my nostrils like an open flame. Through the deafening noise, all I hear are his breaths. They’re coming
fast. Really fast. He’s agitated. Or is he excited?
Maybe it’s me who is finding this all pleasurable. I’m floating in a blissful darkness, my hand
pressed against Ethan’s solid chest, and all I want to do is dig my fingers in deeper into the firmness,
to pop open the buttons of his starched shirt and let my fingers roam over his soft skin. To find out
once and for all if the devil feels hot or cold to my touch. The darkness behind my eyes solidifies into
a movie of our limbs entangled with each other’s. His tongue, velvet soft, caressing my lips,
smoothing down my neck, sliding over my stomach, lower and lower…
The familiar, achy feeling in my bones reappears. The dark, viscous thing that always writhes in
my blood at his presence—I can’t deny it anymore.
It’s desire, the same kind that ruined my life and turned me from an ordinary girl into someone’s
fetish and then later, into a victim.
How can I desire Ethan of all people? He’s Francesca’s brother, and he’s so much older than me.
Plus, he has no conscience. He toys with people’s lives on the daily. He relishes ruin like he values
expensive whiskey.
But he saved you when no one else would listen to you.
I detach quickly before my mind comes up with too many justifications. It was a short kiss, gone
in a flash, but its impact lingers in every cell.
Trembling, I mold my shivering lips into a smile.
“Looks like my boyfriend’s finally here,” I tell the other guy as I smack my ‘fake’ boyfriend’s
chest, all friendly. I’m hoping Mr. Groper is too far away to notice how badly my teeth are chattering.
“He’s the jealous type so you might want to hightail it. Aren’t you, Ethan?”
I avoid looking at Ethan directly. He must be fuming at me for this stunt. There will be
consequences for sure. Probably something bad. I don’t want to think about it now.
“Jealous over you? Of what?” I jerk when Ethan works a finger down the back of my neck,
igniting a trail of goosebumps. It’s his way of warning me: this isn’t over yet. “Do you think I’m so
insecure that I’d feel inferior to this shit-faced kid? Is that what you think of me, Ella?”
I cough. Mr. Groper isn’t amused by my fake boyfriend’s dry sense of humor, though. In fact, he
looks positively terrified. Yeah, Ethan has that effect on a lot of people when he’s angry.
Oh god, I must’ve pissed him off. I’m too scared to turn my chin up but I’m too curious not to.
A yelp frees itself from my throat when my gaze meets Ethan’s. His dark eyes are brutal,
unyielding. ‘Fuck you’ they scream at me with the sonic force of a thousand decibels.
I guess I crossed a line that shouldn’t have been crossed.
And my punishment for it? That’s the part that I ought to dread but can’t wait to find out about.
CHAPTER 8
E
than
I DIDN ’ T COME ALL the way to this dingy hole-in-the-wall in the middle of the night to find Ella
pressed against the wall and some red-faced college student skimming his hands over her ass. But lo
and behold, that’s exactly the scene I witness when I finally manage to squeeze my way into the lair of
semi-drunk, broke degenerates that calls itself a ‘student night out’ at The Clapham Magnificent.
I wish it stopped there, but no such luck. In the middle of this textbook teenage make out session,
Ella’s eyes meet mine and she dashes toward me like her life depends on it. After that?
It makes no sense. I always thought Ella hated me. She makes enough barbs about my lack of
humanity and lack of brotherly affection to convince anybody of that. So why the hell did she kiss me
and claim that I was her jealous boyfriend?
If this were happening to someone else, I’d be rolling on the floor with laughter. It’s so much like
a trite rom-com flick that even the clichéd aspect is hilarious. Gotta commend her creativity.
But there’s nothing to commend when I’m the one whose cock is hard after a simple brush of lips.
There wasn’t even tongue, for fuck’s sake.
The worst part is that I never once considered peeling her off me even though I could have done
so easily at any time.
The minx acts like a nun but her lips feel like a sin I could commit over and over again.
I wipe my mouth, but my lips are hot. No amount of rubbing can make the heat disappear. Damn,
Ella is supposed to be my little sister’s friend.
It’s pointless to feel these things for her.
“You.” My voice cracks like a whip when my eyes fall on the guy I thought Ella was making out
with before I discovered that she wants him to think I’m her jealous boyfriend. Why? I don’t have a
clue. I literally entered this madhouse of a club less than a minute ago and everything has been
happening too fast for me to process.
Under the harsh rays of the broken red light outside the restrooms, the groper guy’s skin looks
pasty, a sheen of sweat glimmering on its surface.
“What’re you still doing here?” I thunder.
“N-nothing.” He trips on his own feet and falls in his attempt to get lost. The way his motor
functions are all messed up, he must be drunk.
I wait for his shadow to disappear before turning on my heel and walking back the way I came.
This was a terrible idea, coming here. If not for Dad calling me and making a fuss about finding
Francesca the moment my secretary told him about me booking my tickets for New York, I’d have
been on my way back home. Damn that sly woman. She works for me. She’s my personal assistant.
Why is she even talking to my father?
“All the novels you read are going to your head,” I yell at Ella’s face the moment we’re alone.
The agony in my blood fuels my irritation. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry.” She recoils from the harshness of my voice. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Have you decided to join Francesca in testing my patience?” I tap my foot. “Or is it fun playing
these pranks on me?”
I’m already pissed off at my sister. I couldn’t find her anywhere in the damned venue. Dad
forbade me from coming back until I can at least ferret out her location. I’m stuck in London for devil
knows how long. With Ella, to boot. Francesca must think it’s a joke, playing cat and mouse across
England. Too bad I don’t have a sense of humor. The moment I find her, she’ll regret the day she came
up with this idiotic idea.
“Wait for me.” Ella tails me out of the Clapham Magnificent club that we were in.
I rotate violently while I’m mid-stride. “Why?” Icy hostility threads through my question. “Why
should I wait for you? So you can do something stupid again? I mean, how drunk are you?”
Ella buttons up her coat, hiding that eyesore of a vintage dress that she’s wearing.
Then she says something that leaves my heart dead in its tracks.
“I said I’m sorry! It was wrong to attack you like that. Illegal, too, probably. I’ll do whatever I
need to make up for it. But you were just standing and watching me get violated,” Ella shouts, her face
still tomato red. “I had to save myself somehow.”
Violated. That word hits me like a whiplash, straight in my soul. I scrub a hand over my mouth,
cursing myself inwardly for misreading the situation. I was too absorbed with Francesca’s
disappearance, and it was too dark to see properly. I failed to interpret the scene in front of me
correctly.
Ella bites her lip. It’s only now that I grow aware of the tears glimmering at the surface of her
eyes. Shit. I thought she was into it. That she was acting her age for once and having fun. Maybe all
the mature silence, indifference, and disinterest in boys had been an act.
She’s usually as sexually liberated as a nun, so her making out with a boy she just met should’ve
been a red flag. I gave her the benefit for the doubt because she’s young. And I’m aware I don’t know
her that well.
I’ve only ever seen her in pain and broken. Crying. Shattered.
Tonight, too, that’s the only side of her that I got to witness. Suddenly, I can’t help but wonder how
she looks when she smiles.
If she ever smiles.
If she can even smile anymore.
“Was he—” My lungs might as well be filled with lead for how useless they’re acting. The
urgency to get away from her from a moment ago is replaced by a dense weight eating the inside of
my stomach. “Did you not consent?”
“Of course I didn’t.” Her voice cracks. She swallows for a long beat while the music wraps
around us and I’ve never felt so claustrophobic while standing in an open space. So nervous for what
I suspect she’s about to say. “It happened too fast. I was trying to ask him about Francesca but he
started to feel me up. I didn’t know what to do.”
“You should’ve clawed his face off.” I crack my knuckles. “Or kneed him in the groin. Or stabbed
him in the eye.”
Her shoulders rise in defense. “I couldn’t.” She rubs her head. Grinds her teeth. Then her gaze
drops to the ground. “I was—I just shut down, okay? I couldn’t think at all. No. The truth is I didn’t
want to think. I didn’t want to think about what was happening to me so I just went...inside. And
disappeared.”
Despite the loud bass and frenetic music pounding in the club, shaking the walls around us, her
admission shakes me more.
“Does it still affect you?” I whisper. “What happened years ago?”
Ella fires a long exhale, hugging her torso. “I should probably start therapy again.”
Her words hang in the air like suspended snowflakes. Pain laces her tight tone, and I have an
inexplicable urge to reach out and wipe it away. Thank god I already got rid of the bastard who made
her this way.
But even when wounds heal, scars don’t fade quite so easily.
“I’m sorry.” The words trip out of my tongue driven by something deep within me, a desire
without a name.
I hate that I caused her pain, even if it was involuntary. I hate that I even care about causing her
pain. I’ve broken people’s bones, had them stripped of all their wealth and possessions, ripped their
families apart, made them sell their souls, and done it all without any remorse.
A lack of humanity is a prerequisite for doing my job. I can’t afford to feel. If I become scared of
hurting people, I’ll be useless to my father, and there will be no place for me in the world at all.
I’ll be nobody.
“You’re sorry?” Ella looks shocked. “Well, that’s not something I ever expected to hear from Mr.
Devil of Brooklyn. Are you sure you’re not drunk?”
“I can’t drink,” I confess.
“Liar. You always have whiskey in your suite every time I come around.”
Something tugs in my gut at the memory of her in my suite, smelling like vanilla and innocence.
How simple things used to be between us. Just an exchange of favors. Now, even that image is tainted
with the wicked taste of her lips, the feel of her soft shoulders beneath my hands, her breasts rubbing
against my chest while she smelled of cheap alcohol and fear.
I shake the thought away, vowing to bury it so deep I can never access it again. I lift an eyebrow
trying to look haughty. “How often do you come around to my suite?”
“Well…” she trails off. “You poured a glass for me the last time I was there.”
“I like the smell of whiskey,” I confess. “And I want people to think I can still drink. Otherwise,
they assume I’m an invalid.”
I hold my tongue before I get too far. I’m not in the habit of sharing my weaknesses with people.
Every lost health function is a shame I’ve protected for years.
“Invalid is not an insult, and there are many people who choose not to drink. It’s not a personality
flaw,” Ella muses. Her body is still folded in on itself, like she’s trying to take up no space at all.
Like she’s scared if she takes up space, she’ll be seen. And if she’s seen, she’ll be attacked.
“Ella, are you—” I clear my throat, my lips forming a word so foreign I can’t pronounce it
properly on the first try. “—okay?”
Ella blinks but gets my drift immediately. She’s bright. That’s why she’s a straight A student at
university and helps my sister with her school work. “What will you do if I’m not?”
“It isn’t too late to go back and punch that asshole.” I curve my neck. “A few broken bones might
make him come to his senses.”
“I can’t do that.” Ella sniffs. “You know I can’t.”
“Then I’ll do it for you. I’m in a violent mood tonight. Francesca deceived me again. Wouldn’t
mind taking it out on someone who deserved it.”
“You’ll hurt someone for me for nothing?” Ella clutches her sleeve like a child afraid of saying
the wrong thing and getting in trouble. “You don’t want my heart or soul or something in return?”
“Can’t I take out my violent urges on someone?” Damn, I sound nothing like myself. I sound
almost altruistic, like I’m still capable of feeling human emotions and empathizing with people, when
the truth is that simple lust has gotten me so riled up. That unexpected kiss, the lingering echo of her
skin against mine has ignited a flame in my blood that refuses to die despite the zero-degree cold.
This is ridiculous. Ella and I are like fire and water, wind and earth. We’re supposed to negate
each other, not make each other burn brighter.
“So it’s a violent urge?” Ella asks.
“What do you want it to be, princess? A blood contract?”
“You know, it’s not a crime to feel compassion for other people.” She averts her eyes from me.
“Don’t look so devastated.”
“I’m not the one who is devastated.” My fingers curl to cradle her face. It’s to nobody’s surprise
that when my thumb slides against her cheek, it comes away wet. “You are.”
Ella shrugs away from my touch.
Which is for the best. I don’t want to give her false hope or start anything with her.
Because in case you don’t know how most storybook fairytales with devils and princesses end,
they always end with the devil burning to death.
CHAPTER 9
E
lla
MY LEGS ARE SHIVERING like tree branches in a snow storm when I scrabble back to my room.
The worst of the memory replay is over. I’ve relived the horror of what happened to me at least
fifty times inside my head, and each time, his face looked nastier, his voice scarier, his teeth snarlier.
I jumped at Ethan’s shadow as his hand reached out to open the door of the suite. At that moment,
my mind screeched back to the present. Because a fact more pressing than the horror I’d escaped was
staring in my face—I’m going to have to spend another night with Ethan in the same room.
A groan wrestles free from my throat. He was supposed to be gone by tonight. But I have neither
the interest nor the energy to ask him about why he changed his plans. Not when I feel safer because
of his presence in the suite. He might be the devil but that means he can protect me from the demons
that haunt my mind, because he’s worse than all of them.
“You should take a bath.” Ethan discards his jacket and shoes at the entryway. His tie, too, lands
on top of the heap when he pulls it free from his neck. “Wash away the…”
There’s no need to finish the sentence.
I didn’t consider washing up. But he’s right. I can’t sleep with the smell of the club and what
happened there clinging to my skin.
Without waiting for my answer, Ethan pads over to the only bathroom in the suite. I follow him
like a lost puppy, my mind in a mire of emotions. It’s easier to go with the flow than think right now.
The bathroom tiles are cold under my feet. A shiver shoots up my spine. Breath chokes me when
Ethan kneels before the bathtub without warning. His back muscles flex, carving out their outlines
through the thin fabric of his white shirt. He rolls back the sleeves, exposing veiny, muscular arms that
exude strength and sexiness in equal measure.
Heat creeps up my cheeks. What am I doing? I need to drag my brain out of the gutter. It’s already
bad enough that I kissed him. I can’t start fantasizing about him. That’s the road that leads to a place
so depraved, I’m not sure I want to go there in this lifetime.
“What’re you doing?” I blurt out when Ethan proceeds to turn on the water in the bathtub.
“Drawing you a bath,” he replies, voice even and dry. “You don’t look capable of doing it
yourself, and it’s too late to ring the butler.”
The slight hesitation crinkling the corners of his mouth tells a different story—he’s concerned. He
probably thinks I don’t want strangers seeing me this away. Like all my secrets, all my shameful
weakness, all my dark traumas, this one, too, belongs only to the two of us, and will forever bind us
together in a dark bond of secrecy. A bond I distorted tonight with my stupid kiss. Or maybe I
strengthened it. What’s one more secret between us, right?
Thank you. Thank you for being with me tonight. The words curl around my tongue like a prayer
but years of hiding emotions and my practiced armor of snark prevents me from giving them life.
“Do you even know how to do that?” I ask scathingly instead. “You probably had maids draw you
baths from the time you were a toddler.”
He shoots to his feet. “If you want me to leave, you just need to say it.”
“No.” My heart leaps like an Olympic track and field high jump athlete. “Don’t go.”
Ethan pauses. The subtle jump of a nerve in his jaw, then he draws back.
A sense of emptiness overtakes me. He has a lot of pride and I just criticized the one nice thing he
was trying to do for me. He probably wants to leave. In fact, he probably hates himself just for just
wanting to help me when I’m supposed to be nothing more than his sister’s best friend.
But as our gazes tangle, time slows in that steam-filled bathroom, and the pull of an invisible bond
asserts itself. I wonder if he can escape it, this sense of responsibility we seem to have toward each
other.
We saw each other at our worst two years ago. We helped each other heal from that.
It’s like an unconscious pact, this need to help one another whenever we are at a low point.
Even though Ethan is too proud to admit it, I know he feels it, too, because he nods at me in silent
acknowledgment. Then his shoulders soften again, and he sweeps forward to continue filling the
bathtub.
He has no idea how much his presence reassures me. Until he made to go, I didn’t know, either.
Ethan’s pouring bubble bath in now. My nostrils flare under the assault of a sickly sweet smell
polluting the air. I should probably tell him I’m not a six-year-old and hence way past the age where
bubbles were exciting or therapeutic.
But I let him do his thing, entranced by his sure, graceful movements. My eyes drink him in and I
fear I’ll beg him to stay even when it’s time for me to get in the bath. This is a side to Ethan I’ve never
seen before, and butterflies flutter in my chest. I’m not entirely sure why he’s taking care of me, being
so nice to me. My stomach lining burns the more I ask myself that question. What conceivable reason
does Ethan have for comforting me after I attacked him?
Also, what does it say about me that I’m scared of people being nice to me? That every time
someone is kind, I’m terrified it’s because they want something from me, and that they’ll take it even
if I don’t want to give it.
“This should be enough.” Ethan turns off the tap. “Get in when you’re ready.”
The bathtub is three-fourths filled, bubbles crowding the surface. My hairs stand up from the
difference in temperature when I dip my finger in the water. It’s perfectly hot. “Not bad.”
“Take your time.” Ethan rolls down his sleeve again, and the disappointment squeezing my belly
is palpable.
“You know; this wasn’t the punishment I expected.” I hiccup, cursing myself for saying that out
loud. I think the steam from the bath is relaxing me way too much.
Ethan does a double take. “Punishment?”
“For kissing you.” Shut up, Ella.
“Kissing me is punishment enough.”
“Why? Because you think your lips corrupted me or something? You’re not that supernaturally
gifted, Ethan.”
He scoffs, but doesn’t bother arguing
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “For doing what I did back there. It was probably a shock to you. I totally
regret it.”
“You did what you had to do to protect yourself. Forget about it now. I didn’t even feel the kiss,
anyway.” Ethan says. “Why’re you glaring at me?”
“I’m wondering how many people I’ll have to kiss before I become as indifferent as you.”
“Was that your first time?” A devilish grin tickles his lips. My face burns with heat. “Too bad you
wasted it on me.”
It wasn’t a waste. Who else could I have given my first kiss to, if not the man who saved me from
my worst nightmare? It’s poetic justice of a sort, I think. Like a princess kissing her knight in shining
armor. Ethan may be a cold-blooded villain, but he will always be my hero. Yeah, I recognize the
irony.
“Don’t rub salt into my wounds,” I mutter.
At the cusp of the bathroom, he curls his fingers around the doorframe and hesitates. When he arcs
his head, his lips part but nothing comes out.
He hisses. Frustration draws slanting lines across his forehead.
“My mother, she was like you. Sometimes, she…what was it that you said before? Went inside.
She went inside and disappeared.”
That’s all he admits. All he has to admit. I can fill in the rest from my research. I Googled his
background painstakingly before striking the bargain. I wanted to get any ammo I could against him.
One of the things I found was that Ethan’s mother committed suicide when he was sixteen. It was
in the papers. They said she had been depressed after her divorce because her husband cheated on her
and she lost her glittering position in society.
“Don’t drown in the bathtub while I’m gone. I don’t want to be dealing with your suicide on top of
Francesca’s antics,” he continues.
“I would never—” I stop, silent as the pieces fall into place in my head. Is this why Ethan was
being so nice to me? Did he find his mother dead when he was younger? Shit. That’s it, isn’t it? After
all, she was living with him at the time. Is he afraid of witnessing something like that again? Did he
think I might…? “I won’t die,” I assert. “Even if I’m heartbroken, I won’t die. My mother needs me.
And there are many books I want to read before I die.”
I lift my chin. Our gazes merge. I single Jagerbomb shot I consumed must be playing tricks on me,
because Ethan’s eyes soften. “I hope you read all of them.”
A slow warmth buds in the hollow of my collarbones. That’s kind of sweet for him to say. I
thought he’d curl his lips in distaste, complain about me having no interest outside of books, and go
about his business.
Tonight, he’s acting different. Telling me these things about himself. Letting me lean on him. I’ve
never had something like this. Someone I could rely on. Mom would never be able to look after me in
this way because she’d be too busy stressing over some minor press incident. My needy, shaken heart
wants nothing more than to cling to this meagre comfort, to feel the solid touch of someone who is
neither my enemy nor my friend, but someone who’s just there for me.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
But it’s too late. His back is already receding. With a soft click of the door, I’m all alone again.
THE NIGHT PROGRESSES like a dense fog clearing slowly into the break of dawn. The next day, I don’t
wake up until noon. When I do, Ethan’s not in the suite. He must be out following up on his
investigators or credit card companies or maybe he finally went back to New York. Though I hope
he’d at least have told me before he left. Or left a note.
What am I thinking? This is Ethan. Regardless of what he said last night and what happened at the
club, I’m less significant than a worm to him.
It’s a bit depressing, actually. He doesn’t see me romantically when all I can do is imagine him as
the hero of all my fanfics—especially the ones with smut. Yeah, I know it’s just a phase. I’ll probably
get over it real soon, when he says something heartless and I realize he’s never going to be a decent
human.
Sometimes, against reason, I even find his assholery endearing. Like when he was being mean to
the guy who felt me up at the club last night. I thought his meanness was kind of sexy there. I wish I
had that kind of sharp fierceness in me, too. The kind of cruelty that acts as a shield. I can’t believe
I’m admiring Ethan’s unpleasantness. Oh god, last night did my head in.
After brushing my teeth, I flit down to the restaurant downstairs to eat something. I could order
room service, but I feel anxious being all by myself in a closed space.
I’ve had my eye on The Golden Duck, the Pan-Asian restaurant that the London Astor is known
for. I head there.
“Table for one, please,” I tell the server at the entrance then panic because I should know that
places like these probably have reservations and things.
“Please follow me,” the waiter says, though and my worry collapses into nothing.
I love eating at restaurants alone while soaking in the luxurious ambience and getting lost in a nice
fanfic is my jam.
As I’m led through the mostly empty restaurant, I spy a group of people at one of the tables in the
center, discussing business. I thought there’d be nobody here 3 pm, but I guess I was wrong.
One of people in the group has a familiar shade of dark brown hair. Embers lick up my stomach at
the sight of Ethan looking his usual best in a pinstriped suit. He isn’t even wearing anything special,
so my reaction is inexcusable. He’s probably directing the hotel staff about the plans for New Year.
Typical control freak behavior. I had wondered where he was, but I guess he’s doing his favorite thing
in the world—work.
I hope this means I can escape unnoticed.
No such luck. His deep voice catches me the moment I’m seated at my table. “Ella.”
Oh shit, why is he so sharp today? Usually, it’d take him a long time to even notice my presence
but he spotted me despite being at work.
Ethan’s shadow surges over me like a monster’s fangs in moonlight. He’s right there, a hair’s
breadth from my table, hands in his pockets and dark gaze slicing my heart into ribbons without
words.
“You’re up.” He glances at his watch. “I suppose 3pm is as good a time as any.”
I shrug, offering no excuses for myself. I slept as much as I could but I still feel exhausted. “Don’t
tell me you bounded over here expecting me to buy you a meal as an apology for yesterday,” I say.
I’m only being sarcastic. I fully expect Ethan to ignore me but a smile tickles his lips. “An
apology meal sounds good.”
It’s too late to take back my offer when he slides and dismisses the staff he was having the
hypothetical New Year meeting with. Less than five seconds in his presence, sweat breaks over my
back like a waterfall. Silences used to be so comfortable between us. In fact, they used to be our
default setting. Now, I feel like if I don’t say anything, I’ll be swallowed alive by the selfconsciousness that floods me in waves.
After last night, after the way I was vulnerable with him, I keep wondering if his opinion of me
has changed. About what he’s thinking of everything I did and said and everything I’m doing and
saying now.
Wait, why do I even care about Ethan’s judgment? My opinion of him hasn’t been all that
favorable for most of the time we’ve known each other. I’m grateful to him for helping me, but he
didn’t do it for free and his less-than-moral behavior regarding his business dealings has always
made me wary of him.
“I’ll take the seafood course,” Ethan tells the server. “With a glass of Osaka Cooler.”
Calm down, Ella, he only cares about the food.
“I’ll get the same,” I add because my mind’s too busy to focus on the menu.
“Good choice,” Ethan mutters once the waiter is gone. “It’s my favorite in the Astor London.”
“It must be the best in London if it pleases a perfectionist like you.”
Ethan rolls his shoulders back against the chair. I pray for Ethan to start checking his email on his
phone. That’s his usual tactic to avoid me, just as my usual tactic to avoid him is to read fanfic on my
phone. Which I’m desperately trying to do. But unfortunately, every image I see in my head is Ethan
cast as the hero of these fanfics. Ethan kissing the heroine, who looks suspiciously like me in my
imagination. Ethan catching her when she falls down the stairs. Ethan backstabbing her while being a
sexy anti-hero.
“How’re you feeling today?” He interrupts my confused daydreams.
My throat folds in on itself. I put down my phone, gulping down the entire Osaka Cooler that the
server brings in one go. The citrusy hints of lime and sweetness of mango and peaches only makes me
crave more sugar.
“I’m okay.” I cough out, spraying the contents of my mocktail on his face.
“You don’t have to guzzle it.” He wipes his face with his handkerchief. “Promise I won’t steal
your drink.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“You still seem jumpy from last night,” he declares.
I can’t dispute it, not when I nearly hurled my drink at him for asking a question.
“Last night made me see that I still have ways to go,” I say.
“Ways to go?”
“I mean, I thought after all the psychological counselling I went through—” I remember that back
then, it was Ethan who insisted I get counselling in the first place. “—I’d have reacted better.”
“Don’t blame yourself.” Those were the last three words I expected to come out of Ethan’s mouth.
it seems far too empathetic. For all his politeness and upper-class manners, Ethan has always been
cold and indifferent toward me.
I scratch the lip of my mocktail glass. “I’m going to do something about it so I don’t freeze up
again. I want to be stronger. To be able to save myself. That’s why I’m going to try exposure therapy.
You know, where you put yourself in the kind of situation that you’re afraid of to overcome fear. It
was impossible for me before, but I want to try now.”
“If this means you’re going back to that nightclub again, I’m going to have to ask you to
reconsider.”
“Of course I’m not going back! But I need to put myself in the same situation. Maybe I’ll try some
other place. I need someone to help me. Preferably a big guy, or it wouldn’t be realistic.”
“Are you asking me to do it?” Ethan places his folded elbows on the table.
How much I wish I could say yes then. If it was Ethan, it wouldn’t be exposure therapy, though.
It’d be living out my fantasies. Because why would I ever run from him? After last night, it’s clear to
me that I want him very, very much.
“You’ll help me?” I smack my chair in disbelief. “No way.”
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe something did change between us after last night. He has been softer
today. More attentive. In fact, he has been staring at me far too intently since I walked into the
restaurant.
“Yes, I’ll help you.” The hesitation after that word lasts a little too long. Ethan looks like he’s
about to swallow barbed wire, then says, “Don’t disappear, Ella. I mean it.”
His low, desperate tone snags on some deep groove inside my heart. I thought I was the only one
who was traumatized by having to undergo the same situation again. Maybe I triggered some trauma
from Ethan’s past, too. The thing with his mother. Perhaps he wants to try to save me because he
couldn’t save her. I should be grateful for his help regardless, but being the stand-in for a dead
woman only makes irritation flare up in my chest.
“Why do you care?” I snap.
“Because I like you.”
Okay, my ears must definitely be ringing. He can’t have said what he said.
“You like me?” I echo dumbly. “Me? Whom you constantly criticize for being a bookworm with
no real world interests? Me, whose every conversation with you ends with the words ‘Let us not meet
again’ or some variation of it? Me?”
Ethan expels a hot breath, tousling his perfect hair. “Yes. I’m beginning to realize that you’re
Francesca’s only sensible friend.”
“Right, so you like me because I never led your sister astray and I’m a good influence,” I say
through the twinge of disappointment in my chest. After that kiss, my head has been woozy. Ethan’s
confession about his mother changed my view of him but his view of me remains as unflattering as
ever.
“No, that’s not,” Ethan drops another irate sigh, hand still dragging along his scalp. “You’re just
likeable.”
“How?” I clap my hand over my mouth for comedic effect. “Don’t tell me it’s my wonderful
personality.”
“You have no personality except being a bookworm.”
“Gee, thanks, you’ll turn a girl’s head with compliments like that.” Then I add, “You know, if you
don’t like me, you don’t have to say you do. That’s just pointless.”
“My apologies. What I meant was that I wanted you to stick around on Earth and not go…to
heaven.”
“Because you need someone to be cruel to?”
“Am I tormenting you?” The restrained edge of darkness, just barely there, sends chills down my
spine. I know Ethan didn’t mean that in a sexual way, but that statement sure felt charged with
something.
“Well, you torment a lot of people.” I clear my throat. “It’s your job, pretty much.”
“Won’t deny it.” Ethan avoids my gaze, scratching his jaw. He’s thinking way too hard to come up
with a reason for why he said he thought I was likeable. “But you seem like someone who has a lot of
feelings about everything.”
“Yes, obviously, because I’m human, Ethan.”
“I have eyes, princess. I can see that.” The low scrape of tension simmering under that statement
once again makes me tense up. Either I’m starting to get too carried away by the kiss last night or-orthere is no or. Because Ethan actually feeling anything for me is as likely as a volcano erupting in the
South Pole.
“Wait, why are we even arguing?” I take a step back, looking at the situation logically. “I thought
we both agreed that you can’t stand me.”
“That’s not true. Like I said, I like you.”
I tsk. Ethan and I must have very different interpretations of the word. But even this phantom hope
of being seen by him in a positive light is a salve to my heart. So I probe a little more. Because in my
heart I’m hoping there’s actually a good reason for it, a reason deeper than the fact that I’m not a
troublemaker.
“Oh, I see.” I set my hands on the table. “Then why can’t you name a single reason why you like
me that’s related to me rather than your sister?” I challenge.
“Okay, you’re a selfless person. You don’t break the law or hurt people.”
“So you like me because I’m law abiding? How unique.”
“No, that’s not it…” Ethan stirs his drink with a stirrer. More and more violently as the pause
grows bigger. Agitation scrunches his forehead. Then his lips part like he has had a mental
breakthrough. “You’re a good person, Ella, and the world is a better place because you’re in it.”
Ethan sighs. “That’s what I like about you.”
Emotion knots my throat. An elevated heartbeat reverberates through my chest.
The world is a better place because you’re in it.
How am I supposed to respond here?
Because, that? That really turned my head.
CHAPTER 10
E
than
UNTIL YESTERDAY, I thought Francesca was the biggest pain in my ass. But Ella’s fast catching up to
her.
Also, how did I end up at the restaurant with her for lunch again? When we just had lunch together
yesterday. It’s just the two of us at that without even the sulky butler for company. At least then I’d
have had some distraction from her face. We already spend far too much time together at the suite
since I don’t even go to work anymore, so when she suggested that she’d pay for the meal again, I was
bored enough to agree.
When Ella strolls into the seat opposite mine, a frown pulling down her lips into a sexy inverted
U, my blood slows to an excruciating crawl inside my veins. I haven’t been able to stop reacting to
her body since the kiss.
And I just said I liked her. Which I do. In the way one likes one’s sister’s friend. She might make
me feel all kinds of guilty and messed up, but she’s a good person. I know that. I also know that good
people are far too rare in the world. So I like that someone like her exists in the world because it
makes the world a better place. It was an objective statement.
It doesn’t explain why Ella’s face has been the color of tomato since I told her that.
“Did you…” She hiccups. She does that when she’s nervous. “Did you ever have a place you
wanted to go to? Like, on a vacation?”
I fold my palms on my lap. “Why that question, all of a sudden?”
“Because we’re in London and I thought, if you could really have a Christmas vacation, would
you have come here? Or go somewhere else?”
“I don’t like vacations.” They make me feel lonely. Like I have nobody to relax with and no
reason to relax with anybody. Besides, people only like to spend time with me if they’re working with
me.
Ella grunts in disgust though she doesn’t seem surprised by my response.
“When I was young, I once went on a road trip with my father. And we got lost and ended up at an
Asian noodle place. Quite different from this one, though.” Ella waves her hands around the plush
interior of the Eastern Pearl just as the server arrives with our bowls of noodles.
Her short stroll down memory lane catches my interest and despite how much I want to be
disinterested, the words come from somewhere deep within me. “You have met your father?”
“Of course I have.”
“I thought it was always your mother and you. She divorced your dad when you were two. And
you never mention him.” I’m disgusted to admit I looked up the Wikipedia entry for Ella’s mother. Of
all the useless things to do. Anyway, I discovered that her father was an actor, too, but not a famous
one.
“Yeah, and no surprise there.” Ella’s brown curls bounce as she tosses her hair back to keep it
from getting in her food. “He’s just like her. They’re both self-absorbed.”
“Did you meet him again after that trip?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “A few times, but I haven’t seen him in at least two years. Did you and your
mom ever go on any trips?”
I think of brushing the question aside. It’s not as though memories of my mother make me sad or
angry. In fact, I like to sometimes think back to the time I had with her. It was a pretty great time in my
life, after all.
“Yeah, once she saw a holiday deal on a Hawaii vacation and made me take days off school in the
middle of the academic year to drag me to Maui,” I confess to Ella, the images spilling down the
crack in my brain. The hot sun and water from that time prickled my face like I was there right now.
“She even made up a fake doctor’s note and everything. Well, what can I say? It was more fun than
algebra class for sure.”
Ella props her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the back of her hand and leaning forward.
Her eyes are alive with a spark of curiosity. “What did you do in Maui?”
“She made me try surfing and I almost drowned.” I scratch my ear. “I still have a scar from where
the surfboard hit my forehead.”
“Show me.” I make to brush off her interest, but she reaches out to push away the hair covering
the top of my forehead. I deliberately keep the scar covered. She smiles. “It’s tiny. You made such a
big deal of it.”
“Seemed big at the time.” I swat her hand away, pouting. This new, easy intimacy is both
discomforting and…acceptable. I don’t know what I’m doing talking about childhood vacations with
Ella. I haven’t shared much about my life with Mom with anyone.
“I’m sorry.” She retreats immediately. “By the way, how old were you when this happened?”
“Twelve.”
A laugh shudders through her chest. “Your mom sounds fun.”
“She was fun.” I tap my jaw, a sudden pang seizing my stomach. “At least until she wasn’t.”
Silence smokes up the booth then like someone just lit a cigarette of regret. I’m fully hoping for it
to last but Ella’s gotten really chatty of late so she pipes up again. “Did I make you remember her
even though you didn’t want to?”
“Not at all. Why wouldn’t I want to remember her? She was my mother.”
“Still, we should probably talk about something else…let’s see…” She taps her chin. Sucks in a
noddle from her bowl. Her expression pinches into a worried mask. “I once heard a rumor about you.
That you sold someone into prostitution because her father’s company went under and he owed you
money. Is it true?”
I spy the fear in her eyes, the desperate, quiet prayer. Her fingers are now threaded between each
other clasped tightly on the table.
“If I tell you it’s true, will you stop asking me questions?”
Her tone cools. “So it’s true?”
I scoff. Like hell it is. My reputation is wildly exaggerated. Much of it is my own handiwork.
People fear what they’re not sure of and I’ve always strived to shroud myself in unsavory half-truths
that sound too ugly to be true but also probable enough. “I’m in the hotels business, not organized
crime.”
“Relieved to hear that. But you’ve definitely done a lot of illegal stuff.”
“It was for you, princess.” I thrust the fork into my noodles extra hard, rattling the porcelain plate.
“In case you forgot.”
Over the table, she lays her hand on top of mine. The color rises on her cheeks again. “I won’t
ever forget what you did for me. Thank you.”
I pull away my hand because her gentle touch combined with her gratitude sends a quake of
foreign emotion searing through me. I don’t like how weak it makes me feel. How…vulnerable. I
worked so hard to have money, to have power. I changed who I was. Now I can’t change myself back
again, no matter how much I may try. Because of the dirty things I did, the ruthless moves I made, and
the lives I destroyed? Those are imprinted on me like a tattoo I can’t wash off.
“Don’t be thanking me,” I mutter, irate. “I didn’t do it for free.”
I hope I sounded mean enough to shut her down, shut down this weirdly personal conversation that
we’re having, but I know my voice lacks bite nowadays. She’s too vulnerable after that night.
Whenever I turn to her, I recall the haunted look she had back then outside the club. And…I just can’t
do it. Can’t be as cruel as I used to be.
Still, I’m me. I’ll eventually return to my old self. She’d better enjoy my consideration while it
lasts.
“And one more thing…” Ella says. “Did the Wedgleys’ Hamptons home burning down have
anything to do with you?”
I cut into a piece of chicken with my knife. “Very much so.”
“Okay. So you’re not into organized crime but you’re into arson.” Ella moves her shoulder up and
down like she’s suddenly uncomfortable inside her own body.
“It wasn’t arson,” I correct her.
But she squeezes her hands under the table, body recoiling like she doesn’t want to know the truth
after all. “I wonder how the weather is today.”
The weather, all of a sudden? “What, no more rumors to investigate?” I say, amused. I was getting
a trip from seeing her shocked after finding out who I truly am. I also hoped it’d make her stay far
away from me because we’re seeing too much of each other these days. Damn it, I don’t want to be
spending so much of my time engaging in weirdly personal conversations with a bookworm when I
have a sister to find.
“No. That was all I had,” Ella says.
“If you could go anywhere on a vacation, where would you go?” I ask her now, the same question
that she asked me.
“Me? I want to staycation at home and read books all day.” She takes another bite of noodles.
“But I think I like the vacation we’re having is fun, too.”
“Looking for Francesca? That’s a vacation? More like pain in the ass if you ask me.”
“I like the hotel,” she remarks. “It’s pretty nice. I know I said I don’t understand why you love
these hotels but you’ve still done a great job managing them.”
Breath eases into my lungs once I let go of the tension arresting my muscles. It means a great deal
to me to hear any guest praise the hotel. To see my hard work being recognized.
So after we finish lunch, I almost feel obligated to walk Ella back up to our room where I
presume she plans to read books all day while I dig up some more leads on Francesca’s
whereabouts.
“Are you busy?” Ella says the moment we’re back in the suite. I don’t know why I went inside the
room with her. I need to be doing something to find Francesca instead of getting drawn into spending
every second of my free time with Ella.
“Why do you ask?” I sound on edge. My nostrils are suffocating with the smell of her but
somehow I can’t bring myself to leave her. I even consider making a lame excuse about being tired
and sleeping on the couch just so I can hear her making those small, delicate noises that she makes
when she’s reading on her phone. The ones she isn’t aware of but I can’t get out of my head.
Somewhere deep down, I know I’m fucked if I can’t even ignore the sounds she makes while
reading, but I keep that knowledge locked away in a dark cellar of my psyche for now.
“What if we do it now? The exposure therapy thing. There’s a nice wall right here in this room.”
Ella pats said wall.
“But you just ate.”
“Yeah, and I have a lot of energy now. You’re not going to go back on your word, are you?”
Her teasing smile trembles with an undercurrent of fear. What is she scared of? And why does she
want to do it if she’s scared?
“Princess, I think it’s a bad idea.”
“But I want it.”
“Why don’t you read a few books and maybe that’ll change your mind?”
“It won’t.” Her voice is firm, unyielding. She rarely sounds this confident.
I realize there’s no logical reason to refuse. Except that if I touched her right now, I might never
stop. The tension between us is vibrating like a tuning fork. Stirring up the reactions that I felt for her
the night she kissed me.
But when she makes a sad face, I get roped into doing something for her against my logic yet
again. I hate how much I want to please her, how much I want to keep sorrow from tainting her
beautiful features. It’s worse than a physical need. And for what? What do I get out of it all in the
end?
Except for self-loathing, that is.
“Sure.” I take off my shoes. Even a loyal pet dog would be disgusted by how obedient I’m acting.
Hell, why don’t I just change my name to Buddy or Bear while I’m at it?
Ella strides forward until she’s only a foot away from me.
“Ready?” she asks.
She’s so mesmerizing up close, a force of nature I can’t control so the “Yeah,” out of my mouth is
pretty much involuntary, though it feels pretty gross on my tongue.
Next thing I know, she’ll be saying Catch that ball, Buddy! and I’ll be going Woof!
Dammit. Whatever happened to my self-respect?
I act out the same scene I witnessed at the club a few evenings ago. And ignore how elated I feel
when I push her against the wall. Because that day when I was at the club? I imagined myself doing
that to her. I imagined it a thousand times while she soaked in the bath until I felt sick with selfdisgust.
Shaking away the senseless thoughts, I encircle the back of Ella’s throat loosely with one hand.
Her skin electrifies mine. Being close to her twists my insides.
I press my lips into a hard, painful line, hoping this ends soon.
When she tilts her head back, exposing her throat, heat explodes in my groin. My cock jumps. I
shouldn’t find this erotic. This is an exercise—an exercise that will end with me getting kneed in the
shins or slapped across the face if all goes to plan.
So I reign in my dark fantasies and proceed, sliding my hand down the arch of her back.
A dreamy exhale parts her luscious lips. But other than that, she doesn’t even move. I skim my
hands further down the curve of her hips, squeezing her thigh. That should elicit at least a shocked
moan from her or something. She should react. She should try to throw me off.
Hell, why isn’t she punching me? Why hasn’t she done anything at all to end this excruciating
torture?
Shit, why are her eyes darkening with pleasure? No, I must be seeing that wrong. What pleasure
could she possibly gain from being touched by me? Or by anyone, for that matter? She’s probably so
scared she can’t even move.
“This was the part where you were supposed to kick me in the balls and scream murder,” I rasp
over the soft curve of her ear. “That’s what we’re practicing for, remember?”
Ella bites her lip and closes her eyes. “But what if I don’t want to? What if I want you to…” She
swallows hard, her silence igniting agony in my veins. “…keep going?”
What the fuck?
Hard resistance wells against my chest but at the same time, my cock hardens. I wait for her to
take it back, hoping she misspoke and now wants to backpedal. But time ticks by like the steady beat
of rain against a roof and still, she doesn’t backpedal.
In fact, she does something even crazier and brings up her hands to cradle my face. Her whiskey
eyes sear mine, casting a spell on me. Heat roars inside me. My cock aches with the need to be inside
her. All I want to do is consume her completely. Who am I kidding? That’s why I’ve been irritated
with her all this time. Because ever since she entered my life, all I’ve imagined is running my hands
and tongue and lips over her entire body until I’ve left my imprint on every part of her.
I didn’t do it then because I knew it was a bad idea. It’s still a bad idea—but a bad idea I can’t
say no to.
“You want me to keep going?” I ask, my voice clouded by lust.
“Yes,” she replies. “I’m sure of it.”
“Why? Why now? I know you’ve never done this before.”
“Because with you, it doesn’t feel wrong.” I see the tears squeezing out from her tear ducts,
shining like a layer of glass over her eyes. “I don’t feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
Panic rears its head. “What do you mean?”
“After what happened to me in the past, it always felt wrong to want sex again. To confess my
attraction to a guy in case I’m leading them on. But I keep remembering the past after what happened
at the club. I want to erase it from my mind. I want you to erase it for me. To overwrite it with the
memory of you—the memory of us.”
I scoff. “How am I the better option here? You realize I’ve never once been nice to you?”
“But I like you.” She digs her tiny fingertips into my shoulders. “Even though you scowl all the
time and intimidate people for no reason. Even though you will fuck me today and give me the cold
shoulder tomorrow.” A pause. “I still think that the world is a better place for me because you’re in
it.”
She likes me. Warmth curls in my stomach. Nobody has ever liked me. People have respected me,
feared me, wanted me, wanted to ruin me, wanted to be ruined by me, begged me, controlled me, and
used me, but nobody has ever liked me. I’m the Devil of Brooklyn. I’m the least likable person in the
world.
And yet she likes me.
ELLA
I REMEMBER HOW IT STARTED .
“I like you more than I like my mom,” I said to my mother’s agent on the day that he came to the
sports day at school in her place. Those words changed the trajectory of the relationship between us.
Three innocent, juvenile words. I never knew they had so much power.
But I’ve always blamed myself for it. Criticized me for somehow leading him on. That’s why I
couldn’t do anything but swallow down my protests when he started to touch me every time he came
to our house. Mom was too depressed and stressed about her career to even notice what was going
on.
And when I said he should stop, he said, “You said you like me. Don’t you like me anymore?”
“No…I still like you.” Because I did. He was the only adult who acted like an adult around me,
not like someone I had to baby.
His fingers slipped under my bra, tracing the lower swell of my boobs. A paralytic shock sprung
up my spine. But I didn’t want to seem confusing or like I was stupid and didn’t know what I was
saying, so I chose to say nothing.
“What do you like about me?” he whispered.
“You pay attention to me.”
“That’s right. I’ll pay you a lot of attention from now on, too. And you should pay attention to me,
too. Okay, Ella?”
In a way, I dug my own grave. I asked for it, didn’t I? All the attention. Because I wanted to feel
needed for something more than my ability to take care of people and offer them emotional comfort
when they were being immature.
I wanted to be desired until I realized that nobody was ever going to desire me for the right
reasons.
Maybe that’s why I lock up every time someone touches me. Because deep down, I can’t see them
as perpetrators so I can’t act in self-righteousness and push them away. I’m disgusted by my own self
rather than their actions. And self-hate closes around me like a prison until I flay myself for having
wanted attention, for still carrying that impure craving to be ‘seen’.
All the psychological counseling in the world hasn’t been able to convince me to let go of the
self-blame that I hold close to my chest like a treasure. I know it wasn’t my fault. I know that
mentally. I accept that mentally. But my body is still stuck in the past. My instincts have internalized
attacking myself instead of the enemy.
That’s why, unless I can remove the shame from the words ‘I like you’ until I can know that I can
still control my life after saying that to someone, I will always be afraid.
“Ella…” Ethan whispers against the soft part of my ear. “You know we can’t do this. You know
who I am. Get your act together.”
In a way, it’s a relief to know that he doesn’t want me even though said I like him. That he’ll still
push me away. That liking someone doesn’t mean I’ll always be taken advantage of. That flirting with
someone doesn’t make me a target.
But I really want Ethan.
No, I need him. I need him to show me that I can have control over who touches my body and
when and how.
That’s why I won’t back down from this.
ETHAN
“I DON ’ T CARE.” She frees the buttons of my shirt one by one, shaking. “You want it to, too, don’t
you? You’re hard.”
More than her lips brushing over mine, more than her fingertips caressing my hair, more than even
the way she grinds against my hard erection, it’s her statement that feels like a dead weight in my
bones. The knowledge that I’m now liked.
Something inside me cracks a little. She’s the last person I ever imagined giving me bedroom
eyes. For fuck’s sake, she’s my little sister’s best friend. All we ever had was a bargain—her organ
in exchange for my protection. What’s this sting behind my eyes, this invisible pull of a bond that even
time can’t seem to dull?
It has been brutal since that kiss. No, even before that it was like this. I always wanted it to end—
the cat-and-mouse game we play with each other. Pretending not to be interested. Pretending to be
indifferent. Pretending to dislike. Pretending to hate. Hiding emotions with cruelty. Pretending to be a
million and one things while obsessing over her.
Why can’t I have her when she haunts my mind all the time? I’ve taken everything I’ve wanted,
even if I had to destroy and ruin lives for it. Why can’t I ruin hers? I’m not a mushy-hearted
philanthropist. Ella has served her usefulness to me. If she accumulates more emotional baggage,
what is it to me? But somehow, I can’t bring myself to corrupt the one thing I’ve held sacred for so
long.
“You can’t handle the consequences of this, princess,” I warn in my darkest tone, tearing her
hands away from me. “You’ll never be who you were once I’m done with you.”
She smiles, eyes glittering to meet my challenge. Dammit. She should take my words seriously.
Doesn’t she know, better than anyone else, that I never fail to keep my word?
Misty tears coat her eyes. “What if I’ve had enough of being who I was? What if I want you to
change me?”
I feel her frustration like it was mine. Her inability to act to protect herself in the face of danger.
Her pulse is jumping frantically in her wrist. I feel it as I dig my thumb deeper into her flesh,
delight trilling in my blood when her heart rate kicks up.
“What do you want me to do to you?” I ask, giving in. I’d lost the moment she said she liked me,
anyway. “Tell me.”
Bright red spots stain her cheeks. Good. The thing about having dark desires is that most people
are too self-conscious to voice them. And when you ask them to, they get embarrassed and withdraw.
But not Ella.
“I’ve always wanted to feel your tongue on me,” she says, haltingly, her eyes focused on the
ground like laser beams. Her face reddens more.
“On which part of you, specifically?” I prod, hoping she’ll be mortified and give up.
The long pause after my question even gives me hope.
But she dashes it quickly. “On my...” She grabs my hand and guides it under her skirt, pressing it
against her wet pussy.
Holy fucking hell.
My mouth goes dry. The low simmer in my groin is now an inferno. I’m touching Ella’s wet sex.
And we haven’t even done anything yet. How did we go from an innocent lunch to this in under five
minutes?
“Where, exactly do you want my tongue? Here?” I tease circles around her clit, satisfied when her
knees buckle as a sudden jolt of pleasure shoots through her.
“Or here?” I continue, pushing one finger into her wet, dripping hole.
She moans.
“Everywhere,” comes her breathless response. “I want you everywhere.”
She looks so pretty when she begs, just like a princess. And it’s such a heady feeling. From the
very moment I met her, this girl has held control over my very life. I needed her to live. So I agreed to
any terms she set.
Now she’s begging. Now she’s the one who needs me.
Ah, how sweet justice feels.
“It stops whenever you say it stops,” I say gruffly, getting to my knees.
“And if I don’t say anything?”
“Then it ends when I’m done ruining you.”
Before she can answer, I push her legs apart and tug her underwear down. She yelps, surprised
but doesn’t protest.
The scent of her arousal fills my lungs like a potent dose of nicotine. The sight of her pussy, so
wet and pretty sends a shot of pleasure down my spine. I’m about to destroy it, though.
I lick a trail up her inner thigh until my tongue snags at her seam. I do her slow and gentle at first
because all said and done, she’s new to this. But when she whimpers, it triggers something in me and
I can’t stop myself from releasing all the pent-up tension and desire I’ve felt for her since the day I
felt her lips on mine.
“Yes. Harder,” she says, encouraging me.
My tongue finds her swollen clit, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her. I suck and lick and
tease and coax until her breathing comes in staccato rasps and her begging turns into a soft, desperate
plea. Until she’s leaking more wetness from her aroused pussy. Until she’s writhing in pleasure.
“It’s…amazing…” Her soft moans thread through the air, every single one like a delicate musical
note. It brings a rush of pride to my chest, to know that for once, I’m bringing her something other than
sadness. And perhaps this pleasure might erase some of the pain that she has felt before.
Ella drips all over my face, and still, I can’t get enough. I’m addicted to the taste of her. To the
soft pussy yielding under my tongue. To the power, I feel in this moment.
I begin to fuck her with my tongue then. She arches her back, her whole body trembling with
waves of ecstasy.
“Oh god…”
I touch my tongue to her sensitized clit again, sinking a finger, knuckle-deep, into her. A cry
wrenches from her throat, but she doesn’t make me stop. Doesn’t even try.
So I thrust another finger into her, moving in and out of her in fast, hard strokes. She’s so close to
the edge, I can feel it.
“I can’t anymore…” Tears leak from her eyes. “Damn, you’re so good at this.”
The way she looks at me through blurry eyes…like I’m a god like I’m everything she has ever
needed, closes like an invisible fist around my heart. I’ve had sex with a lot of women but nobody has
thanked me for giving them head.
That’s when I realize that this isn’t just sex to Ella. She’s so grateful for this because it’s the only
time someone let her choose. The only time someone cared about what she wanted instead of what
they wanted from her.
She’s wrong about me, though—I’m not noble. I’m not a martyr. And someday, she’ll pay me back
for this.
My fingers don’t slow, keeping the relentless rhythm I’ve set. Her juices run down my knuckles.
Her trembling body shivers, so close to release. I push her over with a flick of her clit.
With a sharp cry, she shatters.
She comes all over my fingers.
“Thank you,” she mutters in the haze of her orgasm as I lay her down on the bed, her eyes still
teary. You’d think I saved her from dying. When all I did was use her. “Thank you.”
Her hands reach out for me like she wants to embrace me, but I jump to my feet, removing myself
from her reach. She’s young and pure and I don’t want her to think this was more than physical.
Because I’m not her prince charming. I’m not anybody’s prince charming. Hugs after orgasms
definitely fall in the ‘I care for you’ territory.
Still, when I return from the bathroom with a wet towel for her to wipe herself with, her flushed
face tugs at my heartstrings. Her eyes are staring at the ceiling, looking content.
Looking more content than I’d ever seen her.
Even though I’m not the one who came, it feels like I’ve been undone from my core. I don’t know
what I’ve done. My lips are twitching in a pleased smile, and I can’t recognize myself anymore. I hate
being controlled, and Ella was the one who seduced me and pushed me to give her head but damn it,
it was delicious and sweet.
And now, what?
I can’t give her anything more.
“We’ll never speak about this again,” I say, placing the wet towel on her bedside. “Understand?”
She nods too eagerly, still trapped in the fog of pleasure from her orgasm.
Just like our bargain, our exchange, and our kiss, what happened now will be just another one of
our ‘secrets’.
My only hope is that it doesn’t destroy my soul like all the others.
CHAPTER 11
E
lla
THEY SAY one doesn’t realize when one is under a spell.
But the moment a spell breaks, the instant one is thrown back into reality with a rude shock—that
moment reverberates through your very soul.
I didn’t know until yesterday that I was bewitched, but now I’m sure of it. Because since I woke
up and the haze from sex faded, my mind’s been playing a non-stop loop of anxiety.
I think I actually feel something for Ethan; I just don’t know what. And it finally makes sense—the
constant thrumming in my veins every time I was near him. The incessant longing to find an excuse to
be near him. How we could never let each other go because what we had seemed like much more than
a mercenary business transaction.
And the way he played my body like a finely tuned piano and made all my senses come alive…it
was the most enthralling experience of my life. But I guess it was only mesmerizing for me. Because
Ethan moved to a different room last night. It’s not a suite, just a normal room. But I get his message
loud and clear—he wants to stay away from me. And he probably hopes I’ll do the same.
One more secret won’t change our relationship. Even if that secret is more intimate than anything
else.
I always believed I would never desire anyone sexually. That I would feel uncomfortable if
anyone touched me. But when Ethan’s fingers stroked my skin, it was different. I melted into him as if
it was the most natural thing in the world. Because I trusted him deeply. I have trusted him even
before he ever laid a finger on me.
Ever since I awoke, I can’t think of anything but what we did. I’m craving for more of that dark
desire, that sweet rush of being undone from my core.
But I can’t reconcile what happened with my past. Being desired is bad, right? Desiring someone
is worse. And what if Ethan doesn’t want me to desire him? What if he was just going along and
helping me because he felt rejecting me would hurt me?
The old Ethan would’ve laughed at that logic, but the new, attentive version of him? The version
that drew me a bath, ate lunch with me, asked me how I was, and asked me not to die…what if that
version of him is afraid of hurting me because he thinks it’ll make me act like his mother? Wasn’t his
mother depressed because his father rejected her love?
I chew my nails on the way to the bathroom, and my bloodshot eyes grow more anxious the more I
think about Ethan’s mother and how her situation seems similar to mine. She loved a man and wanted
a man who had never loved her or wanted her.
I’m the same. What if Ethan sees that?
Is that why he suddenly said he liked me after that night? Because he didn’t want me to kill myself
for not being loved?
My goodness, this shit is so much deeper than I ever imagined. I know better than anyone what
trauma is like. How it unconsciously affects everything you do. What if Ethan’s trauma is now
unconsciously affecting his behavior toward me?
I can’t take advantage of that even if I want him to care for me. That’d be horrible.
He was right to move out of the suite. I should follow his lead. I mean, what do I gain from pining
after him, anyway?
I don’t know what I want from Ethan beyond physical pleasure and maybe not looking at me like
he wants me gone all the time. I don’t even know what I want from myself. I can’t pretend it didn’t
happen because it was the best moment of my life, but acting as if it happened will only make things
awkward for me. I have no doubt Ethan will act like it’s nothing because that’s who he is.
I have to do that, too, so he doesn’t feel guilty. After all, I’m not his mother. Not being loved by a
man, not having a man I desire want me back isn’t going to drive me to depression, that’s for sure.
I’m a big girl. I can handle this.
I just have to be strong.
That’s the only way I can protect both of us.
“DOES she think this is some sick game?” Ethan’s bellow jerks me awake the next day. I pad over to
the hallway outside rubbing my eyes. I was about to get breakfast when I saw him near the elevators.
We’re still on the same floor, it seems.
His gaze catches on me instantly and my body throbs like a fresh bruise at his cutting, empty stare.
“Good morning, Ella.”
Ella, not princess.
There’s no trace of last night on him. The hints of tenderness have vanished and the ‘fuck you’
expression has made a glorious return. Disinterest drips from his every gesture, making me feel like I
dreamed up his head between my legs, his tongue stroking my core with reverence. Nobody could
guess what happened between us last night.
Part of me feels reassured that he isn’t making a big deal out of it. Maybe because yesterday, I
think we got a little too vulnerable with each other. If we’d kept going…it would’ve changed our
relationship. But I wanted more. More of him. More of us. More of the intimacy that felt like a second
skin and melted my inhibitions. I felt so comfortable with him, telling him to do those things to me.
Because I knew he wouldn’t judge me. He never has, not even when I told him about what happened
to me at eighteen.
“Good morning.” The soft carpet under my feet feels like I’m walking on ashes.
The butler is there, presenting what looks like tickets on a silver platter to Ethan. My curiosity
flares.
“Is that—” I reach out.
“Train tickets to Bath,” Ethan elaborates, making sure to avoid eye contact with me. “Courtesy of
your best friend and my living nightmare of a sister.”
“Where’s Bath?” I ask.
“South of England, Miss,” replies the butler. “A very beautiful town, if I may say so. Full of
historical charm. You can see the Roman baths there.”
“Like I’m interested in the damned Roman baths.” Ethan tsks, dragging a hand through his scalp
violently. I don’t know if it’s because we’re with the butler, but he’s determined to play his part.
I follow his lead, bringing all my focus to Francesca’s matter.
“You said you were investigating Francesca’s credit card,” I butt in. “Did that turn up anything
yet?”
Ethan expels another frustrated groan. He’s usually not this expressive with his emotions, but I can
sense how tired he is. After last night, after he changed rooms, I wouldn’t blame him for wanting to
get away from me as soon as possible. Having to deal with Francesca and me at the same time must
be tiring for him. “She’s clever. She hasn’t been using her card. Probably using a friend’s. But I don’t
know any of her other friends’ names. Do you?”
“Sorry. I thought I was her only friend, too. I’m hurt.” I pout. “Francesca has put a lot of thought
into this.”
He presses a hand to his head. “And I don’t know why she’s so hell-bent on making my life hard.
What is her motive? What’s her endgame in all of this?”
“Couldn’t say,” I admit. “I’ve only ever seen Francesca passionate about her art. She never
showed that she disliked you and while I think she wants me to get out there and see the world, I think
a less extreme method would’ve worked just as well.”
I wonder if she ever bothered to consider that putting me and Ethan together could result in a lot
of…unexpected turns. Of course, she doesn’t know about our bargain or our relationship. She
probably thinks hell would freeze over before Ethan showed any sexual interest in me.
Not long ago, I thought the same.
“Sir, what shall I do with the tickets?” the butler enquires all starchy sophistication. The guy’s
growing on me bit by bit, I must say. His accent and his mannerisms are both old-world and elegant at
the same time.
“I’ll take them,” I say. “I’d love to visit Bath. When are we supposed to leave?”
“They’re off-peak tickets so any time now,” Ethan replies, checking his watch. “The peak times
are over.”
I stagger back a little. “You mean right now?”
Ethan answers with a snort.
The butler slides the silver tray under his arm and comes around to my side. “Shall I help you
pack, Miss?” He opens and closes his fists as if he’s itching to do some work. “And you, sir? Will
you be needing help with packing, too?”
“No, we probably won’t be there for more than a day.” Ethan taps his phone. “If Francesca
doesn’t show up by then, she probably isn’t planning to show up at all. I hope she doesn’t pull another
phantom act this time around or I might turn her over to the police myself.”
I squeal in surprise. “That’s a good idea. Why didn’t you think of it before? You could report
Francesca as missing to the police.”
“My father wants to avoid that at all costs,” I say. “Also wasting the police’s time on the whims of
a spoilt Brooklyn heiress doesn’t seem like the right thing to do when there are so many real crimes
demanding their attention.”
“That’s very upstanding of you,” I remark.
Ethan towers over the butler, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Did any of the staff manage to
see who delivered these tickets?”
“Yes, sir, but he was an employee of The Royal Mail. The tickets were apparently ordered online
and sent via post.”
“The schemer.” Ethan groans. “She’s hiding her tracks well.”
“I can arrange for a limo to the train station,” the butler interjects. “Would you like that?”
“Yeah, sure.” Ethan waves his hand absently and the butler bows and rotates on his heel, getting to
his task immediately.
As his presence recedes, neither Ethan nor I move. I was expecting him to sprint to his room and
start packing and he was probably expecting me to do the same. But we linger around each other like
hungry vultures around carrion, fidgeting.
I start and stop a hundred conversations inside my head.
Last night…
Can we talk…
Are you fine with what happened…
What are we now…
Apart from the low mutter, “Are you feeling well? How’s your body?” Ethan displays no other
signs of concern. But those words tell me that he actually cares about me, no matter how much he
pretends otherwise. It makes a flood of warmth spread over my chest.
“And you?” I return. “Are you alright?”
“What would be wrong with me?”
“Um...I don’t know. You seem pissed off.”
“This situation with Francesca is getting ridiculous.” I expect him to tell me to get to packing my
stuff, but instead, he grinds his heels back and forth against the carpet. Stalling. For what, I don’t
know. All I know is that his expression is turning fouler by the minute.
“Here’s my tip for when you’re feeling depressed: ice cream,” I say, trying to sound cheerful.
That nets me an immediate eye roll. “Ice cream.”
“Yep. Ice cream,” I confirm. “I always chug down a tub and watch a movie when I’m feeling
really low. It helps. In a few hours, I’m fine as a fiddle.”
“We don’t serve ice cream at our restaurants in the Astor, though.”
“Gosh, what a terrible hotel! I’m leaving a one-star review on Google right now.” At his serious
concern, I chuckle. “Just kidding. Besides, I only like the big tubs of ice cream. Chocolate chip is the
best when you’re feeling blue.”
Ethan shakes his head with sheer disinterest. Right. Thought so. Why would he be interested in
what ice cream I like? Or how I recover from bad days. He probably never gets depressed. He’s too
busy being successful and mean.
His chest balloons when he inhales. The dense, meaningful silence between us reasserts its space.
“What happened in your room was…” Ethan trails off. “Are you okay with it?”
Heat sneaks over my face. I didn’t expect him to ask so directly. I’m surprised he even brought it
up.
“Don’t tell me you want me to pay you back for yesterday,” I state, horror pummeling my lungs.
Shit. He gave me what I wanted. What if I have to give him what he wants in return…and I doubt what
he wants will be as simple as a blow job. “Was that a bargain I missed?”
My heart gallops. The last thing I need is another cold-blooded agreement written with my tears.
Ethan recoils, blinking rapidly in shock. “What would give you that idea? Also, I agreed to help
you and I don’t go back on my word.”
“But what you did wasn’t helping and we both know it.” Or was it? My thoughts from this
morning dance before my eyes, taunting me. What if I’m right? I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t hold my
tongue. “I thought about it, you know; why you went along with me. Is it because of your mother?
Because you think I’m fragile like her and you didn’t want to hurt me by rejecting my…um…
proposition?”
“It wasn’t a proposition, princess. You were begging.” He lowers his gaze to my sweating thighs,
then drags it all the way back up to my throat, all the while stroking the heat between my thighs with
nothing more than his gaze. Shit. It hasn’t even been that long. I can’t want to be with him again so
soon. Am I becoming a sex addict or what? “Trust me, the last thing on my mind back then was my
mother.”
Hope and elation war for space in my throat. My voice somehow squeezes itself between the wild
swells of those emotions. “Then why?”
“I’m not a saint, Ella. And you’re not as unattractive as you think. Put two and two together for
once.”
I’m not unattractive. Of course, I know that. That’s why I hide my face behind glasses and
horrible haircuts. I didn’t think Ethan cared about attractiveness, though. He has scores of beautiful
women hanging around him at galas and parties, yet, according to Francesca, he has no interest in
them. I always thought maybe he wanted someone as ambitious and cutthroat as him. I’m definitely not
that girl.
Still, I don’t get the sense that he’s lying. But his suddenly noticing my attractiveness after years of
treating me like I don’t exist also doesn’t make sense.
“So it wasn’t because you like me?” I blurt out. The hope in me is out of control right now. I don’t
know why I want to be liked by Ethan, but I do. I’ve always been so grateful to him for saving my life.
I’d like the person who made my life easier to not hate me, at least.
“I don’t like you like that,” Ethan volleys back in a flat tone. “Stop overthinking. It makes things
harder for the both of us.”
He’s so right. I’m reading way too much into this situation. It was simply a moment of sexual
attraction, as impulsive on his part as mine. I mean, we’re both adults in the prime of our years. It’s
what other people our age do. But Ethan isn’t normal. He has always been in control of everything.
The fact that he can be impulsive, too, makes me anxious.
Because it means that the next time I do something crazy, he might go along with it again.
And if that happens, we might end up going to a place so dark, neither of us will be able to
survive on our own again.
CHAPTER 12
E
than
WHEN I WAS YOUNG , somebody told me I had my father’s eyes. Dad has the deepest, coldest eyes, a
shade of brown so black, you couldn’t find his pupils even in the light sometimes. If you ever have the
displeasure to fall in his line of vision, to be the object of focus of those eyes, only disaster awaited
you.
It happened when I was at the hospital. I was enjoying a brief period of relief and happiness. A
few days ago, Ella had showed up so suddenly in my life and thrown everything into chaos. I’d
expected to be waiting for an organ donor for another few months, but in the end, the match between
her and me had been great owing to us having the same blood type. The doctors were optimistic my
body wouldn’t reject her organ.
It was nothing short of a miracle. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to take her bargain.
I read a novel about death late into the night even though I almost never read fiction. The steady
red lights and neon green lines on the monitor beamed light onto the surroundings like a video game
screen.
In the darkness, his broad-chested form unfurled like a specter made of smoke. Dad never visited
me in the hospital so I was surprised by his arrival. I was an adult and I’d instructed all the hospital
staff to keep the matter about Ella under wraps for now. Had he found out somehow? Was he here to
urge me to get the surgery? Because underneath it all, he still cared for me?
“Ethan.” I dropped the book, terrified by the needy edge in his voice. All my illusions of fatherly
love shattered instantly.
I sat up straighter. “Dad. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“There’s trouble at the company. You know your uncle has a thing for underage prostitutes. Well,
he got caught.” He rubbed the lines on his forehead. Then looked at me and straight up told me to take
the fall for it.
“But I told him not to—”
“He didn’t listen. And now I can’t have him going to prison because of it. He’s a valuable
member of the company and more importantly, he’s my family. I won’t see him lose his dignity.”
And I’m not? The angry question faded as soon as it emerged in my mind.
“Too late for that.” I hissed. “He is already in too much trouble. And I can’t do anything as I am
right now.”
“No, you can do something.” The red light from the monitor reflected off his glassy eyes, turning
them into two crimson discs. At that moment, he looked very much like the devil. “Take the fall for it,
Ethan. You worked closely with him and stayed at a lot of the same hotels on business trips. It won’t
be hard to convince the prosecutors you were the one who did it. You won’t even have to go to
prison. You’re terminally ill. You can continue being at this hospital.”
Rage peaked within me, but was quickly washed down by bone-deep tiredness. After weeks in
the hospital with no signs of getting better, I was beginning to tire of living. Eating the same,
uninspired hospital food and waiting for a miracle day after day while fearing when it would all end
tends to grow old quite quickly.
“I can’t…” I wished I could run, but my body was dependent on the dialysis machine so even
moving wasn’t a realistic option. “I don’t know how long I’ll live.”
“All the better. If you’re going to die anyway, you can do this one last thing for your old man
before you die. Your last duty as my son.”
I was only his son when it suited him.
“There has to be a better way,” I said. “Let me think about it.”
“Okay. But don’t take too long. Your situation isn’t optimistic. And I can’t wait forever. This issue
needs to be dealt with quickly.”
No suitable response to that came to me. I mean, what exactly was the right response when your
father cared nothing for your life and even when I was sickly, I was simply a pawn in his game of
power?
I hadn’t lost hope of finding a donor yet…but he’d never held hope I would. From the moment I
was diagnosed, he had been thinking of ways to use my imminent death to his advantage.
I still had my doubts about how ethical it was for me to take advantage of an eighteen-year-old
girl I barely knew in this way, even if she was Francesca’s friend. I’d heard her story and understood
her desperation to get rid of that man, but back then, when I was so close to death, I’d have gotten rid
of him for her in return for nothing. But the desperation to live in order to prove to my father that I
would not be used, that I would not die at his command even if I had lived by it, took over my body
like a fever. My weariness at life vanished, replaced by a burning desire to bury the man in front of
me.
I could have died then and nothing would have changed in the world. My family would have
carried on fine. The world would have carried on fine. In all honesty, it would have been better off
without me. My existence was nothing special.
But that night, I swore to myself that I’d show my father that he couldn’t keep toying with my life. I
swore to become so powerful, he’d be at my mercy.
That was the reason I chose to live.
That was the reason I chose to take what Ella offered me.
That was the reason I became a monster.
It has been two years since then.
I still cannot give up. Not unless I fulfill my promise to myself from that night.
THE
TRAIN ROCKING
jolts me awake and scatters old memories, replacing them with a landscape of
the English countryside. Cows and sheep roam over verdant pastures. Nameless brooks and canals
flee stream past my vision, cut up every so often by a lonely house or cluster of houses. I rub my eyes
and feel the soreness in my jaw from being pressed against the window for too long.
I don’t know why I suddenly remembered the past while asleep on the train.
Beside me, Ella has her nose buried in a book as usual, this time an old paperback with yellowed
pages. I don’t know why I find this sight so comforting—a girl and her book. At least for some
people, life is so simple.
I stir in my seat, carefully reaching for the water bottle that’s on her side of the table. In the
process, her attention drifts from the book to me. And here I thought nothing could make her lose
interest in her books.
“Are we there yet?” she slurs the last words like a sleepy child.
I unscrew the cap of the bottle. The sight of her half-lidded eyes coating the insides of my brain
feels like slowly spreading poison. A spark flares in my stomach. “No.”
“Oh.” She rubs her eyes. I pray for her to go to sleep so I can go back to looking at the endlessly
same English countryside.
But she sits up straight in her seat and pulls her book back into her lap. Flips it open and starts
turning pages. Tiny streams of words run across the pages and for the first time, I find myself wanting
to know what they say, what this story is about. How it starts and how it ends. And what it makes her
feel.
“I’ve always wanted to ask, what’s your favorite book?” I say.
“I don’t have one. I love most of the books and fanfics I read. There’s so much great literature in
the world.” Her lips arch up thoughtfully. “More than any book, I think I love the feeling of getting lost
inside the pages of a story. That sense of being in a different, way cooler world with way more
interesting people than I could ever know in person…it’s heady.”
I fold my hands over my chest. “Well, you don’t know a lot of great people in real life, it’s true.”
There’s her self-absorbed mother. Absent father. The monstrous guy who left her with scars. My
sociopathic sister is currently jerking us around England. And to cap it all off, there’s me. Man, Ella
has shit luck when it comes to her network circle.
“I know you,” Ella says.
Before I can react, my father’s number lights up on my phone screen. Fear steals the warmth from
my blood. I have no idea why the first thought my mind jumps to is: he knows what happened with
Ella. He knows I’m getting close to her, that I’m telling her things I shouldn’t be telling her. There’s
no reason for him to be angry with me about it when his own morals are way worse than mine. But
there’s a more pressing reason I need to hide any sign of my relationship with Ella from him: I can’t
trap her in the same situation as me. Because if she gets close to me and knows too much, she’ll die,
too.
“I’m still looking for Francesca,” I answer, the curt edge in my tone meant to deliver an indirect
‘hang the fuck up’ message.
Dad clears his throat. “You can stop now, Ethan. She’s back in Brooklyn.”
“What did you say?”
“Francesca came back home just now. Said she was done with London and just wants to paint
now. She says she’s sorry she made you worry about her but she wanted some alone time away from
family to fill up her artistic well.”
Artistic well, my ass.
I reluctantly loosen my grip on the phone. “Are you sure? Have you seen her yourself?”
For all I know, this could be another prank. She might have sent a body double in New York to
throw me off her trail in Bath because she knows that the moment I find her, I’m not letting her off for
this behavior. So she ran to her daddy? What a sore loser.
“Yeah, hugged her just now,” Dad says. “She looks like she’d been born again. The vacation
seems to have given her new inspiration.”
“Can I talk to Francesca?”
“Later. She’s with her mother now. They’re catching up.”
I tsk. What a convenient excuse. My sister better count her blessings that I’m not actually in New
York to wring her neck.
“Well, if you say she’s back in one piece…” My voice trails off as a sharp stab of disappointment
cleaves the temporary relief in my heart. Because Francesca’s return means one more thing—that my
time in London is over.
I spot the vulnerable, open expression on Ella’s face and what we did the other night starts to
haunt me like a ghost. Her determination to overcome her inner demons. And how warm her honey
eyes were, how needy when she begged me. My promise. Our secrets. And part of me longs for more.
More secrets, more time, more of her.
I should never have started something with my sister’s best friend. Because I find myself wanting
to find out how it ends. Like I want to find out how the book Ella is reading ends.
I shake my head, ridding myself of these idiotic notions. I can’t pull Ella any deeper into my
world. Into my fucked-up life. My control wears thin with every moment I spend around her. I never
realized I had so much pent-up longing and desire. It's clear irritation isn’t all I’ve harbored for her
all these years.
“Did you find her?” Ella’s loud semi-whisper blows on the back of my neck.
Her eyes have grown big and round with worry. She has been listening in on the conversation. No
choice as she was sitting right next to me.
“Francesca is back home in New York,” I tell her. “And she’s feeding everyone some bullshit
about filling up her creative well.”
Her entire body shudders, then she bursts out laughing. I didn’t expect…that reaction.
“She got one over on us. She said she wanted you and me to take a break in London and that’s
exactly what she got.”
“You should return to New York now, Ethan,” Dad’s demanding voice in my ear cuts my
appreciation of Ella’s beautiful, musical laugh short. And despite the knowledge of the shareholder
meeting in three days pressing into my skull, his order only fills me with dread.
I know I need to go back. To reclaim my old life. But hesitation crushes my throat like a boulder,
trapping the words I’m meant to say in my stomach. Why am I dragging my feet? Why does the thought
of throwing away the blissful, quiet days I’ve known in London fill me with a sense of loss?
Being away from the world of Brooklyn parties, galas, boardrooms, and my father was so
peaceful. I think all along, I just needed a detox from my family. To get far away from them. Maybe
Francesca was right. I don’t have a life. Because my life has always been in the hands of someone
else. I’m a dog that comes and goes at my father’s commands.
I’m beginning to get tired of this leash. What Ella said on my first night in London rushes into my
head.
Don’t you want to be free? From everything. From the people who define us, from all the
scheming and lying and cheating we do to keep those people happy, from this life which we live
that isn’t ours.
“About that…I’ll stay here for a while.” I utter the words buoyed by a wave of emotion. The
nagging bitterness I carry around has reached an explosion point, the result of years and years of
frustrations. “Some loose ends I need to tie up.”
I can easily picture the dismayed scowl cutting across Dad’s face right now. A fierce throat
clearing follows. “Don’t dally too long. You don’t have the luxury of a long vacation. There’s
something that needs your attention here. An important family matter.”
Without offering any further answers or asking any questions, I hang up. I’m sick of thinking up
explanations and ways to pacify him.
Ella lets loose a long, audible sigh, her chest deflating. I didn’t realize how tense she was all this
time while I was on the phone. She’s good at hiding her anxiety by burying herself in a book.
“I know it sounds like a terrible thing to say but I guess I can relax now,” she says. “I just wanted
to have a nice vacation eating warm food and reading books. Yet all I’ve done is worry myself into a
heart attack over Francesca—”
“Who is back in New York anyway,” I add unhelpfully. “I’m so angry; I’m lost for words.”
“Guess you won’t be staying here and playing Sherlock anymore,” Ella says. “You can go back to
New York and bury yourself in work like you wanted to.”
“No.” The tense syllable snaps like a rubber band against my skin, the sharpness of my voice
catching me off-guard.
Ella slides her palms over the table. “No, what?”
“I’m not going back.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m staying in London.”
“How long?”
“Until I grow tired of it.”
“What about your job? Your hotels? I can’t believe I’m the one asking you this question. Who are
you and what have you done to Ethan Astor Jr.?”
I narrow my eyes at her. There’s no need for words because the message is clear: fuck my job and
fuck the hotels.
She coughs in disbelief, scrolling up and down her mobile screen like she needs time to process
this. “Are you sure?”
I shrug. “You were right. My life has never been mine. It was always dictated by what other
people wanted from me. But I’m tired of being dragged around by my family. Let Francesca take care
of herself, let my father take care of his own damned family for once, and let my brother clean up his
own messes.” I finish, licking my lips at the last word.
“You’ve…” Ella’s palm brushes against mine. “…changed.”
Her compliment shouldn’t make me proud. Her hand shouldn’t feel like a live wire on my skin.
Her leaning close to me shouldn’t fill my head with nonsense thoughts of fisting my hand in her hair.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Don’t even think about staying here with me. You should leave.” I pull a stern frown. My
sternest. It fails completely. “Go and keep your best friend company. Hide her before I return and sell
her to the mafia for the stunt she pulled.”
Ella’s loud hiss wakes the old couple two seats over. “I’m not leaving. I came here first,
remember? And I have a huge pile of books to get through.”
“You can read books anywhere. On the plane. In your apartment.”
“Or here in Bath.” She stabs one finger on the folding table in the train, eliciting a soft click.
“Also, why are you so desperate to send me back? It’s not like we’re in the same room anymore.”
But we’re breathing the same air right now and all I can smell is her. The musty smell of books
always wafts from her. The faint scent of drugstore shampoo that no rich person would be caught dead
using. And most of all, the way she smelled during sex as she came. I haven’t been able to get that out
of my mind to the point that I always transpose it over her.
She watches me with a quiet, pensive stare that makes me feel like she’s boring right through my
secrets. I’ve always found this stare particularly unsettling.
“Ella, we can’t be together,” I explain. That’s as far as I’m willing to elaborate.
“We’re not going to be together. Just in the same country.” Her skin stretches against her
collarbones as she swallows. Despite her show of nonchalance, even she’s nervous at the thought of
us being together. But there’s more than nervousness in the way her fingers rub against her knee.
I ball my fingers into fists, a stream of cold, hard irritation racing through my blood. “Don’t bite
off more than you can chew, princess. You won’t be able to handle this.”
“Then why do you look more terrified than me?”
“I’m not terrified.”
“You look petrified.” She flips her hair back. These mixed signals are not helping my mood.
“Well, my intelligence tends to intimidate people easily.”
I chuckle darkly. “You look like a lost bunny rabbit. There’s nothing intimidating about you.”
“Then we’ll leave each other alone and co-exist harmoniously during this vacation. Deal?”
“You think I can leave you alone after what happened?” Knowing that the moment I turn my back,
she’ll get into trouble again. My heart rate hasn’t returned to baseline since that day. Every time she’s
out of view, my fear snaps to the forefront. I don’t deserve to worry about her, not after I touched her
and ruined her. But I do care—even if I hate every second of it.
“Yes, you can leave me alone very easily if you choose to.” Ella snaps her book shut with a
momentous thwack. Her jaw clenches tight. “In fact, you were very happy to ignore my existence all
this time. But the question is, will you leave me alone?”
Dammit. She just saw right through me.
“You…” My voice sputters.
At the cocky way her eyebrow slants upward, a roller coaster of emotion brews in my belly. I feel
flames licking up my skin every time she’s near and right now, I’m inside an inferno.
Worse still, I have no answer, not even an easy lie to restore the power equation between us, to
put out the flame that is growing brighter between us, threatening to scorch the last shred of my
conscience and the entirety of her life.
“And Ethan?” she continues. “You promised to help me with my exposure therapy.”
The last syllables dissolve into my helpless grunt. I snap my mouth closed. She got me where I
was weak. Because I’m a guy who can’t take back my word.
So it looks like she’ll be staying.
CHAPTER 13
E
lla
ALL SIGNS i.e. Ethan’s constant brooding on the train, his refusal to talk to me, and his constant
groaning in irritation at my mere presence all indicated that we’d be going our own ways the moment
we alighted in Bath and never seeing each other again.
Instead, we’re shoulder to shoulder as we charge through the crowd of tourists inside the Bath
Abbey like rivals trying to beat each other in a race.
Yes. You read that correctly. The two of us. Sightseeing together. For the record, he’s the one who
followed me here all the way from the hotel. If we held hands, this would actually look like a date but
I’m not idealistic enough to believe in such fairytales anymore.
The few drips of sunlight that have managed to break through the gray clouds illuminate endless
stretches of beige, hallowed arches inside the abbey. Old, medieval-style chandeliers twist down
from above. The architectural details on the ceiling, the arches, and the intricate carvings look
marvelous and grand for about thirty seconds after which my attention is occupied by something else.
Ethan’s sneeze, followed by a cough—what has to be his tenth cough since we started touring the
abbey—chases my back.
I sigh, worry melding into my breath when I spot Ethan wiping his dripping nose. Despite his
dark, surly countenance, he seems like a small child when he blows his nose into his handkerchief. I
don’t know anybody else who still carries a handkerchief in this day and age. Still, my heart totally
melts. Gee, what’s happening to me? Watching him blowing his nose should look disgusting, not cute.
A squall hit the moment we landed in Bath. Too bad for him, Mr. Devil of Brooklyn didn’t bring
an umbrella. To add insult to his injury, there were no taxis at the station because it’s so tiny, so he
made the journey to the hotel by foot, getting thoroughly drenched in the process. I was charitable
enough to offer to share my umbrella but his pride made him refuse.
Therefore, he has nobody to blame for this except himself.
“Don’t tell me you’re catching a cold.” I slide up to his side like a stealthy cat.
He rubs his nose. “It’s just a few sneezes.”
“That’s how it starts, you know.”
“If you’re so convinced I’m sick, then you should stay away or you’ll catch my germs.” He cocks
an eyebrow at his triumphant comeback.
I click my tongue but move away. Still, I can’t stop checking on him. My eyes are naturally
diverted by his big, dark silhouette even if I want to simply soak in the historical magnificence of the
abbey.
When I’m with him, the world seems so small and manageable, reduced to the size of one
infuriating, isolated man who, despite all his protestations, will always protect me from my worst
demons.
But I can’t keep staring at him all trip.
There’s something else I’ve been meaning to do.
I slip to a quiet corner of the abbey and tap Francesca’s number on my phone. I need to talk to her.
Badly. There’s only so much I can endure of stewing in unsaid words and painful self-awareness
around Ethan.
“I thought you wouldn’t pick up,” I speak into the phone, careful to hide behind a wall when
Francesca answers.
Francesca blows a ragged breath into my ear. Then another. “If it was Ethan, I’d have pretended
to lose my phone, but I know you won’t chew me out for London…right?”
“Honestly, Francesca, it was excessive. Also, you should’ve reserved me a better room. I had to
share with your brother.” Heat builds in my belly at the memory of that first night when Ethan saw me
naked, the absolute apathy in his eyes…and then, days later, the maddening lust in those same eyes as
he made my body sob with pleasure.
My core clenches around nothing, feeling empty, needing something I shouldn’t want, and yet,
every day I need it more than I need air.
“What, really? Did anything happen between Ethan and you?”
A flare of heat explodes on my cheeks. If only Francesca knew. Umm…I think I’ll be withholding
that bit of information from Francesca for the foreseeable future. She won’t be mad at me for hooking
up with her brother because she’s quite open-minded, but it’s nothing to brag about. It was a one-off
thing anyway.
My tongue darts out, moistening my dry lips. “Apart from him giving me surly looks and ignoring
my existence the rest of the time, nothing noteworthy went down.”
“Bummer. I thought he might open up to you since you’re someone who is easy to talk to. But
Ethan can be set in his ways. Tell me he at least didn’t make you sleep on the couch.”
“He was very gentlemanly about that.”
“Now that’s a surprise.”
I scratch the metal exterior of the phone, anchoring myself amidst the rising and falling tides of
tourists’ voices. “But why did you do it? Why did you lie to us?”
“I told you; you both need a vacation. Ethan wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t been so drastic.”
“That’s not true. I think he’d have…” I bite down on my tongue. Francesca is right. There are two
things Ethan absolutely hates—listening to other people and taking a break from work. If Francesca
straight-out demanded that he takes a break, he’d have only resisted harder. I’m sure she has tried it
before.
“The moment he laid eyes on me in London, he’d have chewed me out and flown back to New
York on the first flight,” Francesca says. “I wanted him to spend a few days abroad, at least. Making
myself disappear while leading him on my trail was the only way to ensure he’d stay and go to the
places I wanted him to see. My brother’s bullheaded. Trust me, if gentler means worked on him, I’d
have succeeded already. But I’ve been doing that for ten years and it has never worked. By the way,
I’m glad he decided to stay for a few more days. Distance from Dad will only do him good.”
My curiosity is a lion head-butting its cage. I twist the golden pendant of my chain between my
fingers. “What do you mean? They don’t get along?”
“It’s just family stuff. Regular drama.” With that vague statement, Francesca shuts me out.
I don’t know a lot about the relationships between the Astors. Both Francesca and Ethan are tightlipped about their father, but I overheard Mr. Astor once when I was at the hospital with Ethan and
that conversation made it clear that Ethan and his father have a horrible relationship. I mean, what
kind of father would call their sick son useless and threaten to cut him off if he didn’t ruin a man who
had slighted Mrs. Astor at some country club gathering? It’s then that I realized that a lot of monstrous
things Ethan does aren’t because he’s a bad person but because he’s trying to survive in a household
and a world where his life doesn’t have any value. It was the first time I felt sad for him.
Then last year at a house party, Elliot, Francesca’s older brother, said something interesting to me
when he was half-stoned.
“It’s my fault Ethan’s this way. If I’d been stronger, we wouldn’t be so fucked up as a family.” The
shadows of regret decorated his face, and the usually fun-loving Elliot looked so serious. “Do you
think it’s strange that I’m afraid of my own father and brother?”
“Is that why you take every opportunity to get away from this house?” I’d asked, having heard
Francesca complaining often about how Elliot is never at home and jets off to Ibiza and California
every other day.
Elliot’s golden curls blended in with the shiny upholstery of the sofa as he nodded gently. “I can’t
stand this house. I wish I could move away forever.”
I run a fingertip along the ridge of my nose as Elliot’s hoarse, agonized voice dissolves, replaced
by Francesca’s peppy one.
“Ella, are you there?”
I blink, realizing I missed an entire chunk of conversation while I was lost in thought. “Yeah.”
“How’s England? Are you having fun?”
“Yeah, I am. Thanks for giving me the opportunity.”
“You deserve it, Ells. You’ve always been there for me. I’ve cried on your shoulders so many
times after flunking math and getting rejected by galleries. I practically owe you.”
“No, you don’t.” I rub my elbow. “But I’m grateful all the same.”
This vacation has been a relief, a break from Mom’s constant demands. And it has given me an
opportunity to push my boundaries.
“Don’t let Ethan’s grumpiness ruin your holiday,” Francesca reminds.
My words are lodged in my throat. “He cares about you, Francesca.”
“I know. I care about him, too—that’s why I gave him this much-needed vacation.”
I don’t agree with the method she used, but I do agree that Ethan needed a rest from acting like he
was in a warzone waiting for a grenade to drop from the sky. In London, he’s softer. More relaxed.
The lines around his eyes are almost gone. I mean, he even had lunch with me voluntarily, and if that’s
not a shocking change, what is?
I catch Ethan’s glare from the corner of my eye now. He is rocking on the balls of his feet
impatiently. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect he knows exactly who I’m talking to. Time to end this
call, then.
“I’ll call you again,” I tell Francesca. “Bye now.”
THE NEXT DAY, Ethan doesn’t leave his hotel room, not even at lunchtime. He doesn’t get room
service, either. I know because I’m in the adjacent room and the building is so old that if he opened or
closed his door, it’d rattle the walls of my room. Francesca sure chose a budget place for us.
I hang around in my room all morning, reading the last few chapters of a fantasy romance novel I
was supposed to finish reading at night yesterday. And failing miserably. The moment I entered the
room, the memory of Ethan going down on me in another hotel room not too long ago wrapped around
me like chains.
I’m still not sure what to do with the craving in my heart. I thought I’d give up on him, but ever
since he said that he didn’t fuck me out of pity or trauma, my courage has been on a high.
Before, I wasn’t sure of what I wanted from him, whether it was sex or something more. Now I
long for the honesty we shared in those small, charged moments, the way his soft touches spoke of the
pain and longing that he’ll never let himself put into words. The way his gentle, controlled actions
contrasted against his dangerous, wild words, revealing the deep grooves of the man beneath the mask
of the devil.
Most of all, I love how it made me honest.
I like you, too. The world is a better place for me because you’re in it.
It sounds ridiculous, but just saying that healed a little bit of my fear like I’d released a phantom
I’d been carrying at the bottom of my stomach. I’ve always been afraid of complimenting a man since
that day, of liking someone, afraid I’ll be misunderstood and end up becoming the victim of
someone’s desires.
I crack my knuckles, biting down on my skin. The thick fog of quietness lets my mind roam
unfettered, to faraway places where it’s easy to get lost.
My descent into the purgatory of self-loathing is interrupted by a knock against the wall. It came
from Ethan’s room. He probably banged against the wall while moving, but I don’t care. I shoot out
like a fired bullet.
I’d rather be looking at Ethan’s irritated face and hear him criticize me than be alone with my
messy memories. At least Ethan doesn’t hate me. He said it himself. That he liked me. It made me so,
so happy. Nobody has ever said that to me with so much sincerity.
Not my mother’s agent who took advantage of my feelings for him without ever reciprocating
them.
Not my mother who says she loves me until her mood crashes and she starts blaming me for
ruining her career.
Hearing ‘I like you’ from the mouth of the last man I expected healed a part of my soul that I never
even knew existed. That’s why I was honest with Ethan, too. Because I wanted to heal him, too.
Our relationship may be based on nothing more than shared trauma, but I want it to be equal at
least.
I nearly break down the door of his room; that’s how hard I knock.
A tired, lined, red face greets me a few seconds later.
“Dammit, stop that noise!” Ethan yells, his temper trembling between angry and explosive.
“I heard you knock on the wall. You’ve been quiet all morning so I thought something must be
wrong,” I say.
Ethan usually dominates any space he’s in, but sickness has leached vitality from him. Now he
looks like a normal thirty-two-year-old man instead of a mythical creature. For the first time in my
life, he seems attainable.
And I want to touch him again. I want to heal him as he healed me with three simple words.
“I’m fine,” he replies gruffly.
“You look really bad. Wait, do you have a fever?” The moment my fingers contact his burning
body, I know I’m spot on. I push through the door and trudge beyond his body until I’m firmly in his
space. “Are you taking anything for it?”
The feel of a strong set of hands pricks my shoulders. “Get out, Ella.”
“I’m not leaving you alone when you’re sick.”
“It’s the goddamn flu, not cancer. I’ll recover on my own.”
“You need medicine to get better. And you didn’t eat breakfast or dinner. You’ll faint at this rate.”
I grab the phone on the nightstand. “I’ll call room service first for food and then go get you some
medicine.”
Ethan backs off, curling into a fetal position on the bed. “Fine, if you’re determined to be Mother
Teresa, I won’t stop you.”
The very fact that he doesn’t rebel against my interference tells a lot about how weakened he is,
mentally. His eyelids drop easily, too. Before I even leave the room, he’s asleep.
I return a few moments later from the pharmacy and spend far too long staring at his sleeping form
before waking him up to spoon medicine and shovel food down his throat.
Ethan isn’t beautiful, not in a traditional way. That attracted me to him because everybody I know,
including my parents, looks good in a photogenic, Hollywood-star way. Because he looked different,
I assumed that he would act differently, too.
When he growls at me for treating him like a baby and says he’ll eat lunch himself, I paste a
cooling gel sheet on his forehead to bring down his body temperature.
“You’ll feel better in no time,” I assure him.
His jaw ticks before he speaks. “Why’re you doing this? You could be exploring Bath right now.
You didn’t come here to nurse me back to health.”
Tiny, invisible wings flutter inside my heart. His penetrating gaze burns past my skin and bones
and flesh, setting my soul on fire.
“Because I know what it feels like to be neglected,” I say, shivering as a chill erupts under my
skin, regurgitating buried memories. I close my fingers into tight fists, pleading with my mind to return
to the present where I’m safe and protected and where nobody can ever frighten me again. “I wouldn’t
wish it on my worst enemy.”
The firm pressure of a hand over mine sinks into my skin like relief. “Ella, what are you thinking
about?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Fine, then what’re you thinking about?”
“About how soon you’ll leave my room and how quickly I can go back to sleep.”
I snort out a laugh through my nose. That, at least, seems like it’s the truth.
“Fine, I’ll leave you alone then.” I rise to my feet. “If you hate me so much.”
His fingers curl around my wrist. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then let me stay with you,” I beg. He’s like a book that has piqued my interest and I can’t help
turning the pages. It’s sick, this obsession with him. “I’ll be quiet. I’ll read a book or something. And
you can rest.”
I notice the resistance darkening his eyes, the protest rising along with his Adam’s apple. But in
the end, I think he’s too weakened to argue.
He gives in.
“Fine. You can stay. But don’t complain if you get bored staring at my sleeping face.”
He closes his eyes and I make myself at home on the armchair right beside his bed. I don’t even
feel the passing of time here in his room. With him so close to me. This a scene I couldn’t have
imagined in my wildest dreams.
I’m drunk on our mundane closeness. Looking after people is usually emotionally draining for me.
My mother constantly orders me around when she’s sick, not letting me relax for a second, demanding
hot water bags, random food items from faraway restaurants, and designer bags, and complaining all
the time. Looking after Ethan is different, though. I actually want to do it. My hands lean forward
automatically to caress his forehead when he shifts and every time he squeezes his eyes in pain when
he coughs, my heart squeezes in the same way. Except much harder.
To my shock, Ethan lets me. Lets me touch him. Change the cooling gel patch on his head. Take his
temperature every now and then. And caress his hair as I’ve always imagined doing in my closeted
fantasies.
“You can go if you’re bored,” he says when he wakes up after three hours.
“I’m not bored.”
“You’ve got to be.” He yawns. “You’ve been doing nothing but staring at me while I sleep.”
“That’s not boring.”
He waves his hands dismissively. “I’m not sleepy anymore. I think I’m going to sit and do some
work. And you’ll only be a disturbance.”
“Didn’t you decide to take a vacation? Doesn’t that mean no working?”
He considers my line of logic and either he’s too tired or I make sense because he nods.
I should probably return to my room now. The color’s back in Ethan’s face. His temperature has
fallen, too. But my body longs for closeness, not distance. I yearn to talk to him, to hear his deep,
comforting voice, even if our entire conversation consists of grunts and monosyllables. Something
about being near him is soothing. The more time I spend here, the less I want to leave. So I linger
under the pretense of tidying up his room.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“A little.”
“Want something to eat?”
“No.”
“What about the cooling patch on your head?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Tell me if you need anything.”
“Ella, I’m not a patient and you’re not a nurse.” He brackets his head with his hands. “I know
you’re a bleeding heart but there’s no need to waste your entire day tending to me.”
“It’s not a waste.”
“Today’s our last day in Bath…is this what you want to do?”
“Yes, this is exactly what I want to do. I think I saw everything I wanted to see yesterday.”
I do get the message that Ethan is getting uncomfortable about me fussing over him this much. It's
insensitive of me to stress him when he’s ill so I withdraw.
On the cusp of the door, my chest is weighed with heaviness and yearning. I don’t want to go. I
want to marinate in his presence, watch him all the time, and know that he’s well. I want to tell him
horrible things about myself I haven’t told anyone else. It’s a visceral need, hollowing out the bottom
of my stomach. I have to drop this burden I’ve been carrying. I wish to be comforted by him even if I
have no right. For that to happen, though, I must show all the dark, forbidden, dirty parts of myself that
I’ve kept locked away.
So I crack myself open.
“I visited him in prison, you know.” The admittance charges the air with gloom. Dread laces my
pulse, the recollections of that day pouring into me like a stream of venom. It wasn’t my proudest
moment which is why I never told Ethan about it. “After you put him there, that is. When I was
nineteen.”
It’s a beat before understanding dawns. Ethan's jaw tightens.
“Are you out of your mind?” His grunt is so dark and furious I’m surprised black smoke doesn’t
ooze out from between his teeth.
“Yeah, I know it was stupid, but I wanted to hear his apology.” Tears are fountaining down my
cheeks already as the day flashes in my memory again. The yellowed teeth and leery eyes stared at me
from behind the Plexiglas, not weak and remorseful, but still holding so much power over me.
Mocking me. Making me feel filthy and disgusting and wrong. So wrong. Like I didn’t deserve to live
after what I’d done to him.
“You know what he said to me? That I was a slut and liar who ruined people’s lives because I
couldn’t accept who I was. That I was conning everyone and they’d figure out my game sooner or
later.”
“And you believed him?” Ethan twists the watch on his wrist with more force than necessary. I’m
afraid he’ll break it. “You were fucking seventeen when it happened. You were a kid.”
Even though I met the guy in prison when I was nineteen and a year had passed since the
kidnapping, I was still overwhelmed.
“You know what I thought back then? That he’s probably right. I even considered asking you to get
him out of jail, but I was afraid you’d demand my other kidney if I made a request like that. You were
pretty scary when I first met you. I was more scared of you than of him.”
The ghost of a smile settles on Ethan’s lips. “Good. I’d have refused you if you asked me to
release that bastard after all the trouble I went through.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, skin clammy with sweat. “It still affects me, the things he
said. I hear his voice in my head whenever…whenever something happens. Always telling me that
I’m an attention seeker and that I like teasing men with my innocent eyes and that I am begging to be
fucked when I pretend to ignore him by reading books. But you know, I’m not doing it for that…”
My words are interspersed by a sob. It comes out of nowhere. I’ve broken down many times since
that incident, but never in front of Ethan. It’s a good thing my eyes are blinded by a veil of tears
because I don’t want to see the cold disgust on Ethan’s face at my emotional outburst. That’d depress
me even more. I know he hates things like this.
“Don’t believe everything monsters tell you, Ella.” His sentence rises over the din of my own
sobbing. He doesn’t sound judgmental or irritated. His voice is steady, measured, and filled with so
much surety that it melts away the cruel remarks and shameful thoughts inside my head. “They’re
monsters for a reason.”
“Sorry to unload all this on you when you’re sick.” I wipe my tears on my sweater’s sleeve. “But
there’s nobody else I can tell and I was thinking of him before…well, focusing on taking care of you
kept my mind away from it all but now that I’m leaving…it’s all coming back.”
“It’s not your fault. Remember that. There’s a reason he’s rotting in jail.”
“Yeah, I know it.” I scratch my knuckles, dropping my gaze to the ground. “I know it, but I feel…
so guilty.”
I hear the padding of footsteps. Before I can fully turn my face up, Ethan’s body slams into mine.
His arms encircle me in a protective embrace. His hot breath fans my ear. The shock of being hugged
by him is so great, it causes the tears I was holding back to spring free from my eyes and waterfall
down my cheeks in messy, ugly streaks.
Because this warmth, this comfort, this silent support…it’s more than I ever believed I’d get.
I cry into his shoulder, and Ethan grips my shivering body tightly. Blood fills my lungs with every
scream, every shattered cry. I rage silently for me who wanted to be loved but was only used to fulfill
someone else’s twisted desires.
“You want to believe that he was a good guy because you respected him as your mother’s agent,”
Ethan murmurs to me. “And if he’s a good guy, it means what he did was also good. It means there’s
truth in his words. But you need to let that go. He was a monster and whatever kindness you saw of
him was simply a mask he wore to lure you in. Stop trying to find humanity where there’s none. You
do that with me, too, Ella. You believe me a saint when you know very well that I have nothing
resembling goodness in me.”
Despite the safe, strong arms cocooning me, the anxiety in my stomach expands like a balloon.
“That’s not true.” An invisible tightness wraps around my throat. “You’re just running away
because you’re afraid that under all those lies and bluster you’re still human after all. That you still
feel.”
“See? This, exactly. You need to stop. Neither that monster nor I am human.”
Someday, I’ll have to prove to him he’s wrong, but today, I’m not going to fight. We’re both too
tired to confront some truths.
I steal a large breath into my lungs. “I want you to know that when I asked you to give me head in
London, I wasn’t trying to tease you. I like you. Really, I do. But I’ve always been scared that wanting
to be desired by someone, and asking someone to please me makes me…evil. That’s why I could
never find the courage to do it before. But you’re the devil so I thought if I was with you, I could also
be a bad person and do bad things.”
“Sex isn’t a bad thing, princess. And wanting it doesn’t make you a bad person, either. That’d
make most people in the world evil.” His large palm engulfs the top of my head. Warmth seeps in
through my skull. He told me I shouldn’t believe what monsters say, but I believe everything he says.
“People have their own willpower and they need to take responsibility for their actions. You asked
me to do it…but I didn’t have to. I chose to do it. You didn’t force me. I’m aware how much courage
it must’ve taken for you to ask what you did.”
“I still want you,” I whisper, knowing my desperate desires will dissolve into the space between
us and nothing will come of it. Just expressing what I want without feeling like it makes me someone
disgusting and creepy is already more than enough for me. “And I hope you know that I’m not
expecting you to go along with me if you don’t want to—”
His finger presses over my lips. “Yes, I know. Don’t say anymore.”
I look into his eyes and it’s clear as day that he understands me. That he gets what I’ve gone
through. His silence is in solidarity with my pain, not a rejection of my point of view.
As his thumb wipes away the last tear on my cheek, I realize I’m falling in love with the devil.
I no longer care if he devours my heart and soul in the process.
In fact, I’ll offer it to him on a silver platter if he’ll have me.
CHAPTER 14
E
than
IF THERE WAS ANY DOUBT , now I know for sure that I’m definitely going to hell. I’ve always detested
people who run hot and cold but I’m currently reigning as the emperor of mixed signals. What was I
thinking, taking Ella into my arms, empathizing with her? That’s not very cold of me. And any warmth
only gives people false hope.
I understand what Ella meant when she said she’s afraid to desire anyone, afraid they’ll twist her
feelings and use it as a free pass to do anything to her, to imagine themselves with her in ways she
doesn’t want to be with them.
I’m scared of the same thing. That the moment I show any hint of kindness, Ella will manufacture a
fairytale in her head about how I’m a warm and fuzzy human being, a knight in shining armor.
Then when I go back to being myself, she’ll be left heartbroken and I’ll be left feeling like a
bigger piece of shit than I already do. This cycle of self-recrimination needs to end.
So what am I doing, sightseeing around London with Ella ever since we got back from Bath?
Why am I browsing obscure indie bookstores with her while carrying her haul of paperbacks like
a besotted boyfriend? My version of the story is that I’m doing this out of gratitude to pay her back for
the time she spent nursing me back to health in Bath. She was in my room the whole day. If there’s
anything I hate, it’s outstanding debts.
But at the end of the day, I know what I’m feeling for her isn’t gratitude.
“I’m glad your fever went down so quickly. You must have great immunity,” Ella says now. Dust
envelops her as she cracks open an old book with yellowed pages that smells like it came from the
middle ages. “Still, you should rest. You tromped through Hyde Park with me yesterday when it was
raining.”
“At least I had an umbrella this time.”
I carry one of those huge umbrellas with me everywhere I go nowadays—the ones they show in
old British dramas. Bath was a lesson I won’t ever forget.
“There’s this place that serves great afternoon tea. Remember the one I showed you yesterday on
Instagram?”
“The place that I said looks like unicorn vomit?” I ask.
Ella scrunches her lips, suppressing her smile. “You know it’s anti-feminist to attack the color
pink.”
“I’m not attacking the color pink,” I clarify. “I’m attacking the sensibilities of the designer who
thought it was a good idea to throw so much pink and glitter within a small, confined space.”
“It’s cute,” Ella defends. “And that’s why it’s Instagram-worthy. Maybe you can take some notes
for your hotels?”
I grind my teeth, finding this casual banter both sexy and infuriating. “Like hell I will.”
“So you’ll come with me? The set course is for two. I can’t finish all the food by myself.”
It’s sweet that she even bothers to ask knowing full well I won’t refuse. And it’s ridiculous that I
don’t act like the emotionally-challenged shitbag I am and reject her offer outright. I mean, I don’t
exactly dream of sitting in a pink-painted parlor snacking on dainty sandwiches when I could be doing
something more productive, However, I decided to not live for my father and his company during this
vacation, so guess that means I’ll have to change my view of certain things.
“Well, I have nothing else to do in the afternoon, so might as well get a migraine looking at ugly
décor,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Ethan. Don’t be toxic and just admit that you’re a man who likes cute things.
There’s no shame in that.” She wiggles her fingers in the air as if performing a hypnotic dance and I
can’t tear away my gaze. Craving burns a trail through my stomach, rising up and up until I’m ready to
settle for just licking the tips of her fingernails.
“Of course, I like cute things. Why else would I like you?”
Brushing her hand through her hair, Ella drops her gaze like a demure debutante. Her cheeks shade
pink. “Wait, are you saying I’m cute?”
“I think that much is obvious,” I bite out. Does she not have eyes to see how much I stare at her?
Sometimes, even I’m embarrassed at my own obviousness.
“You know, you have a talent for saying the nicest things with the meanest expression,” Ella says.
“But I like that part of you that’s conflicted about your own kindness.”
A blunt object digs into my sternum, buffered only by my sweater.
“What’s this?” I glare at the thick tome Ella’s stabbing my stomach with. She’s still not facing me
directly. Her skin has grown three shades pinker. She’ll fit right in with that unicorn vomit at the
afternoon tea place.
“It’s a romance novel,” Ella informs me, adjusting her glasses on her nose. “I’m buying it for you.
As a gift.”
My face has to be a mask of pure horror right now. “A romance novel?” I sputter.
“Give it a chance. It’s pretty good. And who knows, you might see some of your own feelings
reflected in the pages?” That sharp, challenging angle of her eyebrow does nothing to quell the hot
unease roiling in my body.
“I’m not reading any crap with romance in it.” My mood blackens when I find my insides
liquefying with fear at the thought of reading a book with two kissing people on its cover. Shoot me.
When did I become so fragile? Of all the appropriate emotions to feel—disgust, apathy, a righteous
desire to burn this waste of pages—fear is the last one I anticipated. I raise my shoulders, squaring
them with determination to hide my weakness. “What do you take me for? I have standards.”
“Well, that’s your choice but at least I tried.” With a shrug, Ella grabs the book from me.
Only I’m holding onto it too tightly. I stagger forward along with it when she pulls, the momentum
making me crash over her body, both my arms latching onto the bookshelf for support. I have her
caged between my hands, my knee between her legs. This scenario is ten types of wrong but only a sin
can feel so right.
The dominant thought chattering through my mind is: it can’t end here. It can’t fucking end here.
Ella doesn’t make a move. She’s watching me, the fire of challenge setting her rare shade of eyes
alight. Her legs brush my knees, her knuckles sending flaps of lightning across my groin when her fist
draws up slowly against my torso. She’s just getting her hand out of a cramped spot, but my body
overreacts.
Lust overpowers all my logic and my dick hardens, aching for her softness. We’re close enough
that she can feel it. Close enough for my humiliation to claw against her stomach. For the friction of
the contact to send a heatwave spiraling through me.
Shit. Shit. What am I doing? Actually, I’m doing nothing, just standing around. But I need to do
something.
“Sorry,” I mumble, sliding back from her body. From that soft, yielding, pliant body I need more
than oxygen right now. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“Why? It wasn’t your fault. It was just a bodily reaction while we happened to be pasted to each
other accidentally…” Every nerve in my body suffers a paralytic shock as she takes one step close to
me. Then another, her thumping heartbeat and scratchy footsteps on the wooden floorboards echoing
in the eerie quiet of the shop. Why is this damned store so empty right now? Why don’t people read
books anymore? “Weren’t you the one who said sex isn’t a bad thing?”
Look at her throwing my own words back at me. I scoff, but the pain of my agonizing erection
turns it into a grimace instead. “We’re in a bookshop, princess.”
“Is there any place more romantic?”
My mind floods with a host of unwanted impressions. Of arms and legs grabbing at each other. Of
pleasure and pain ripped from our bodies in the most brutal, excruciatingly sensual way.
“Stop.” I extend my arm to create a physical wall between us. “Go pay for the book. Now. And
don’t test my patience.”
“Sure…but will you be okay?” She cocks her head in amusement at my discomfort. The little
sadist. Maybe I should start calling her a sadist instead of a princess.
“I’ll manage.”
This moment is about to go down as one of the five moments I’d very much like to erase from my
memory forever.
Once she’s gone, I calm myself. I have great self-control, it seems—as long as Ella isn’t around to
tax it.
Expelling a sigh at the frosty shop window, I hope the cold shield of ice around my heart that
always made me feel barren on the inside reforms quickly. I can’t take much more of my own
emotions. My transgressions seem to be growing every day.
Yesterday, while we were brunching on pancakes, I wiped the cream off Ella’s lips like it was the
most natural thing in the world. The worrying part is that she responded to my uncharacteristic
behavior with a Cheshire cat grin and purred a clearly triumphant ‘thank you’ instead of recoiling.
The lines are being blurred in our relationship. Ever since the night she kissed me, the sense of
boundaries that were strong as iron between us has begun to fade. Things that shouldn’t be natural are
starting to come naturally to me.
And the only way to change it is to stop who I am becoming.
AFTER THE INSTAGRAM- WORTHY afternoon tea where the interior décor was ghastly but the chef’s
cooking was so stellar I poached him for our own restaurant, Ella and I finally hobble back to The
Astor London.
She, of course, hands me the romance novel she bought that I’m going to promptly stuff into a
drawer and forget about.
“Please read it. It’s really sweet and innocent and it’ll probably make you cry. It was my first
romance and it got me hooked on the genre,” she says. “It’ll be better than brooding alone in your
room; I guarantee that.”
I sneer. I am not a fan of waterworks, especially by myself.
“How about we read it together?” Ella asks. “Or read books together and discuss them? Doesn’t
that sound exciting?”
“No, it sounds tiring and pointless,” I reply.
The wrenching in my gut when she turns her back on me and begins to march toward her room
makes me almost reconsider the buddy-read plan. The hole her absence leaves hurts like losing an
arm. It makes no sense at all, but there it is—as solid as a sword lodged in my lungs.
I understand why she suggested reading the book together. It wasn’t about the book at all, was it?
Despite spending the entire day (and yesterday) in her presence, I need more. I hunger for the intimacy
we had in Bath and after the nightclub incident, the moments when she bared her heart to me and I
devoured every morsel of pain in her soul like a glutton.
“Since you told me about visiting him in prison, I’ll tell you something, too,” I start before she
gets too far away from me. “Something you’ve always wanted to know.”
The princess swivels back and blinks. Backtracks the steps between us one by one in time to my
flickering pulse.
I stick the key in the door of my room and pull it open, leading her inside. There’s no way I’m
having this talk out in the open where anyone can hear.
“When you say something I’ve always wanted to know you don’t mean…” I slam the door closed,
and the sharp, wooden bang eats away the remainder of her sentence. “About the fire?”
“I was responsible for it.”
“You told me before, remember?”
“But I didn’t tell you all of it. I said it wasn’t arson and that much is true. I didn’t set it myself. But
I could have stopped.”
“Who set it, then?”
“My dad. He was angry and he dropped a candle on the carpet. I could’ve put it out before the fire
got out of hand, but it was too much effort and I didn’t want to go against him. I’m a horrible person,
aren’t I?”
I’m hoping this will finally put a wedge between us. All along, I tried to keep the worst of me
away from her, but I should have done the opposite. Nothing drives away feelings faster than knowing
that the person you’ve been feeling them for is not worthy of them.
But her reaction is baffling. She smiles, a sure smile like she is proud of me. “I already knew that
you couldn’t have done it, Ethan. And I know why you can’t go against your father.”
“How?”
“Back when you were getting your surgery…I overheard you talking to your father. That’s how I
found out you’re a prisoner, too. A prisoner of fate.”
Which one of our conversations did she hear? I hope it wasn’t the one I’m thinking it is.
“That’s why I can’t hate you,” she continues. “That’s why I was determined to help you. Because
you were like me back then—you had nobody on your side.”
I don’t know what to say. I press my back against the wall of her room, closing my fingers into
fists and trying to quell the rush of relief. Part of me is glad that there was at least part of her that
actually wanted to help me back then. That she didn’t do it simply because she needed me to take care
of her kidnapper for her. That I didn’t simply take advantage of her desperation. It eases some of the
guilt I’ve carried with me all these years.
Ella must never know that.
“Princess, you’re someone with a lot of trauma and you have to understand that you don’t always
see me accurately,” I say.
“I know everything you’ve done. I know how horrible all of it is. And I’m puzzled that I still like
you after knowing everything. But I do. That is accurate.”
“You’re just romanticizing my trauma,” I say. “You think you can heal me and it’ll make you feel
better because you won’t feel powerless about being unable to heal yourself.”
“You’re right that I feel powerless about being able to heal myself from the past. But that’s not
why I have feelings for you. I’m also not deluding myself that I can heal you. I want to help you as
much as I can, but I know that I can’t heal you. So no. You’re wrong when you say I’m not the one
seeing this accurately. I think you’re the one who has grown addicted to being in a cage and you feel
threatened simply because I’m telling you that you can leave. That you don’t have to be the man your
father wants you to be.”
The truth in her words rings like the sound of a whip striking flesh. I jerk forward. She raises her
hand toward me and our fingertips touch in this blasted, forbidden moment, fire licking fire through
the inadequate barrier of my skin. I should pull away. She should pull away. One of us should damned
well scream or kick or punch to interrupt this thick fog growing dense between us.
But both of us stare into each other’s eyes, desire choking our lungs like smoke with every tick of
the clock, the intermittent silence hammering our undeniable attraction in place until it’s part of my
body and I don’t have the power to separate my existence from this endless, quaking need to have
her.
Heat wraps around my cock. My blood sings with fear and anticipation.
My heart thrashes in protest. I don’t want to leave the cage I’ve built around myself, the cage I’ve
grown comfortable in, but when freedom—sweet and innocent—beckons me, I’m powerless to deny
it.
Sinking my fingers knuckle-deep into Ella’s hair, I listen to her gasp. The sound wraps itself
around my head like a silk blindfold.
“You want this?” Lust roughens the edge of my voice. My other hand journeys over the hard ridge
of her spine.
“Yes…” Her hand slides over my hard, clothed erection. “But the question is, what do you want,
Ethan?”
“Your mouth on my cock,” I rasp, discarding my jacket, beginning to undo the button on my pants
so I can free my raging erection.
Ella shrugs out of her coat, eases her blouse down her arms then yanks down her skirt. She beats
me to unfasten her bra. Her tits bounce free, naked. Creamy mounds of soft flesh contrasted against the
dark brown of her hair. Her nipples are two delicious beads of puckered pleasure. My breath betrays
me as my gaze stalks her down to her toes. She’s a vision. Every inch of her body was crafted by a
sick, sadistic deity determined to torment me.
Ella blushes, her eyes flickering to and from my hard, exposed length.
A shot of painful longing twists in my belly.
“Don’t get all shy on me now,” I smirk. “Unless you’ve had enough already.”
“I’m just…getting used to it.” Ella clears her throat. “It’s my first time, okay?”
As if I didn’t know that—Ella screams ‘virgin’ from five miles away. I tell myself I need to go
easy on her, but no part of me is in the mood for slow and sensual tonight. The urgency to bury my
cock in her wetness, to relieve my pent-up lust is a visceral pain buzzing inside my skull.
She approaches me, hesitant. I have zero patience left so I pull her flush against me. I set my hands
on her waist, slanting my mouth down to the crook of her neck and licking a deliberate, leisurely line
down to her cleavage.
“Don’t be scared,” I say, taking her hand and pressing it into my rock-solid erection.
“I don’t want to mess this up.” She marks a soft trail down my chest with her fingertip. “I want to
make you happy.”
It’s all it takes to turn my already-hard cock into a steel pipe. This isn’t pure lust threading through
my veins. It’s tender. It’s warm. Shit. My chest feels like jelly. I don’t have the mental stamina to
question what this means.
I close my eyes, letting the darkness, the unknown wash over me.
Ella has my cock in her tiny hand and this is new territory. I’m too wide for her to close her
fingers around but her careful fingers stroke the head. Her tongue circles the base. She blows me,
sucking, kissing, sliding her slick tongue up and down. Heat sets my nerves alight. My body aches in
all the right ways.
“Fuck yes…” I grow harder the more I look at her.
When she takes the tip of my cock into her mouth, only to release it a second later, a low rasp
tears free from my throat. A growl. A groan. Humiliating sounds I’ve never made before. I can feel
something inside me breaking apart. Spilling out like dark, viscous tar. She’s the one who cracked me
open.
And I’ll never forgive her for that.
My head sinks to her level as I brand her forehead with a punishing kiss. She tastes like betrayal
and defeat. Fury blasts through my chest like an icy storm. All along, I believed I was in control when
it has been the opposite.
I’m damaged. I’m cruel. When I cut her, she’ll bleed to death. But right now, she’s the one cutting
me.
She swallows my cock again and this time I drive deeper into her. Her mouth is wet and warm
and accommodating. Perfect. My shaft buried inside her mouth is the sexiest sight I’ve ever seen.
When I hit the back of her throat, Ella makes a breathless, choking noise.
I’m addicted to her. With her body, her voice, the way I never feel in control when it comes to her.
I was supposed to forget about her, but that hasn’t gone too well.
The moment splinters when I feel my release threatening to pull me apart.
Tears are leaking down Ella’s cheeks as my cock tests the back of her throat again and again.
Damn, I forgot she was a virgin. I should withdraw because I don’t want to hurt her, but when I
do, she moans and grabs my hand, begging me to go on. So I grind harder against her tongue. My dick
cries for release. I exhale hard, pleasure ebbing inside me.
The torture ends in an explosion of ecstasy, leaving my insides reeling with the impact of an
inescapable, full-body orgasm that robs me of breath. Then leaves me feeling like someone poured
cold tea over my head when Ella swallows my cum.
“You didn’t have to…” I whip her around violently, wiping the liquid dripping down her face and
mouth with the napkins on the bedside.
“Don’t worry,” she answers, coughing. “Did I do it right?”
I sweep her into my arms.
“I’m never letting you go.” The words—possessive, sentimental nonsense spoken in the heat of
the moment—sound nothing like me even if they trip out effortlessly from my tongue. This wasn’t
natural for me before. But what I just experienced has shifted something inside me. Every moment
with Ella has changed me in small, unnoticeable ways, morphing me into a different person. What am
I going to do with this dangerous woman?
My teeth scrape the smooth line of her jaw. I bite into the pillow-soft lushness of her lips.
I bring my hand up to cup her ass, to squeeze those perfect cheeks, challenging her to test my
authority. She only whimpers in pleasure. I slide her panties down, stroking her moist sex, hearing her
voice change from a smooth whisper to a choked staccato as I rub circles around her clit.
“Ethan…oh my god. This feels wonderful.”
Dipping one finger into her dripping wet hole, I nod in satisfaction. “Want it to feel better?”
I intend to demand everything from her. I want to own her, consume her, leave a scar on her soul
so she’ll never forget this night.
I stuff her pussy full with my fingers. I fuck her savagely until she’s crying in both pleasure and
pain. Until she’s a boneless heap in my arms and pleasure glazes in her eyes.
Her knees buckle and a breathy sigh drifts into my ear. “Please…stop it.”
Her begging is an aphrodisiac but she doesn’t know it.
“You want me to stop? Then why are dripping all over my hand?” I bite the crook of her neck,
leaving marks that I’ll be proud to see on her tomorrow morning.
“No.”
“Make up your mind, princess.”
“I…” Ella worries her lip with her teeth. Nervousness coats her expression. Her muscles go rigid
under my touch. “What am I to you, Ethan?”
The unknown emotion circling my chest like a vulture is both unfamiliar and terrifying. My black
stone heart squeezes for the first time in a long while.
I can’t deny it. I can’t deny her the truth.
“You’re my obsession, Ella.”
Obsession is bad. It means I’m losing. It means I need her. It means I can’t live without her.
I’ve played a lot of people, but she’s the first to play me. I didn’t realize it before, but maybe
that’s her appeal. She’s a fierce warrior, the one who drives a sword through the devil’s heart and
slays him forever.
I stroke her velvety skin. Savor her until her pleasured groans and screams are the only sounds in
my ears.
And I’m still empty at the end of it all.
CHAPTER 15
E
lla
ETHAN LICKS the base of my throat. I cry out, and the sound is hard enough to make the glassware in
the room ring.
Embers of heat still burn between my legs. We’ve already made each other come, but I want more.
I want to go all the way tonight. Tonight, when Ethan finally broke his resistance and let me in. I don’t
know if a moment like this will come again.
He pushes his knee between my legs. That’s all he does. His dark gaze is a question mark. His
silence speaks volumes.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“It’s a big step—”
“But I want to do it with you.”
He crowds me. My heartbeat’s a firecracker in my ear. We’re mere breaths away from kissing
again. When his lips crash down on mine, my whole being explodes.
“I can’t do gentle, princess, even if I tried,” he informs, dragging his mouth away from mine. “It
will not be pleasant.”
“It’s supposed to hurt the first time anyway.” I straighten my neck. I will not be cowed by his
warnings when he’s clearly trying to just dissuade me because he’s scared.
I trust him more now than I ever did. I trust him because I know that even if everyone else hurts
me and takes advantage of my vulnerability, he won’t.
He drags his lips across my jawline, leaving a trail of desire in his wake. There’s a tangible
stickiness in the air.
“You’re going to regret it.” His eyes scream ‘fuck you’ but it’s not in the cruel, indifferent sense as
always but in a sexy, ‘this is real’ way. “But the high will be worth the fall.”
My body trembles from head to toe because I’m afraid he’ll keep that promise. I’m afraid I’m
making one more terrible bargain and exchanging my dignity for a fleeting second of dark, forbidden
pleasure.
I know what he can do. He’s cruel and ruthless. He can make someone disappear, destroy people
and make the bodies disappear, humiliate them publicly. I saw him do all of that.
Yet I still want him.
What’s the worst that can happen to a girl who is already broken?
I emerge from the thoughts in my head to find Ethan ripping open a condom wrapper. Relief
slackens my muscles. I’m glad I’m doing this with someone as mature and sensible as him because I’d
completely forgotten about this part already, drowning in my complicated feelings.
“Thank you,” I mutter when he rolls the condom along his length.
“Don’t thank me. Fucking you is one thing but I’m not ready to be having babies with you,
princess.”
I blush at the connotation. How is this so embarrassing and exciting at the same time?
Ethan tracks me with dark chocolate eyes. The slow, deliberate way his gaze rakes me makes my
whole body ache. My throat thickens. I scoot closer. The earthy male scent of him floods my nostrils.
His hand eases down my spine, his tongue tracing the outline of my ear. His strong body crowds
mine.
A cut of pain unfurls as his knees force mine flat against the bed. This is him showing me that he
can hurt me, in little and big ways. That I should quit now while I’m ahead.
His warning fails to register. My core is an inferno of need. My entire body is made of dark,
desperate yearning to be damned to hell by the devil himself.
He flips my body around and presses me to the mattress. Spreads my body across the bed like a
banquet. Then he attacks me with his mouth, suckling my aching, hard nipples. His tongue dips into my
wet heat and an electric shock explodes low in my stomach.
I feel his dominance crackling in the air like a thunderstorm. “Spread your legs, Ella.”
I do.
I let his greedy mouth cover my glistening heat.
A cocktail of sensations crackles in my gut. Animalistic need. Red-hot longing. Dark, depraved
lust. I know better than anyone Ethan is not boyfriend material. Or any material, for that matter. But I
have never met a gentler and kinder soul in my life even if he’ll deny that to his dying breath. He’s
mature and stable and everything that I need right now.
“I need you inside me,” I say as I clench around emptiness, his seduction having brought me to
desperation. I’m desperate enough to cry.
I close my eyes, only to feel him squeezing my thigh.
“Eyes on me, princess.” The roughness of his voice vibrates in my bones.
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t a nightmare you need to close your eyes and get over with.”
I swallow. He saw right through me. It makes me feel more naked than physical nudity. “It’s
just…”
“Hard?” he finishes as if he read my mind. “After everything that has happened to you? Then we
don’t have to do it now.”
“But I’ve come this far…”
I don’t know if I can ever come this far again. If I can ever expose myself to him or anyone else,
leave my pleasure and safety at someone else’s mercy one more time. Already, it feels like I’m on the
verge of crashing down an invisible cliff to a painful, dark oblivion.
Ethan smooths away the stands of hair on my head, a tender gesture that’s in direct contrast with
his tempestuous eyes.
“Because you’ve come this far once, you can come this far again,” he says. “It’s easier the second
time.”
“No, I want to do it now.” My body can't postpone the release it needs, even while my mind
replays memories of fear and darkness.
I focus on my chaotic emotions. This isn’t a night I need to forget. Ethan’s face isn’t one I need to
avoid seeing for fear of remembering it forever.
In fact, this is the moment I want to cherish forever. So I need to experience it fully with all my
five senses.
I crack my eyes open wide, nodding slowly. “Continue.”
Ethan’s lips drop to my neck, lifting in a sly smile against my skin.
His dick grinds between my thighs which are slick with moisture. He pushes against my core but
my body struggles to take him. He’s too big and it’ll take more than a few times to adjust to his size.
I twist and turn and he lets me find my own comfortable angle, using his strong hands to guide my
hips. Then he pushes hard, driving all the breath out of my lungs. Every single muscle in his chest
ripples as he exerts himself. Perspiration clings to his tan skin.
I’m stretched so tightly by his massive girth, all I feel is fierce, eye-watering pain. My tears stain
the expensive, high-thread-count bedsheets of the hotel suite.
Ethan wipes away the hair that’s stuck to my face with sweat, then pulls out.
I grab his arm. “Don’t.”
“You’re in pain, Ella.”
“But it feels good.”
He shakes his head like I’m a raving lunatic. “You wouldn’t be crying if that was the case.”
“Please…” My nails scratch the air because my arms are too short to reach Ethan’s face while
I’m on my back. “Please don’t stop.”
I’m afraid of losing his heat, his presence, this thin and frail bond that binds us together at this
moment. Even when it hurts, I’m fine because I know that I’m not alone in this. I’m not afraid of what
lies ahead.
It’s not just sex anymore. I need to see the end of this. I need to see where my courage leads me.
“You’re a masochist,” Ethan grumbles. He covers my hand with his larger one. Brushing away a
wayward strand of hair from my forehead, tucking it slowly behind my ear, the slide of his rough
fingers against the shell of my ear making breath back up in my throat. He lays a long, drugging kiss
on my lips.
His mouth slides down to nip my inner thigh with his teeth. His fingers bite into my hips, holding
my body steady until he lines his hard erection against my entrance. His bruising touch on my body
feels so right. When I arch my back, he pushes in violently. Hitting me hard in places that I didn’t even
know existed. Brutally nailing me to the mattress. It sends jolts of electricity down my spine.
“Let go, baby,” he says.
My nails dig into his shoulders. I’m biting down my lips. This is too much. Too fast. Too hard.
Intense enough to scramble my mind.
Shocks of pleasure war with flickers of pain and I don’t care that I might require days to recover
from this. I need this now. I need him now.
“Ethan…please...wreck me,” I plead.
“I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll remember every time you sit down that you’re mine.”
As if I don’t know that already.
His sarcastic trademark grin is on full display. He’s driving my body into the mattress with his
forceful thrusts and I’m loving every second of it. He thrusts harder and harder, stealing my breath,
and wrecking my insides. He fucks me like he wants to break me. Like he wants to break everything
growing between us.
He sets a punishing pace, and my body rattles in pain and pleasure. His thrusts reverberate
through my bones and register in my cells. My body is his. He wants to take everything I have and I
want to give him more than that, more than something that’s just physical. He pulls my hair, adjusting
my face so he can see me as I struggle to take him. I wrap my legs around his sweat-slicked, muscular
body. Screaming, moaning, and groaning.
The frantic, disturbed expression that stains his features when I cry out guts me. My heart gallops
like a wild beast.
He’s holding me hostage at the precipice between pleasure and release, bringing me back to the
edge every time I start to drop into free fall.
And then he finally lets me go. Or maybe I let myself go. Go to an ecstatic place that feels like the
ultimate freedom.
Flames of pleasure burn behind my eyes and incinerate every inch of my body.
A few moments later, Ethan comes, too.
Pulling out, he discards the condom and kisses my forehead. I kiss his knuckles. He caresses my
ear. I skim my fingers over his thighs.
His breath breaks. My body shivers.
We’re both vibrating with the aftershocks of our orgasms.
Only when the fog of pleasure clears do I realize that Ethan has ruined me forever.
I DIDN ’ T EXPECT a lot after sex. I know who I’m dealing with. So color me surprised when Ethan
doesn’t just vanish from the suite the moment we’re done. He shrugs back into his clothes, sure, but
instead of arrowing straight out the door with a stern word to never mention what we did ever again,
he treks to the bathroom.
Between my legs, soreness expands like a bloodstain. Needles of pain prick my stomach
periodically. The sex did me in. I want to get up and leave with dignity before he returns from the
bathroom. This is his suite, after all, and I’m not about to make myself an unwanted guest in it. So
when he emerges with a wet towel and gently wipes me down there, I’m momentarily choked for
words.
We both stay quiet, eyeing each other cautiously like co-conspirators in a murder plot.
There’s blood on me. On the sheets, too. I saw it before, the unmistakable proof of what we had
done. The stark contrast of crimson against white prickled my skin with warmth. Then he noticed it,
too, right before he came. Unlike me, though, his face didn’t transform into a tomato. Instead, his jaw
tightened a fraction, and tension bunched up under his shoulders.
Ethan clears his throat softly. “Does it hurt?”
“I’m sure it’ll get better.”
He narrows his eyes at my clever evasion, continuing to drag the wet towel over my inner thighs.
The coldness soothes the heat that has only now begun to settle.
I could make a sarcastic remark about his caretaking but this moment is far too precious to ruin
with sarcasm. I bask in the post-orgasmic glory and the careful, nurturing ministrations that he’s
performing on me. I wish he’d stopped just ruining my body because this gentleness is fucking with
my mind far more severely than anything he could do to my body. If he had just left…I could have
continued to tell myself that this man will never change. But his caring gives me hope and hope is the
most dangerous drug where Ethan is concerned.
“Did you want more?” he asks, eyes big and wide like a child’s, and the innocence, the flicker of
excitement still burning in them blows through me like a warm summer breeze.
“Yes, I want more, but I won’t push you,” I answer. “We all grow in our own time.”
One side of his mouth collapses into a crooked smile. “You’re insatiable, princess. How much
stamina do you have?”
“That wasn’t what I meant. Ethan, I…” I love you. I want to say that but it’s too early. If he closes
up and shuts me out upon hearing my feelings for him, all the progress we’ve made will be pointless.
So I bide my time. Play it casually. “Can we be friends?”
His face contorts in disgust like he wants to puke. Not the reaction I anticipated. It’s a good thing I
didn’t spring out a love confession. For a bookworm, I sure have great relationship skills.
“I don’t want a friend,” he grinds out.
I’m not a quitter, though. “There could be benefits to it.”
“Benefits?” A storm brews inside his shadowed eyes. “Like what we just did?”
“Yes, and also other benefits. You could confide in me if you wanted to. You know maybe just
work stuff or personal stuff. Anything, really. I’ll listen to you. I could emotionally comfort you, too.”
“Emotional comfort.” He scoffs at the very notion. Okay. I expected that. I scratch my elbow,
anxious at how this is going nowhere. Still, he hasn’t yet told me to completely forget about tonight so
that means he’s open to...something.
“And I could help you with other things, too,” I add.
“What other things?”
I hadn’t planned on saying it, but the desperation to make my case as his friend propels the words
from my tongue.
“Remember we were talking about gaining freedom from our parents? I have a plan.” My pulse
jumps when confusion lines his face. “You know the internship I had last summer at Herman & Sons?
They offered me a job and I took it. After I graduate, I’m going to leave behind my old life. I’ll move
away from New York and get my own apartment. My standard of living will drop significantly, but
I’m going to do it. And if you quit your father’s business…well, I’ll be happy to support you until you
find something new.”
Ethan, who had been lying around on a nest of pillows looking drowsy, now suddenly snaps his
body upright.
“You’ll be happy to support me?” He hides his face under his hands. Then laughter rumbles out of
him, sharp and loud. “Ella, I’m not freeloading off you.”
“Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud, Ethan. It’s not the sixties. Depending on a woman financially
doesn’t make you weak.”
He shakes my head. “Princess, I’m not questioning the validity of non-traditional gender roles.
I’m questioning why you would even want to take care of me when I’m a fucking billionaire.”
“Because your money ties you to your family,” I say explosively. “If there’s one thing I’ve
realized in my own life, it’s that I can’t be free unless I give up everything and start over from zero.
So you won’t be free, either, unless you start over from nothing.”
“It’s not that simple.” He exhales a weary sigh. “I’ve told you so many times. I can’t run away.”
“You have me to help you now.”
“Your help doesn’t mean anything since I won’t be taking it.”
“Why not?”
For a moment, his face shutters at my question. He traces the edge of the mattress, clicking his
teeth as if trying to decide.
“You need to know something,” he says. “About me. About my father. Because like it or not,
you’re now part of this.”
“Part of what?”
“Part of my fucked-up family drama,” Ethan spits out. His fingers tighten over the wet towel, so
much so that droplets of water drip from it onto his pants.
Part of his family drama?
Questions squeeze my throat like a spiked collar. “Well, if that’s an indirect proposal, I must say I
never judged you as the type to commit after sex…”
“It’s not a proposal, dammit.” Ethan hurls the wet towel across the room. “You’re in danger.”
Anxiety nibbles on the edges of my psyche. I smooth the tip of my tongue across my cupid’s bow.
“What danger?”
“You know about the twisted, immoral acts I commit in the name of the family business but have
you ever wondered why I do it?”
“Because you’re a greedy, twisted capitalist who loves money more than anything—isn’t that
what you always tell me?”
His lips involuntarily split in a grin, but he quickly shifts back into a frown. “That’s not the truth,
though.”
“You don’t love money?”
“Not as much as you think.”
“You’re definitely twisted, though.”
“But I’m no sadist.”
“Then why?”
“Because if I don’t do it, I’ll be dead.”
“Uh-huh, right.” My vocal cords produce sarcasm instead of words. “Since you’re super easy to
kill.”
An exasperated sigh rolls over my skin, inciting a cluster of goosebumps on the back of my neck.
Ethan leans closer, his dark eyes clouding my vision like black smoke. “Trust me, princess, I want to
believe…no, I’ve made myself believe that I’m not human, but I’m human in the way that matters the
most—I’m just flesh and bones. And I can be killed as easily as anyone else.”
A flurry of heartbeats passes before I fully register the seriousness in his expression. Ethan has no
sense of humor. So he must be serious.
I curl my fingers, feeling the bite of my nails against the flesh of my palm. “Who is trying to kill
you?”
“My father.”
The shock is so great that I jump off the mattress in reaction. “What?”
ETHAN
Three years ago
“KILL
HIM.”
My father’s command rings in my head like a church bell tolling over a graveyard. “I
want him buried and gone so that nobody will know.”
For a second, I’m certain I misheard. Ever since I started working for my father, I’ve forged
ledgers, gotten people framed for crimes they didn’t commit and bribed a lot of officials to turn a
blind eye to things they shouldn’t turn a blind eye to. But somehow, I thought we were too upper-crust
to engage in murders. My fingers burrow into the flesh of my palm. I mold my face into a mask of
disinterest. “Isn’t that too extreme? He’s just a manager. Not someone powerful.”
My father grunts, his thick hand grinding on the table’s surface. “You don’t want to do it?”
“Dad, I’m a CFO, not a murderer.”
“You are what I say you are. And I say you need to kill Robert before he becomes a problem.” He
tilts his head, his smile full of teeth. The shadows in his study deepen the sinister grooves around his
mouth, erasing every trace of his blue-blooded upbringing, revealing the monster under the fillers and
pink skin. There’s no hiding what he is right now.
Being exposed to this side of him brings back the fear I felt the day he first took me in when he
made me kill a cat that padded through our backyard to prove that I was willing to do his bidding.
I thought it was a brutal, archaic ritual, more appropriate for the mafia than an upper-crust family,
but it may have been the kindest thing I’ve done under his tutelage.
Anger roars in my blood. He has already taken so much of my humanity from me, the parts of me
Mom worked so hard to cultivate—the kindness, the humor, the lightheartedness. How dare he
demand more?
“No, you might be the CEO, but I’m the Chief Financial Officer. And it’s my job to advise you
against bad moves like these.” I raise my shoulders to project the confidence I don’t feel.
My father scowls, then his fingers wrap around a paperweight like he’s trying to crush it.
“You know, Ethan, I already have a son. I don’t need another.” Fear creeps into my blood as the
meaning of his words dawns upon me, as the cruel twist of his mouth deepens. Because we both know
that when he says he already has a son, he means Elliot—the shining golden boy child of his mistress
whom he is passionately in love with. Not me, whose custody he lost in a divorce battle many years
ago. The moment my custody was granted to Mom, he relinquished all claim on me and stopped
thinking of me as his son. “What I need is someone who can get things done for me. Efficiently. Not
just another hotel employee I can discard. Something more.”
“B..but…” My stammering fades into silence. The desk lamp posted over his old wooden desk
burns a hole in my eyes. “There must be other methods. It’s not easy to cover up a homicide.”
“It’s not easy, that’s why I’m asking you to do it.”
Cold, mean silence swells between us as we stare down at each other.
I could refuse. Resign from the job. I don’t need to be wealthy or live in a mansion more than I
need to retain my self-respect. I can quit Astor Hotels and get a job at a supermarket or something.
They might even make me the store agent, given my work experience.
But the thing is, it won’t end with me becoming a supermarket clerk.
I know too much and my father doesn’t trust anyone to keep their mouth shut. If I didn’t know for a
fact that my mother’s death was a suicide, I’d suspect he killed her because she was starting to gossip
with the neighbors about how her husband went to places and met people who often ended up in
prison. Or disappearing altogether.
I’m in too deep to quit now. What seemed like a blessing when my father took me in after Mom
died ended up being a curse in the end.
“Okay. I’ll do it.” I straighten my hands at my sides. My reflection on the cabinet glass mirrors
back my nervous, soldier-like stance to me. I’m going into battle alright. “But in my own time.”
My father grinds his teeth, impatience folding his eyebrows into an X. “You need to hurry up.”
“I know,” I mutter. “I know. But it’s a delicate matter. Rushing it too much will botch the results.”
He nods in agreement, already too busy texting my stepmother to make dinner plans. I’ve always
hoped he could be half as nice to other people as he is to her.
“I’ll leave it to you then. I’m glad you’re making yourself useful to me. I was afraid you’d become
useless after you got sick and I’d have to do away with you. But you keep doing good work like this,
and I’ll give you the rest of the shares of the hotel, too.” He dismisses me with a mock wave of his
hands.
The day when I dealt with said hotel agent was one of the most terrifying days of my life. Of
course, I didn’t kill him. I didn’t even harm a hair on his head. He’s living a pretty great life in Macau
as a banker under an alias now, a life better than any he could’ve envisioned in the hellish streets and
eye-wateringly expensive apartments of New York City. It’s not that I couldn’t kill him but that I
didn’t want to relinquish my last scrap of humanity to the man who had taken everything else from me
—my childhood, my mother, my safety, my health, my college education. Because my conscience is
the only thing my mother gave me that I have left.
The second most terrifying day of my life was when I was diagnosed with kidney failure and put
on dialysis.
Father got me a VIP room in a hospital at Francesca and my stepmother’s insistence, but he never
visited me. I wasn’t young enough or stupid enough to think that he’d keep paying my bills for years
on end until they managed to find a suitable organ for my transplant surgery.
So Ella’s appearance was like a stroke of good luck. The first and last time the universe answered
any of my prayers, but it came with its own strings attached.
It was the beginning of our wicked fate together.
ELLA
I CAN ’ T BEAR to listen to any more of this. I’m so close to vomiting that I make him stop by physically
putting my hand over his mouth. I don’t want to find out how many more indignities Ethan suffered at
the hands of his father. His tone is clipped, and emotionless, but every episode he narrates, every
little incident he illuminates paints a clear picture of the systematic way his humanity was shattered,
piece by piece, year after year.
He was just a motherless teenager looking to survive and I can’t believe his own father took
advantage of his powerlessness, turning him into a pawn in some depraved ego battle with his
enemies.
Anguish, rage, sadness, and nausea wrestle for dominance inside my stomach. I knew Mr. Astor
was distant toward Ethan. I overheard him say that he would not pay Ethan’s hospital bills unless he
showed himself to be useful. I thought he was pressuring his older son to take over his business; that
maybe Ethan had fought with him over wanting to do something different. I grossly misjudged the
situation. Never could I have guessed that the roots of his monstrous behavior ran so deep.
Ethan meets the curve of my jaw with his big hand, engulfing my cheek in his firm touch. Shivers
pulse through my blood. “And if my Dad suspects you know as much as I do about his dirty business,
that because you slept with me you mean something to me—he won’t hesitate to use that to his
advantage. Being with me, even as my friend, is a good way to dig your own grave, Ella.”
My arms loop around him, my naked body smooshing against his. “I can’t believe you went
through all that alone…that’s heartbreaking.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“I’m not pitying you. I just hope…why didn’t you tell me? Okay, fine, we weren't close. But you
should have at least told Francesca and Eliot.”
“What good would telling you or them have done? How will a helpless girl like you or an airhead
like my brother help me?”
“I saved you once.” I fist my hand on the bedsheet. “I can save you again.”
What I heard about his past should’ve changed my feelings, should’ve scared me, should’ve made
me realize that Ethan was right about being a monster all along, but my love for Ethan only burns
fiercer. Spending all this time has made me realize that underneath the intimidation and dangerous
vibes, he’s a pretty considerate guy. He understands the small details: like how touching the small of
my back makes me anxious because that was where he always touched me. Like how I’m scared of
being on my knees because it reminds me of that night. He doesn’t push me. He doesn’t expect me to
bend and adjust to fit his needs. Instead, he bends and adjusts to fit my boundaries, even though it must
be hard for a control freak like him to accommodate someone else.
“You should save yourself first,” Ethan says. “And now you know how.”
“I can’t leave you. I won’t leave you. I refuse to you see in that cage alone forever.” I sob against
his shoulder. “It breaks my heart.”
“Then live with a broken heart, princess.” Ethan bites down hard on the last word, changing it
from endearment to what sounds like a curse. “Because that’s what the rest of the world does.”
CHAPTER 16
E
than
THE NEXT DAY, Ella completely ignores me. When I message her asking if we’re not supposed to visit
some museum today, she only replies with a curt Feel free to go by yourself.
I should be happy, overjoyed, and elated at finally being free of the leash she has had around my
neck since I first laid eyes on her. I should applaud her intelligence for recognizing the dangers of
associating with me. But every nerve in my body rankles at the indifference, at the easy way she
withdrew from my life after breaking me open and drugging my mind until she’s all I can obsess over.
What was it that she promised last night, crying like the world was ending?
I can’t leave you. I won’t leave you. I refuse to you see in that cage alone forever.
Guess that was a lie. Or something she said in the heat of the moment. She’s young, after all. And
young people get scared easily. They change their minds easily and become passionate about new
things—and people—easily. I was the same when I was her age. That’s how I ended up becoming
part of my father’s shitshow.
Dammit, I should never have done it with someone so young.
The remnants of yesterday’s fucking inundate my blood even now, coiling at the base of my
stomach in hot arousal, making me crave another intense orgasm like the one that cleaved me in two. I
feel my dick getting restless. However, this is not an issue. My level of self-control means that I can
go long, long periods without sex. But Ella wasn’t just sex to me. Her energy, her enthusiasm, and the
ease I felt around her were different. She was the only person in the world who could understand me
on a level nobody had.
I’m too proud to beat on her door and demand she talks to me, though. Plus, I have no right to do
that. What we did last night was because we both wanted it. She never said we’d do it again. She did
say she wanted to be friends with me, but it’s safe to assume I messed up that one by looking down on
the very concept of friendship.
Out of sheer boredom, I leaf through the pages of the romance novel she gifted me. It’s not badly
written, but saccharine crap never holds my interest on the best of days and today’s not the best of
days. My attention flits over the pages until I give up fifty pages in. Wrong book. Wrong time.
Lying on my back on the bed, I wonder if Ella suddenly realized what a bad idea it was to fuck
me. Maybe she’s having regrets. Maybe she never wants to see me again. Maybe it’s making her
trauma from the past worse. I don’t like how that last thought opens a chasm in my chest. How never
being able to touch her again triggers a visceral fear in my gut.
When her silence carries over to the morning after, I get antsy. I summon the butler whom I asked
to keep an eye on her just in case.
“Well, the Miss seemed sad last night,” the butler informs me. “I’m not sure why.”
“Sad,” I repeat.
“Yes, melancholy. The weather this time of the year can do that. Especially since she hasn’t left
her room.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him that the rain and dark clouds aren’t the cause of it. The cause is…
something worse.
I pace up and down my room, overthinking to the point of exhaustion. My resistance breaks down
by mid-afternoon. I pop outside to a Tesco near the hotel, and against my better judgment, I knock on
Ella’s door at 2 pm.
Ella opens immediately and relief pummels my lungs at the sight of her looking safe and sound.
She’s clad in her pajamas, hair in a tangle, one toe peeking out of the hole in her sock. That last detail
is unspeakably adorable.
“What do you want?” There’s none of the usual prickliness in her tone. Instead, it rings with the
weight of exhaustion and that lick of frustration that I recognize only too well from how often I hear it
in my own voice nowadays.
In a day, Ella’s face has gone from bright and fresh to ashy. From the way her knees are
uncomfortably squeezed together, I can guess the reason for it.
“I got this for you.” I lay the peace offering in front of her. The crinkling of the plastic bag drowns
out the following words. “Cheer up.”
Ella peeks into the bag and then bobs her face up, confusion etched on her features. “Ice cream. In
this weather?”
“You said ice cream helps you when you’re feeling down.” I stuff my ice hands in my pockets.
“You remember what I said?”
“Well…you have been avoiding me. And I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Oh my goodness, you sweetheart.” She slaps a hand over her gaping mouth, milking the gesture
for every iota of drama. “Who are you and what did you do to the man who heartlessly kicked me out
of his room after taking my virginity?”
“I didn’t kick you out—”
“Quit the excuses. You scared me into leaving.”
“Fine.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t make you feel welcome to stay. But you’re the one who has
been avoiding me.”
“I’m not ignoring you—”
“Oh, really?”
A smile trickles through Ella’s lips. “You’re right. I’ve been thinking about difficult things. I told
you I wanted to be with you, but I’m worried I have no idea how to do it.”
“Because you can’t.”
“I’ve found a solution,” Ella protests. “In fact, it’s been in front of our noses all along.”
Her arms slide around my arm. She drags me into her room where crackly people sounds are
coming from the television screen.
Her room’s smaller than mine, with only one queen bed. My gaze lingers a bit too long on that, an
itch creeping up my collarbones.
I pull my eyes away by force, but then they hitch onto the vulnerable line of Ella’s throat.
What the fuck is wrong with me nowadays?
Her room’s not a suite, only a double room, since she let me have the suite after we came back
from Bath, and it’s such a small space. I feel almost claustrophobic, nostrils filled with the smell of
the woman whose hips are swaying like a hypnotic tune in my vision. The stack of books is all that
breaks up her looming presence. There must be at least twenty. How did she manage to collect so
many of them in a single week? Her book addiction is worse than my stepmother’s shoe addiction.
And that woman has three closets full of them.
Despite my reluctance, my stern lips crumble into a smile.
“We used to meet in secret for months after your surgery,” Ella continues. “Can’t we keep doing
that? You and me in your hotel suite in the middle of the night? Nothing changes.”
Ella and me in my suite? Images of her tight little body writhing over the pristine white bedsheets
back at The Astor Central Park race through my mind.
Temptation seizes hold of my dick.
Yes, I’d very much like to have that with her.
“It’s possible,” I admit, too worn to deny myself the longing I feel for her. And too smart to know
that denying won’t make it disappear if the past is anything to go by. “But can you keep doing that?
For as long as it takes.”
I’ve been entranced by her for the last two years and my lust for her has only grown stronger. Who
is to say it won’t grow even stronger? And then where would that leave us?
“I did it before,” Ella interrupts. “It wasn’t hard.”
“That was different.”
“Not so different.”
“It’ll just be sex, Ella.”
“You’ll at least let me order expensive food using room service, won’t you?” The hollow, tooforced laugh rings shrill in the room. She’s presenting a façade of being satisfied when I know she
wants more. I’ve known that ever since I saw the longing, tearful look in her eyes after we had sex for
the first time. The problem is, more will put both of us in danger. It’s one thing to have sex in a hotel
room, but a relationship? That can’t be confined to the invisibility of a suite room forever. There’s
only so much space in my world for tender feelings.
“If you’re willing, then I have nothing to say.” I shrug.
It was never my choice to make. My body made the choice for me. And I can run away, can deny
it, but I need to take responsibility for bombarding her with mixed signals. For letting my control slip
when I was with her.
“Does that mean…we’ll do it?” Caution softens her voice like she’s afraid of even hoping.
A sickening stab of guilt shoots through my spine. I made her this way. Scared to hope for even a
sordid, secret affair. When she deserves so much more. She’s the type of girl anybody should be
proud to call their girlfriend, their friend, their lover, their wife. She’s warm and compassionate and
strong and never abandons those she loves.
“Yes, we’ll do it. Yes, you can order room service on my card,” I clarify. “But don’t come crying
to me when your heart is broken.”
“Come crying to you?” Ella pushes a hand through her hair. “I think you’re the one who is going to
come crying to me when you realize that I’m not someone who can be forgotten easily.”
“Princess, can we hold off on the delusions?” I mock smile at her.
“We’ll see who is delusional.” Ella folds her palms under her chin. Cocks her head in seeming
consideration. “Anyway, are you going to stand here all evening, or are you planning to eat the ice
cream you bought with me? Because it’s too much for one person.”
“Have it all to yourself. I don’t care.”
“I’m watching a movie, by the way,” Ella says. “Wouldn’t mind watching it together with you.”
“Let me guess…it’s romance.”
“Yeah, and it’s great. It’ll open your eyes if you give it a chance.”
I drop a crude exhale. “I agreed to be your secret fuck buddy, not your girlfriend.”
“Don’t be a toxic male, Ethan.” Ella clicks her tongue—and looks sexy doing it. “Watching a
romance movie doesn’t make you a girl.”
“I didn’t say that. I just don’t want to confuse the nature of our relationship.”
Not that it has ever been clear. Boundaries and rules rarely last long between Ella and me. I
suppose today is no different. Less than a minute into agreeing that we’ll be secret fuck buddies and
nothing else, I’ve already been roped into watching a romance movie with her.
Something secret fuck buddies definitely don’t do.
Yeah, we have real problems with boundaries.
I seize the spot on the armchair close to the window, as far as possible from Ella who sits on the
bed, right opposite the television screen. A veil of early-winter fog presses against the window glass,
steaming the city beneath. The pulled-back beige curtains lie motionless on both sides of the
windows.
“How’ll you see anything from there?” Ella asks.
Skeins of light caress her cheeks in the pattern of a spider web.
The actors on screen are dressed in flashy, bright clothes and I’m not entirely certain of the
plotline but I think it’s about three girl pals robbing a bank to get revenge on one of their boyfriends. I
thought it was going to be a romance but it’s worse—this is a chick flick. However, I dare not voice
my displeasure to Ella for fear of being called out as ‘toxic’. And anyway, the women on screen are
so crazy with their antics, it’s almost entertaining.
Midway through the viewing session, my dry laugh cracks the air, catching me by surprise.
“Did you just laugh?” Ella shoots me a horrified expression. “At a romance movie?”
I mine my brain cells for a mean and cynical comeback, but my own lips part in a choked laugh.
Shoot me. “That was funny.”
What the devil? Now I’m laughing at cheap, childish PG-13 comedy. The world must be nearing
its end.
But I can’t be bothered to mind that. Because it’s fun. Watching a nonsensical movie and eating ice
cream that has half melted. It’s fun in a way that my childhood was fun. In the way that vacations with
my mom were fun. In the way that computer games are fun. In the way that life’s supposed to be fun—
just a pure, lighthearted joy that seems mundane at the moment but becomes precious as time passes.
“If we were friends, we could do fun things like watching movies, discussing books, and doing
sheet masks.” Ella dangles the carrot of her friendship in front of my eyes. “Doesn’t it make you want
to reconsider?”
“What are sheet masks?” I ask because they sound like an arcane ritual I’m semi-interested in
trying.
“Here, I’ll show you.” She hops over to her luggage like an excited rabbit and extracts a square
plastic packet from between her strewn clothes. She rips it apart, producing a dripping white cloth
from it. With careful, delicate touches, she separates the layers of the cloth until it fans out into an
oval shape with cut-outs for eyes and a mouth.
I get it now. It’s a face mask. The cosmetic kind.
Before I can protest, Ella sticks the thing on my face, pressing it in for good measure with firm
fingertips. At first, the cold, wet mask feels slimy against my skin. The strong fragrance penetrates
straight into the inner cortex of my brain. I recoil, reaching to rip it away immediately.
“What the fuck?”
But Ella grabs my hand. “You have to keep it on for fifteen minutes. It’ll leave your skin nice and
moisturized at the end of it. I learned from Francesca.”
“Like hell I am.”
“Come on, enjoy the experience.” Ella takes a deep breath, urging me to do the same. “Isn’t it
therapeutic?”
Well, the coldness of the mask against my skin does feel a touch relaxing. And the perfume is
starting to grow on me. It smells like lilies. Mom always liked those so we had a vase full of them at
our house often. This takes me back to my childhood, to the things I have forgotten about since then.
I growl, repulsed by my own easy acceptance of the situation. However, I graciously let the mask
sit on my face for the next fifteen minutes.
When it’s time to take the mask off, Ella does so brutally, ripping the thing off my face without
mercy.
“Ouch!” I squeal.
Lightning and butterflies and blue roses bloom under my chest all at once, trying to push through
from where they’re trapped under my skin. Even in the depths of darkness, I can’t believe I’m able to
feel like this. Like a ray of light piercing through my chest.
“Your eyes tell me you are a convert,” Ella’s touch twitches up.
Her head hits the side of my chest, causing a wash of sensation to swell in me.
I think I like this. Having a friend.
CHAPTER 17
E
lla
“S O WHERE ARE you dragging me to today?” Ethan’s surly expression stays put on his face as he
accompanies me out of the London Underground station. “I hope it’s not a horse race.”
“Close, but not quite.”
“Close?” His eyebrows quiver. “What do you mean close? Tell me your exact plan.”
“Take it easy. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Our boots clop on cobblestoned streets, then make a shallower sound on the asphalt as we
navigate a few streets. I watch Google maps carefully, taking all the right turns. I don’t want to get
Ethan lost.
Finally, we arrive at the destination. The shop is in a red brick building that has a traditional bay
window front. The window sash is red and a wooden sign with a bell hangs at the top of the door.
Meow Cat Cafe.
“A cat cafe?” Ethan’s eyes widen at me. Like this possibility never struck him. I doubt he has been
to one before. “That’s where we’re going?”
“Yep.” I seize his hand and pull him inside before he changes his mind. He’s more cooperative
nowadays but I can't predict when he might decide to go back to his old ways. It’s a gamble with this
guy every hour.
“I made a reservation here,” I tell the waitress.
“The cat lounge or the kitten garden?” she asks.
“The cat lounge,” I answer.
“Why not the kitten garden?” Ethan questions.
“Because I don’t trust you with kittens.”
“And you trust me with cats?”
“They’re grown up. They can handle you. The kittens would be scarred just by looking at your
scowling face. I couldn’t do that to the poor little things,” I say.
Ethan narrows his eyes at me. I shrug.
We’re shown a table in the cat lounge, which is full of cats lounging around, walking around, and
climbing walls casually.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to see your face when you’re relaxed,” I say, petting a thin black
and white cat that crosses my path, its soft fur feeling like heaven under my palm. “Let your inner
child roam free and play with the animals here.”
Ethan coughs. “Inner child?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the term. It’s the version of you that was a child. That
version always exists inside you. And if you were hurt as a child, if you were never given a chance to
play and express yourself…well you’ll need to remedy that now as an adult by giving your inner child
what you wanted as a child.”
“Sounds ridiculous.” Ethan crosses his arms over his chest, surveying the cats in the cafe like he’s
checking stocks on the NYSE.
There are so many of them. All different breeds, too. Three kittens lie curled up with each other
on the table, while another Persian cat paws a ball of yarn, its eyes hunting for prey. There are big
fluffy gray cats stretched out on rugs strewn across the floor while a Bombay cat taps its paw against
a customer’s hand. I’ve always liked animals though I haven’t ever wanted to own a pet myself. This
cafe is a great opportunity for someone like myself to get close to animals and play with them. That’s
why I picked it.
A part of me also wanted to see Ethan around animals. He acts all tough and bad, but I know his
innate kindness means that he’ll melt into a puddle around these cute, vulnerable things at the first
instant. I’m all here for that moment.
“That one doesn’t have an eye.” Ethan points to a fat ginger cat that’s sulking on top of the
fireplace mantel. There’s no fire in the fireplace; it’s just for the vibes.
I honestly didn’t think that was the one he’d pick out. But he probably likes it because it seems
unfortunate. Like me. Like him. It has suffered, too. That makes me want to hug Ethan right now. I
refrain, though.
He marches over to the one-eyed cat.
“Touch it,” I encourage him. “It looks cute.”
He hesitates. I get the feeling that he didn’t have pets growing up otherwise he wouldn’t be so
awkward around animals.
“Come on, do it,” I goad.
“What if scratches me?”
“It looks too lazy to do anything but yawn,” I say. The cat purrs, opening its big mouth then, its
whiskers catching the light.
Ethan reaches out a hand, skimming its whiskers.
The angry and cold expression on his features begins to slide, crease by crease, off his face as the
one-eyed ginger cat grinds its soft cheek against his outstretched hand. It darts out its tongue and licks
him. I’m expecting him to pull away immediately and complain about the germs, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he studies it as though he was struck by magic.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I whisper.
An entire internal world war erupts in his face. I can see it in the twitch of his jaw muscles and
the cross of his eyebrows. But the cat must be working its magic for he says, “Yeah. This is relaxing.”
“See? You didn’t lose a limb by admitting that,” I tease.
“I lost my pride.”
“That’s something worth losing. Trust me, you’ll be happier without it.”
“Of course. I totally trust philosophical advice given by a twenty-year-old. Because you’re a pro
at this life experience thing, right?” Sarcastic Ethan makes a return out of nowhere but the cat’s purr
manages to shut it down fast.
I’m as spell struck by this caring, childlike version of him as he is by the one-eyed cat. It’s like
his attention won’t waver from the thing. He caresses its fat body with both his hands, again and
again.
“Feels like touching a cloud,” he admits.
“Did you ever want a pet when you were a kid?”
“I wanted a pet dinosaur...” he trails off. “Not a cat.”
“How unique. I never imagined you were so creative as a kid. You’re such a traditionalist now.
I’d have pegged you for the type who wanted a dog.”
“Traditionalist? Me?” He expels a hard laugh. “What would give you that idea? I don’t even
believe in marriage.”
I didn’t know he didn’t believe in marriage though I certainly expected it. Unlike most of the other
upper-class old-money family heirs, he hasn’t yet chosen an equally old-money bride for himself.
He’s way past that age, too. It doesn’t bother me, though, this part of him. I mean, I myself don’t have
any plans to get married. I’m happy just being together with someone I like.
“But your hotel doesn’t serve ice cream. That’s pretty traditional,” I argue. “Probably because
you don’t think it’s as fancy as a millefeuille or Biscuit rose de Reims or whatever high-class dessert
they actually serve at the restaurants at the London Astor,” I continue the argument I started with him
earlier.
He doesn’t look impressed by me implying that his hotel is less than the best. “That’s a matter of
taste, not tradition.”
“But your taste is so old-fashioned. Get with the times, Ethan.”
“We have a standard to maintain, regardless of the times.” He growls the irritation that the cat
soaked away suddenly making a return. But right on time, one of the cafe assistants shows up beside
Ethan.
“That’s Martha, the cat you’re petting,” she informs him. “She has a big personality. Not very
friendly with visitors usually. She must like you a lot.”
The assistant waves at the cat. It's watching Ethan with its marble-like eyes.
Ethan blushes. Blushes and goes all shy and quiet. Like, I actually see the red spots on his cheeks
and his fingers fidgeting nervously. It’s unmistakable. He didn’t blush when he said he liked me. He
didn’t blush when he fucked me or when he whispered dirty things in my ears. He didn’t even blush
when I kissed him out of the blue.
Now he’s blushing because a one-eyed cat is fond of him.
I swear, this man will forever be a mystery to me.
“I think you’re enjoying this far too much,” I mutter to him.
He used to be hard, but these days, I see more and more hints of softness in him. Albeit reluctant,
they’re starting to peek through that permanent scowl on his face. It only makes me fall deeper into the
complex individual that he is.
“You’re not going to play with the cats?” The assistant asks me.
“Maybe later, I say.
“I’ll allow you to pet Martha,” Ethan interjects. “Even though she’ll probably scratch you.”
“No, she won’t!” I reach out my hand so fast that it startles the cat. She jumps off the fireplace
mantle she was perched on and curls herself around Ethan’s leg. Which only serves to carve an
irritating little smirk on Ethan’s face. I suppose this is what happens when someone who was unloved
is suddenly showered with affection.
I can’t begrudge him at this moment, though. He deserves it more than anyone.
“Told you.” His laugh tickles me. “She only likes me.”
I brandish a finger at him. “Wonder why that is. You’re not exactly the friendly type.”
“I’m rich. And successful.”
“Martha’s a cat,” I emphasize. “What does she care for wealth?”
“Even cats are partial to people who can provide them with the best lifestyle.” Ethan looks smug.
Martha supports his assessment by rubbing her face against his ankle.
I shake my head. I wish he could see that there’s so much more to love about him than his money
and success.
“Huh?” I glare at Martha, who glares right back at me. Am I seriously competing with this cat for
Ethan’s love right now? “That’s a pretty materialistic cat, then.”
“Did I hear you insult Martha just now?” Ethan clicks his tongue. Why is he getting so defensive
over this cat? It’s not his.
“Insult your favorite feline? I wouldn’t dare.” I try to keep a serious face but a chuckle escapes
me at the last minute.
“You better be careful, princess.” His warning simmers with playfulness.
I gasp when I realize he isn’t looking at me with ‘fuck you’ eyes anymore. He hasn’t looked at me
with that much anger in a long time. Ethan is smiling, or at least trying very hard to suppress the smile
that’s already on his lips. This vacation has been good for him. For us.
I wonder if it’ll last once we go back to New York. Or if being around his father and family and
being burdened with the responsibilities of the hotels will turn him into a cold, distant tyrant once
again. I don’t want to lose this version of him. I don’t want him to lose these small moments of
happiness that he has found on this trip.
I find myself wishing these dreamlike days in London would last forever. That I can always have
this reluctant yet caring version of him that goes along with my whims.
CHAPTER 18
E
I’ M
than
AN IDIOT .
How big of an idiot becomes clear to me that night when I get a call from my father.
“Why are you not back yet?” he thunders, sounding nothing like the fatherly man he pretended to
be during the family Christmas dinner.
My whole being freezes up, including my brain.
“What?” I stutter like a fool.
“Return to New York now, Ethan. I told you there’s something we need to deal with.”
I shouldn’t test him when he’s in a foul mood, but I don’t want to go back so soon. I had intended
to drag out the vacation until the end of the week at least, mostly because I’m obsessed with Ella. I
want to inhale her. And I haven’t had nearly enough.
“Can I not deal with whatever needs to be dealt with from London?”
“Doubt it.” My old man coughs. “Elliot has gotten himself mixed up with something unsavory.”
“Again?”
“It’s just a bit of money, but I need you to take care of the creditor while we’re at it.”
Dread stabs my stomach like an ice pick.
By take care, he doesn’t mean…?
“Elliot borrowed money?” Anger explodes in my veins. I want to thrash my fucking idiot of a
brother. I thought the worse he could do was an orgy with someone famous that’d put us in the news
for the wrong reasons or get high on drugs at some party in Ibiza. But he must be snorting a helluva lot
of cocaine to have resorted to borrowing money. Either that or he has acquired an even more
expensive habit. “How much?”
“Five million. Why he couldn’t have asked me for it, I’ll never know. His father’s one of the
richest men in the world but he just had to get into trouble.”
What does trouble mean?
My knuckles go white as I grip the phone tightly. I hope to hell Elliot wasn’t stupid enough to get
involved with someone dangerous, some kind of organized crime activity because I’m not in the mood
to deal with that on top of Francesca’s peek-a-boo.
“Who did he borrow it from?” I mouth, the words echoing inside my skull.
“Zara Sharma, that ambitious upstart woman.” My memory races back to Christmas dinner. Zara
Sharma. The one whose company Elliot has been frequenting lately? So this was why? “And now
she’s demanding he pays it back. It seems he has not repaid anything in over six months.” It takes me a
while to piece together to information. By upstart woman…does he mean… “I’m telling you; It’s
deliberate on her part. She has been eyeing us ever since she won the contract last year.”
This is probably not a good time to mention that I let her win that one. Because I liked her. I liked
her drive as a woman from humble roots struggling to make it in the big city. And I thought I’d throw
her a bone, give her a break. I was curious to see what she’d do with it. It didn’t cost me much.
And she has definitely exceeded my expectations.
“Elliot borrowed money from Zara Sharma,” I state, disbelieving.
My father’s hard click of tongue stabs my ears. “Haven’t you been listening to me just now?”
“Yes, but how does he even know her?” I don’t believe they run in any of the same circles.
They’re as different as chalk and cheese. Zara is a serious woman—all business. There’s no chance
she snorts coke in New York nightclubs or engages in orgies with a jobless, hard-partying group of
friends in Spain.
“I don’t care how he knows her. I need that woman brought down a few notches. You know what
to do, right? She’s highly leveraged right now. Borrowed from quite a few places to fund her new
expansion plans. A single sign of her inability to pay that back, or a demand by the bank could bring
her whole company down.”
I get what he wants me to do. He wants me to destroy her business and reduce her to poverty. All
because she dared to threaten and exploit his precious golden son. Dad has a lot of pride where his
children—his two children—are concerned.
“Isn’t that excessive?” I ask. “There’s no reason to make this more complicated than it already is.
I can talk to Zara and send her the money from my account if you want. Smooth things over by
tomorrow.”
My words fall on deaf ears. Dad drones on, thinking loudly, spilling the ideas that have already
firmly rooted themselves in his mind. “You think this is about money? Not anymore. She called Elliot
a ‘good-for-nothing’ to my face. Said he was messed up and it was my fault. That he’ll be the ruin of
my hotel empire. She threatened me, for Christ’s sake!”
Somebody has great insight, I think to myself. Elliot is indeed good for nothing.
“She must have said it in anger,” I surmise. “You mentioned Elliot hasn’t paid her anything in over
six months.”
“Ha! That woman must be in trouble with all the money she has borrowed to finance her business
growth, given that she suddenly asked Elliot to pay back the money. I think there’s something there you
can exploit. A weakness.”
My smooth exhales morph into a tight grunt of frustration. He’s like a dog with a bone today. Zara
seems to have rubbed him the wrong way. Or maybe he simply hates the idea of his precious, highborn son associating with the likes of her. He has never had any love for immigrants or the poor. She
must have threatened his pride, by showing him that she was his equal. By acting like his equal. By
asserting some authority over Elliot by virtue of the debt he owes her. Or maybe her honesty triggered
him. Dad is quite blind when it comes to seeing Elliot and Francesca’s flaws—that’s why I’m the one
always dealing with them.
“I’ll return tomorrow,” I say. “It’s late tonight.”
“Be sure you do. And get this mess sorted out as quickly as possible. I don’t want to see that
woman’s face ever again.”
“Stop worrying,” I tell him. “Leave it to me.”
He grunts. “Do a good job. This is a family matter.”
The very word ‘family’ incites a bitter taste in my mouth. Family is simply an excuse for my Dad.
And it’s a prison for me. Ella wasn’t very far off the mark when she likened me to a caged bird.
I rub at the tightness blooming behind my neck. I should call Elliot. Chew him out for this.
Knowing him, he’ll never pick up my call. Just like Francesca doesn’t.
Reigning in my sense of disappointment, I mutter, “I understand.”
The line disconnects abruptly. Guess my father’s done with his rant. I slide the phone away from
my ears and throw it onto the bed.
Sometimes, I wonder what it’d be like to be an orphan. To not have a family that constantly needs
you to fix their problems.
CHAPTER 19
E
lla
OUR VACATION ENDS ABRUPTLY the next day when Ethan flies back home.
“Do whatever you want. Stay in London or not.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm.
“But our deal stands.”
He surprises me by giving me his mobile number and telling me to message him if I want
something instead of hoping I’ll meet him automatically at our ‘usual’ time and place.
TWO DAYS LATER, I’m in Francesca’s room, posing for her latest masterpiece. I’ve never posed as
someone’s model before. But my best friend called me obsessively and begged me to be her muse. I
was bored at home since Mom is away on a shoot in California. I have only one friend so I
capitulated.
“You sure my face is inspiring enough for a painting?” I scratch my nose, nerves eating away at
my composure. I’ve utterly failed to sit still in the last fifteen minutes. I’m a horrible model.
“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you.” Francesca’s tone is soft, but her eyes never stray from
the canvas. Her hands move with practiced precision, not influenced by the conversation. “I’m
painting you this portrait as a gift. Since you’re my best friend and all.”
I blush. “In that case, I’m honored.”
“Don’t be. I’m a no-name artist.”
“But you’re the best I know.”
Francesca’s whole face lights up. “You’re too nice, Ella.”
She works quietly after that, mixing colors and whipping her brush against the canvas. I can’t see
what she’s painting but I have seen her previous work and I know it’ll be great.
A while later, when she looks up, her probing gaze charges the air with a current of tension that I
feel down to the tips of my bones. “Are you sure nothing happened in London?”
Panic beats against my ribcage like it has wings. I’m going to meet Ethan tonight at the suite. But
there’s no way Francesca could have known that.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It’s just that…you look different.”
“I’m the same.”
Francesca’s hands still. The panic beating in my lungs beats harder. Does she know something? Is
she waiting for me to confess? But I can’t. Ethan and my relationship must remain a secret, he said.
Especially to his family.
But then her hand flicks the paintbrush against the canvas with wild abandon once more and I
breathe in relief.
“I guess you are.”
“By the way, I went to that art gallery in London and the painting you always talk about was gone.
Did you buy it?”
“Yep. Couldn’t resist the opportunity.”
“Where is it now?” I wipe the sweat accumulating on the creases of my bent knees.
“In Mom’s room. I gifted it to her.”
“That was sweet of you. Your mom must have been worried about you.”
A sly smile slides up Francesca’s perfectly circular face. “Nope. She was in on my secret all
along. I told her to act distressed at the Christmas party so Dad would force Ethan to come to check
on me. She was my co-conspirator in this plot!”
“I can’t believe I’m the only one who didn’t know.”
“No offense, but I don’t trust you to keep your mouth shut. You told Ethan about the note, didn’t
you?”
Heat sparks on my cheeks. We’ve known each other for so long that I can’t exactly hide who I am
from her. “I’m sorry…”
“Nevermind. Ella, will you stay here with me at this house for a few days?” Francesca says. “You
know, so I can finish painting you in a reasonable amount of time. And I heard your mother’s not at
home and it’s better to stay with us than go back to that house where you’ll be alone.”
“The housekeeper is at home,” I reply, wondering how Francesca knows about my mother’s outof-town shooting schedule. “I’ll be fine.”
Ordinarily, I’d have been overjoyed at her offer, but I can’t sneak out in the middle of the night if
I’m in an unfamiliar house.
I hesitate a beat too long, or maybe it’s the worry scrawled across my face. Francesca pounces on
my reluctance like a bloodthirsty tiger. “You and Ethan…there’s something going on, isn’t there? I
didn’t know if I should say this, but I saw you there a few times, at the hotel, late at night. And you
always took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. That’s where Ethan lives.”
I could deny it altogether. Say I just needed space away from my mother or something.
But instead, I lope across the room and press a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“So it’s true?” Francesca drops her paintbrush. It clatters to the floor with a soft thump, spraying
blue paint across the expensive veined marble floor.
I bite down on my lip.
“Are you two…” Her gaze lingers on mine. I suppose she finds her answer in my eyes. “Wow, I
never thought you were his type. Not that it’s an insult. I guess it goes to show that Ethan has great
taste in women after all.”
I should probably be more worried about Francesca discovering my secret. But I knew I couldn’t
hide it from her forever. And I trust her even if Ethan doesn’t. She will never harm us. I should
probably tell her about Ethan’s relationship with her dad. Otherwise, she might accidentally end up
sharing this with him.
“I don’t know where to start…” I say before launching into the ugly truth of Ethan’s youth. His
pain, his struggles, his story. I know it’s not mine to tell, but I need to protect our secret now, so it
must be told. I keep it as brief as possible hoping that someday, he will share this with his sister in his
own words.
“Oh my goodness, I had no idea. I knew Dad didn’t treat him the same as us. But I…” Francesca’s
head drops onto my lap. “This is bad. What should I do, Ella?”
“There’s nothing you can do,” I reply.
“There has to be something—”
A sound against the door startles both of us. Somebody mutters “Fuck,” and it’s a voice I
recognize. Francesca dashes across the room immediately and throws the door open, revealing a tall,
golden-haired man wearing a white shirt.
“Elliot, why were you eavesdropping on me?” she yells.
“I wasn’t.” He rolls his broad shoulders, all casual. “Just heard what sounded like two
chimpanzees tittering and had to go see for myself what creature made that noise.”
“That’s not funny—”
I cut Francesca off. “Elliot, is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
He doesn’t look fine. Admittedly, I’m not a social butterfly, but I do pay a lot of attention to
people. I observe them carefully all the time; it’s one of my defense mechanisms. And Francesca’s
brother is hiding something under that scowl. His eyelids look more swollen than they usually do, and
though it’s subtle, the worry lines around his forehead are deeper, too.
“You look upset,” I remark.
“Go back to reading your books.” He crooks his eyebrow in mild disgust. “You’re not good at
reading people.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t be mean to her!” Francesca shouts again, barreling toward him like a drunk looking to
pick a fight. Her expression is intense. “We talked about you needing to treat people nicer.”
Elliot snorts. “Oh, fuck off, little sister. You don’t get to talk about ‘nice’ after disappearing off to
London and making everyone chase your irresponsible ass.”
“Oh please. It’s not like you ever cared. Ethan’s the only one who came to look for me.”
“Because Dad made him.”
“You wouldn’t have come even if Dad made you,” Francesca challenges.
“Damn right I wouldn’t.”
“Because you’re too busy snorting coke and getting into debt.”
“Debt?” I squeal, surprised at this new development.
Elliot’s eyes narrow into two cruel, hard lines. I hear the crack of his knuckles as he fists his
fingers. “Francesca—”
“Oh, I heard it from Dad. You’re in big trouble because you borrowed a whole lot of money you
can’t repay. Are you here to steal my paintings and sell them?”
He scoffs. “Like your paintings would be worth anything.”
Francesca and Elliot silently seethe at each other. The war of gazes continues a bit longer. I have
no idea how to break them up. I'm trapped between them.
Thankfully, Mrs. Astor strides into the living room just in time, carrying a lot of shopping bags.
Looks like she was out perusing designer stores.
“Elliot, dear, can you help me with these?” she asks innocently, oblivious to the tension cutting the
room in two.
Elliot sighs, before going to help his mother. “Yeah, Mom.”
“Your mother’s a genius,” I tell Francesca as we walk back to her room.
“Oh, Ella, please stay with me. I can’t stand being around Elliot,” Francesca pleads, giving me
her best puppy eyes. “Will you?”
Even though I want to be with Ethan so much, Francesca has been my friend for just as long. She
has been a source of companionship and support for me during my darkest times. I’d like to do the
same her.
So there’s only one answer. “Of course.”
ETHAN and I have to cancel our secret meeting at his suite that week because I agree to stay with
Francesca. The Astor Family home seems to have a shit-ton of security. I’d need a hacker or a
professional burglar to get me out of here so I give up and resign myself to my fate. Each night, as I lie
awake in the guest bedroom, I dream of Ethan. I dream of being cocooned in his arms all night and
waking up to his rare smile in the morning.
When the ache inside my chest becomes unbearable, I text him, fully assuming he’ll ignore me.
Ella: Thought I’d interrupt your evil scheming to let you know that I’m at your family’s
Brooklyn house right now. I’ll be staying here all week.
But he replies back.
Ethan: Good luck.
Ella: You grew up here. Any escape routes you can tell me about?
Ethan: That desperate to leave already?
Ella: No.
Ella: I just miss you.
He doesn’t reply for minutes. Then:
Ethan: Go to sleep. Good night.
The next day, I have breakfast with the entire family, including a surly Elliot who seems to watch
me out of the corner of his eye like I’m a national security threat. It’s an exercise in willpower to not
toss my plate at Ethan’s dad and watch it shatter against his skull with a satisfying crunch. If he
disappeared…wouldn’t all of Ethan’s problems be over?
But it’s not like I can make him disappear just by thinking.
“You’re always deep in thought,” Mr. Astor says with an amused smile. “Surprised you don’t
study philosophy.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, eyes nailed on the toast on my plate.
Mr. Astor acts all nice and fatherly toward me, like a completely normal, decent man. So much so
that I begin to doubt if Ethan has him right. But no. I know Ethan wouldn’t lie. And monsters are
terrifying because they can hide under the most beautiful masks. It was the same with my mother’s
agent. I, of all people, have experienced this kind of double-faced person first-hand.
“Ella, I have to meet someone this afternoon,” Francesca says after breakfast. “Will you be fine
on your own for a few hours? Ask the maid if you need anything.”
“I’m good,” I say. “I’ll read a book or something.”
By the time I make it to the afternoon, though, I’ve read two smutty fanfics and I’m burning with
need. I want to be with Ethan. I never had this level of sex drive before. All I can think of since I
came back from London is how much I want to see him again. How much I want him to touch me and
tell me his secrets.
My need heightens into hallucinations by mid-afternoon. In the empty second living room, I spot
someone who looks just like Ethan. Same navy pinstripe suit, devilish smirk, and cold aura.
“You look well, princess.” Oh my goodness; my hallucination talks. And it moves. Toward me.
When warm, rough fingers trace a delicious path down my cheek, I know it’s real.
He’s real. Ethan’s here. In the flesh. In front of me.
“Wait.” I cough. “I thought you hate this house. That’s why you live at the hotel.”
“I do hate it.” He tucks a knuckle under my chin and brings his mouth down on mine, drowning me
in intense heat. I’m still breathless from that kiss when he lifts me up like a doll and carries me to the
room I’m staying in.
“Can we do this?” I squawk against his broad chest. “Now? I mean…”
Ethan quirks a brow. “Why not? Dad’s at work, Elliot was called by the car dealership to pick up
his new Maserati, my stepmother’s meeting her friends, and I arranged a meeting for Francesca with a
gallery owner to get her out of the way.”
My mouth drops. “You engineered this?”
“Technically, I had my secretary manage their schedules so they’d all be gone this afternoon.”
“You’re…” I try; I try so damned hard to find a bad word, to be angry, but I’m touched. “…
remarkable.”
A warm flicker caresses his dark eyes. He deposits me on the fluffy bed in my room.
“I’m simply holding you to the deal before you change your mind. We never said we had to meet
in my suite.” Despite all the posturing, I understand what he actually meant to say was: I missed you,
too.
A light kiss registers between my shoulder blades. I shiver.
“I love…” You. “…it.”
Good, I caught that slip of the tongue early.
I need to be careful. Because how can I tell him I love him when secrecy is all we can have?
I stare at him for a few seconds too long. Know the exact moment he turns away in discomfort.
Because though we’ve been naked with each other, it’s one thing to want someone and another to be
fascinated by them.
“Take off your clothes, Ella.” His lust-roughened command crackles in my blood, rushing to my
head in a dizzy wave of ecstasy. “We don’t have all day.”
His fingers work dexterously to rid his body of clothes. He folds his shirt neatly and places it on
the desk to avoid getting it creased. Smart. Any mistakes might give away our secret, after all. My
heart squeezes in resentment.
I do as he said and peel off my own articles of clothing. Cardigan. Dress. Stockings. Bra.
He beats me to tear off my panties.
I trail my fingers over his exposed pecs. Our breaths mingle, fused together in their raggedness.
Guilt niggles at me. I made him skip work, even if it’s only for an afternoon. I’m shocked he actually
did it for me. He’s less restrained ever since we returned home to New York. He doesn’t hold himself
back from acting on his attraction to me.
“Did you lie in bed at night dreaming of me?” The question sprinkles heat on my cheeks. Ethan
should be a mind reader. “So you did.”
“I…” I rub my eyes.
“Did you touch yourself?”
“No! But I wanted you to.” I grip his hand and guide it down to my sex. “Like this.”
His pupils expand into two dark discs.
If anyone had told me before my vacation to London that this would happen, I’d never have
believed it. I never imagined myself capable of having such a sex drive since my desires were always
chained by guilt and worry and fear of judgment. But when I’m with him I don’t feel judged or dirty. I
feel loved and revered.
“No, you do it,” Ethan says, withdrawing his hand from my wet, needy pussy all of a sudden. “I
want to see you pleasure yourself.”
Panic surges up my throat. “I can’t…”
I close my eyes, unable to quell the ghosts haunting my mind. I was scared of being touched by
men all my life, but why am I even more scared of being touched by myself? I mean, I know I won’t
hurt myself. Still, my arm lies limp at my side, reluctant to move.
“What’re you afraid of?” Ethan probes.
“It’s just…” The unease in my chest refuses to be molded into coherent words. I ball my fingers
into fists, frustrated, and then, inexplicably, tears mist my vision. “It feels wrong…dirty, even. To
touch me. Isn’t that something…”
Attention seekers do, the sentence completes itself in the voice of my mother’s agent. He always
wanted to be the only one to touch me. It was his special privilege. A boundary I couldn’t cross.
Because only he could do that to me. Only he had the right to touch me in those places. And while I
transferred the right to touch me (or temporarily granted it) to Ethan, I realize I’ve never really
granted it to myself. I still live by the rules someone else made for my body.
Blunt pressure solidifies around my wrist as Ethan takes my hand and guides it to my pussy. He
presses my finger to my aching, swollen core. I cry out.
“What’re you…I can’t touch myself! I told you it’s filthy—”
Ethan doesn’t say anything but his eyebrows climb up his forehead as if he’s waiting for me to
complete my line of thought.
“I’ve never done it.” I muffle my cry but it wrenches free from my throat. “Never been allowed to
do it.”
“Then change that.” My knees go weak when he rubs my fingertip against my clit, sending shocks
of delight humming through my nerves. A fresh stream of tears sprays from my eyes. I’m glad Ethan is
cruel enough that doesn’t stop. That he keeps moving my fingers. “You’re not dirty, Ella. You’re sexy
and you deserve to be loved and pleasured. Most of all by yourself.”
“I…” My body is molten heat, my voice a useless puff of air.
“Let yourself have this,” Ethan’s whisper is an electric charge against my skin as he pushes one of
my fingers into my wet pussy. “If not you, then who does this body belong to?”
“Nobody,” I reply, fortified by a sense of determination. I can’t waste this opportunity. I must
rewrite the past. “This body belongs to nobody but me.”
He coaxes one more finger in and then I’m thrusting them by myself, riding waves of white-hot
pleasure. Oh god, it feels so good. So different. My fingers aren’t as thick as Ethan’s or as rough.
“I…it’s so gentle,” I murmur. “Not like when you do it.”
His playful grin is sunshine on my back. “If you’re going to complain, I’m not helping you.”
The firm fingers guiding mine vanish. I don’t feel lost without his touch so I continue grinding my
fingers against my core, eyes rolling back as I bring myself to the edge.
I’m so glad I’m not alone. I’m so glad I’m doing this with him. I’m so glad he saw through my
lame excuses and fears. Saw through the self-hate and shame that I wear like a permanent tattoo. Saw
through it and challenged me to throw away the beliefs that make my life miserable.
The climax hits my stomach first, then shoots outward. It’s not as intense as the others I’ve had but
it’s gentle and ebbs through my body like cool water from a stream. When I open my eyes, Ethan’s
sitting cross-legged on the bed beside me, a black cloud of anxiety swirling around his head.
“Liked it?” He sounds far too nervous when he asks me that like it’d be his fault if this didn’t
work out.
I slam into him like a hurricane, gathering him in a hug, crushing him with all the strength left in
my boneless body.
“Thank you. You’re the best lover in the world. Gentle and patient despite being cold at times.” I
kiss him hard on the lips. With tongue. “Somewhere, deep down, I’ve always felt ashamed of wanting
love. Of asking for it. Of taking it. Not anymore.”
A faint pink blush dusts his cheeks. “That must’ve been a fucking massive orgasm. You’re high as
a kite.”
Despite the sarcastic quip, I notice he’s actually smiling. It’s an actual smile, not polite or fake.
It’s a pretty rare sight.
CHAPTER 20
E
than
MY FIRST MISTAKE was meeting Ella outside my suite. My second mistake occurs on the day of the
NYPL gala a week later. Francesca and Ella are there and despite knowing this and being fully aware
of my lack of self-control around her, I ignore the alarm bells in my head and show up to the gala
pretending everything will be okay.
Glittering gowns sweep around my vision like fireflies. It’s the same rarefied circle of
acquaintances that I see at every other charity event. I exchange polite conversations with them.
Throughout, I'm keenly aware of Ella’s silhouette near the wall. She’s ravishing in her sequined navy
dress and smoky eyes. I remember how I felt when I saw her at the Opera gala months ago—like I
was in the presence of a siren who meant to lure me into ruin.
My gut clenches at the silent call of her body even now.
Elliot clears his throat beside me as we break away from a group of business associates. I’m
surprised he even came. Plus, he dressed down in a somber navy suit instead of his usual logoflashing garish designer suits. It’s only fueling the rumors of his debt. I repaid Zara and started a
smear campaign against her which might possibly end with her reputation destroyed in the world of
investing. I would’ve gone for a stronger offensive move but I’m still not sure I want to hurt her
company too much. Also, I’ve been entirely preoccupied with Ella.
“Your bookworm is here.” Elliot sneers at Ella’s visage.
“Thank you for pointing out the obvious,” I answer without bothering to think carefully about what
I’m admitting to. My attention has been latched onto Ella’s form since the second she entered. I
assumed Elliot was too high on something to notice. Shit. I need to get my brain in line if even my
irresponsible younger brother can tell what I’ve been up to. “Wait, my bookworm?”
“Aren’t you two having a thing?” The gleam in Elliot’s eye suggests he isn’t speculating. He
actually knows something.
I blink. The question is like a blade held to my throat. A direct hit.
Panic grips me before rationality. “What?”
“You and her. I saw you at home last Wednesday. Kissing. You carried her to her room.” He
puckers his lips and acts out the gesture, making it look disgusting in the process. “I didn’t think you
would ever set foot in that house again.”
Coldness creeps up my collarbones. The devil knows it’d be stupid to admit it. Our agreement
was to keep sex and the rest of our lives private, to leave the bedroom as strangers. I never
considered the future of our arrangement or what it would mean to have other people acknowledge
that we were together. I didn’t consider that I’d like the idea of people knowing that Ella was mine.
Still, I must protect her—which means she cannot be anybody important to me.
“Yeah we did that,” I say, offhandedly. If my close family suspects that I’m sleeping with her, it’s
no longer a secret, is it? The only way to save it is to play down the importance of what happened.
“She’s pretty and naïve. I needed an easy fuck. Can you blame me?”
Elliot ejects a low whistle. “Wow, you’re an asshole.”
“So?”
It’d be stupid to confess to my younger brother about Ella no matter how much I want people to
know that we’re something, that she means something to me; Elliot is his father’s son.
“I already feel bad for her.” Elliot claps a hand across on shoulder all malice. “And for every
woman who has the misfortune to become acquainted with you.”
I hook one eyebrow in a questioning arch. “Excuse me? Which woman are you referring to?”
“You were the one behind the news articles that have been in the press regarding Zara.” His eyes
slit in anger. I’ve never seen Elliot so angry before, not even when I broke up his foursome in Ibiza
five years ago just when it was getting good. “Don’t bother denying it.”
“If you didn’t want her getting hurt, then you shouldn’t have carelessly borrowed money from her.
Or let her waltz into Dad’s office to demand repayment.” I fold my arms. “You know he isn’t a
forgiving man.”
“But you’re the one who is out to destroy her, not Dad.”
“And you’re the one who is failing to protect her.” I bite out.
It’s not as though I cherish doing the dirty work for my father or seeing a hardworking and genuine
woman brought low. But we must all lay in the bed we’ve made at the end of the day. I don’t expect
someone as carefree as Elliot to understand that, though.
“Maybe I should protect her after all.” The cool snap of pride in Elliot’s tone coupled with the
way he starts to glug his alcohol tells me he has closed himself off from hearing anymore more from
me.
Good, because I’m done wasting time on my incompetent younger brother, too. Freed from his
company, I march toward Ella like a man on a mission.
My skin feels a lot warmer than is justified for winter, and I doubt it has anything to do with the
thickness of my jacket.
Ella is, as always, a little dazed. I’ve noticed crowds do that to her. She is checking every
direction as if waiting for a threat to materialize, so much so that she pays no attention to me standing
beside her.
The growling in my chest tells me I don’t appreciate being ignored.
“You got something on your mind, princess?”
“Should you be talking to me with all these eyes around us?” She unfolds her arms and leans on
her palms, arching her body up to me, her pale skin stretched tight over her knuckles.
“I don’t intend to keep talking for long.” When she angles her head toward me, I lean in closer.
With my left hand, I circle her wrist, rubbing circles on her palm. “Come with me.”
“What?”
“Fuck, Ella, just do it.” The neediness in my voice shocks me.
Ella’s pupils blow out. Can she feel this hot, frantic desire that’s intense enough to burn my skin to
a crisp from the inside?
A big, hard swallow creates a bump against the smooth line of her throat, but she follows my lead
without question. I pick up the hammering of her pulse where my fingers are clamped around her
wrist.
I’ve been to this location for many galas before so I am aware of all the hidden spaces where we
might be away from other people’s prying eyes. There’s an empty corridor that runs parallel to the
restrooms and thankfully it’s open to access today.
I shove Ella’s body in the space between two large windows, aware anybody who strays from the
party could catch us right now.
“What’s gotten into you?” Ella asks, eyebrows smooshed together in a concerned line.
I pull her into a bruising kiss, releasing the pins from her head so a curtain of dark hair falls
around her pale face.
“You.” I breathe savagely. “You’ve gotten into me.”
The quietness of the spot settles on me like a second skin. It's way more comfortable that the
incessant attention and noise of the party. My hand travels under her dress to cup the smooth swell of
her ass. I knead the soft flesh and it turns me on until my erection is nudging her stomach.
This is a bad idea.
I’m so lost in the feel of her skin that every errant thought in my head turns into dust.
I dip my finger under the waistband of her panties and rub my thumb over her wet, swollen clit.
Her breath tears. “What’re you…”
“Maybe I just like the sound of your voice when you moan.”
“We’re in a public place,” she chides.
“Yeah? That's why you’re so wet? Because you want everyone to know that you’re fucking me?”
Her answering cry is precious. Makes me feel like a sinner and a saint at the same time. Ella has
that effect on me—she illuminates my deepest darkness as well as my potential for great good.
“Feel free to scream,” I tell her. “I happen to be a fan of those.”
A blast of air explodes against my neck as she struggles to keep herself together, my fingers
edging her closer to her release. “You’re terrible.”
“Already established that fact years ago,” I smirk. “Tell me what you want, princess. Do you want
me to stop?”
“No…don’t stop.” Her blush is furious.
“Then what?”
“I want you inside me. I want you filling me,” she replies, the shake in her voice audible. “Then I
want you to make it hurt.”
My face splits into a sharp smile. I hoist up her dress and pull down her underwear. Her fingers
play on the zipper of my pants, releasing my monstrous erection. She strokes my leaking head, and the
rough friction of her fingers twists in my gut like a cold spark.
“You’re getting ahead of yourself.” I lick a wicked trail down her jawline, loving the hard, firm
feel of her bone under my tongue.
With my free hand, I extract a condom from my wallet. I carry it all the time nowadays having
given up making excuses for my endless lustful desires.
Her body rocks against mine, a vortex of need. I cradle her carefully, gently enough that this
doesn’t seem like a scary thing, but firmly enough to hold her in place.
I massage the small of her back, reaching higher to pinch the rolls of fat on her back.
Her muscles lock under me.
“Not…” I feel her fear like a knife to the gut.
I breached a boundary. She has never told me any details of how her mother’s agent molested her,
or what specific acts he committed, but every time I touch her, one more piece of the puzzle falls into
place. The bastard is lucky he’s in prison or I’d wring his neck right now.
“Okay. Relax.” My hand falls from her body. The tension from earlier fizzles away like a bad
dream. She turns pliant under my touch once more.
Sex with Ella is more than sex. It’s like tracing the grooves of her mind and heart and soul. It’s
like getting to know her inside out. She’s a quiet person who never talks about herself but at this
moment every tiny pain and every little ache is on full display for me to see and test and erase. We’re
both the same in that respect.
She’s wet enough and she wants it rough anyway so I penetrate her in one smooth motion, burying
myself balls-deep in her tight pussy.
A tear rolls down the side of her face as she digs her nails into the back of my jacket. She endures
the breach with scrunched eyes, but she can’t muffle the screams that break free.
“You want the entire city to hear you?” I whisper, showing no mercy as I rail her against the wall,
each thrust more punishing than the last. She wraps her legs around me, drawing me into her deeper.
“You want everyone to know you’re mine?”
“What about you?” Ella hiccups, the pain threading her voice with a rasp. “Would you be okay
with them knowing you’re mine?”
More than you realize.
Some things are too hard to say. But the body cannot hide its instincts. When we’re naked and
vulnerable in front of each other without the shield of snark and smart comebacks, we can’t lie no
matter how much we want to.
I press a kiss on her nose. “Don’t you wish things were different for us?”
“All the time.” Ella’s beautiful hazel eyes, blurred with too many tears, wreck my insides.
I know I won’t last long. So I make sure she comes before my eyes squeeze shut with the force of
my own climax.
“What happened to your plan of hiding this relationship?” Ella asks when we’re done.
“It’s still a secret. Nobody found out, right?” I straighten my tie and rearrange my clothes, not
wanting to confront how close I came to blowing our cover tonight. I knew I was obsessed with her
and instead of controlling my obsession, I’m letting it control me—while enjoying every minute. After
the vacation, I changed. I feel it now, in the way my muscles feel looser, how I’m less bothered about
my life going up in flames. Is this how Elliot feels all the time, high on drugs and with no
responsibility on his shoulders?
“But someone might have heard us. You have to be careful.”
I shrug. I’m so far gone to this madness that I think if someone had seen us, I’d have just
continued. When I’m with her, nothing else seems to matter. Not other people, not their opinions, and
definitely not my own pitiable excuses for leaving her alone.
But that bubble of invulnerable intimacy pops the moment we’re out of each other’s presence.
Instead of relishing my independence, all I want is to be back in her arms once more and have the
world around me dissolve into nothing.
CHAPTER 21
E
T WO
lla
YEARS
ago
THE SPLATTERS of blood on his face wring a scream from my throat the moment he enters the suite that
night. My gaze drops to the traces of crimson that have dried into dark maroon crescents on his
knuckles and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Ethan steps into the bathroom, serene and entirely unbothered by being covered in blood. Oh god,
I hope he didn’t come through the reception where everybody could have seen him like this. The
faucet emits a loud hiss as it sprays water. The voices in my brain hiss louder.
Oh my goodness what have I done? Did I get an innocent man murdered because he touched me
inappropriately? What was I even thinking?
“Is he alive?” The question squeaks out of me when Ethan’s face emerges from the bathroom.
“He’s in jail. Or he will be, soon.”
“For what?”
“Murder.”
“But you’re the one covered in blood.”
He jerks his shoulder in a casual shrug. “Not anymore.”
“Oh my goodness! What did you do?” My throat feels blocked with something too large to fit
inside it. I’ve never prayed as hard as I pray at that moment. “Did you kill someone?”
Our deal was that he’d get my mother’s agent in prison. Since the sexual assault allegations would
be impossible to prove anyway, I assumed he’d frame him for bad accounting or not paying his taxes.
I know you don’t get much jail time for those, but it’d be enough to ruin his career and exact my
retribution.
“You really want to know what happened?” Ethan’s teeth are sharp as claws as he sneers,
mocking my sudden panic with a dark glint in his eyes. “Sure you can handle the truth?”
My ribcage shrinks back on itself. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know what I’ve made
him do. I don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death.
But I have always been too weak to resist my curiosity.
“Tell me,” I say, wiping my lips with the back of my sleeve.
The smile on Ethan’s face vanishes.
And he speaks.
Present
“WHAT ’ RE YOU THINKING ?” My voice burns through the stillness in the room.
Another night. Ethan. Me. Again. In his suite. We finished making out and we’re just…lying next
to each other half-clothed, I guess. I keep waiting for him to tell me to get lost, but he never shoos me
away these days, not even when he’s too tired to have sex like now. In fact, three times this week
alone, I ended up spending the night with him, sleeping with our skin against each other. It was
heavenly.
Ethan’s sharp elbow nudges mine. After a long pause he answers, “I’m thinking I’d like to take
your soul so that I can always feel your presence next to me.”
I blink at that blatantly romantic sentiment. It’s a pretty cheesy line, but coming from a guy like
him and imbued with that deep passion in his voice, it snakes down my spine like a 5000-volt current.
I know Ethan likes me and that he even likes being with me. He’s always into sex and he even
talks to me nicely afterward. Every now and then, he even eats dinner with me (where I order room
service on his card) and we talk about our interests—books and work. I’ve started to learn a bit about
the hotel business and also I can see now that Ethan’s pretty passionate about it. I can’t believe I
thought he had no interest in his work and only worked hard so he could be rich and successful. Then
again, he has never been the vocal type. He shows his feelings more through his actions than his
words. So I never expected to hear him admit it out loud.
“Oh, and what would I get in return?” I turn over, placing a pillow between us because the
temptation to touch him is huge.
He pauses. The shadows in his irises deepen. “Whatever you want.”
“What if I want your soul?”
“Then you can take it.”
“Except for the part where you don’t have one.” I chuckle awkwardly, his quietness and
inscrutable, mysterious expression a witness to my joke falling flat.
“I never saw you laugh much before,” Ethan throws it out like an offhand observation, lying on his
back with his hands folded behind his head.
He’s right. I was never so playful in the past. So unburdened. Able to joke and laugh so easily. I
was afraid someone would interpret my jokes as flirting and then that’d lead to a whole lot of
nonsense…and it always drained my desire to want to be funny. I am comfortable with Francesca but
she prefers to be the one to do all the talking and when I’m with her, I fall into that dynamic easily.
It’s different with Ethan. He’s always waiting for me to talk. To tell him what I’m feeling. And I
feel at ease doing just that.
My heart clenches with a nameless emotion. This quiet moment between us makes me swell with
happiness like a bloated pufferfish. I feel right at home in this suite, in this bed, in his arms.
All month, things have been so close to perfect. I’ve gotten used to the secret nature of our
relationship to the point where I actually enjoy that it’s something intimate between us, away from the
eyes and the judgment of the world. That within these walls, we can both bare ourselves without
worrying about the future or anything else.
“You don’t like my laugh?” I poke a deep groove into the downy pillow that I’m hugging close to
my chest.
“I like it,” Ethan responds. “It’s honest.”
“Well…”
“What’re you thinking?” Ethan slings my own question back at me a moment later.
I don’t pause anywhere near as long as he did. “That I love being in a secret relationship.”
Ethan twists his lips in confusion.
“You know me—I’m a shy person. I don’t like going out to public places or having people’s eyes
on me. If we were to walk outside, a lot of people would notice us. Honestly, I don’t like the whole
world knowing who I’m doing things with. It’s not anybody's business.” I thread my fingers through
his. “This way, I don’t have to make myself uncomfortable trying hard to be ‘normal’ like other girls.”
“I didn’t expect you’d think that way.” Ethan’s body readjusts around me so he’s spooning the
pillow between us. Both of us have one leg each on it, and where our naked knees meet, I feel sparks
in my bones. “I thought you’d feel unworthy for being hidden.”
“Not at all.”
“Are you sure?” Despite what he says, Ethan’s voice is filled with reluctance and disbelief. Does
he think I’m lying to him or trying to make him feel better by pretending to be happy in a secret
relationship?
Well, that’s certainly not the case.
“Don’t you want more?” Ethan continues.
“Not really. I’m happy with the way things are. In the past, I always felt anxious about having to
look the part of a girlfriend, acting appropriately in public, and pushing myself to go out to crowded
places I wasn’t interested in. It might be one of the reasons I never dated anyone. But I don’t feel that
pressure when I’m with you.”
Ethan lifts an eyebrow in amusement. “You really are unique.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Quite the opposite.”
Our knees brush again and a slow, warm current climbs through my thighs, hitting me straight in
my chest.
I feel so alive every time I see him, like a dead part of me has suddenly been revived. That’s why
I can’t refuse our encounters. I enjoy danger a little too much.
I don’t care if I sound needy. I blurt out, “Can we meet again tomorrow—”
A hard knock on the door drives us apart. Two deep male, voices drift over, calling, “Ethan Astor
Jr.”
There’s an undercurrent of authority in these voices and Ethan recognizes it, too. He quickly
throws on his T-shirt and fastens his bathrobe around himself.
Before he can make it to the door, it slams open, revealing two men in police uniforms. Ethan
jumps in front of me, hiding me from the men. I’m still not fully clothed.
The cops mumble something that I can’t make out. Ethan’s brows twist into angry curves and an
explosive “That’s ridiculous,” blasts from his lips.
The officers immediately brandish a sheet of paper. Their voice rises.
“We’re here to arrest you, Mr. Astor Jr. You need to come with us.”
A needle drops into my stomach. The document indeed resembles an arrest warrant from afar. Has
my worst fear come true? Just when I was starting to hope that we might find stability and happiness
even within this unique arrangement. When Ethan started to smile more. I didn’t even care if we could
never be more than secret lovers. I don’t want to be seen by the world or acknowledged, don’t want
anything at all as long as Ethan is happy.
“I need to go with them.” Ethan’s face is stone when he arcs his head back. His jaw is rigid with
tension.
I inch forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Are they arresting you?”
He shrugs away from my touch. “Wait for a bit then go home.”
“Why’re they arresting you?” Even as I ask, my mind is running away with possibilities. He has
done so much illegal stuff, I’m not sure which one of those actions finally caught up to him. I nibble
my nails. “You should’ve listened to me and stopped before it got this bad.”
“I should have.” Again, that cold evenness. There’s a defeated blankness in his usually bright
eyes. “But I didn’t. So I suppose I’ll pay the price now.”
“No.”
He wipes the sweat on his forehead; Ethan’s more nervous than his behavior suggests. “No? And
who do you think is going to save me now? Not my father, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll save you,” I tell him.
“You?”
Without worrying about what the policemen might think, I get on my tiptoes and wrap my arms
around Ethan. Closing my eyes, I savor the musky scent of his skin. Running my hand over his face, I
memorize the rough and smooth edges of his face as a lump expands in my throat.
This might be the last time I see him.
I shake my head vehemently. Negativity has no place in my mind right now. “I will save you so
wait for me,” I assure him. “I’ll hire you a lawyer.”
“I don’t want you getting involved in this.” He grips my hands and throws me off his body. I know
he was deliberately forceful because he wants to protect me. But he doesn’t have to. “In case you
didn’t get the message—we’re over. Whatever we were doing it’s over now.”
“It may be,” I scream. “But I love you.”
That declaration, shrill and tear-filled hangs in the air like glass shards after an explosion. Even
the cops don’t intrude, though their eyes go wide.
This is the worst moment to confess love. This is hands down, the worst way to confess love. But
I don’t care. I might never see him again and I have to take my chances.
“You love me?” The stony mask drops off his face for a brief moment, revealing a shocked,
bright-eyed expression. He shutters again.
“Yes. I have loved you for a long time," I say.
“I don’t care. I don’t love you. Stay out of my business. I slept with you, but that’s all it was.” He
narrows his gaze. “So don’t go around dreaming of a happy ending here.”
“I’m not dreaming.”
“Ella, get it together!” He hisses. “I’m a criminal now, for Christ’s sake. You need to see that.”
“I don’t care. I didn’t like you for your money or your respectability. You’re you. And I fell in
love with you.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Ahem.” The policemen clear their throats. One of them steps into the room, apologizes to me,
and curls his big, beefy fingers around Ethan’s arms. Then claps the handcuffs on him. My knees
tremble as the officer reads him his rights before escorting him from the suite. I collapse on the floor
when the door closes, turbulent emotions stuck in my stomach like thorns. I’d like nothing more than
to break down into a sobbing heap. But I need to save Ethan. Even if our relationship is over, even if
this is the last thing I do, I will save him.
Resolve burns like a torch inside my heart. I scramble to the nightstand to grab my phone, then
press Francesca’s name.
“It’s a disaster here,” she opens. When I tell her about Ethan, she sighs. “Ethan, too? Shit. Dad
was arrested as well.”
“Elliot?” I enquire.
“Not him. He’s looking smug over there in the living room. God, he’s such an asshole. How can
he be happy when his father and brother are in jail? He said they deserve it and he’s not going to help
them.”
Maybe he’s the one who got them in trouble. I have no idea where that thought popped up from.
It’s...when I met Elliot at Francesca’s house, he seemed angry. Pissed off. He strikes me as the kind of
person who would hurt others to take out his frustrations.
“What did they take Ethan in for?” Francesca enquires.
The words get caught in my throat. “Tampering with evidence in a murder.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Confusion flickers in her voice. I hear the grit of her teeth, the nervous
cadence of her tongue clicking.
I cup my mobile phone. Sweat’s making its edge slide down my ear. “Yeah…listen, I’m going to
find Ethan a lawyer. My mom will definitely know someone.”
“I was about to do the same.”
“Just getting him good defense won’t be enough. I’ll have to make sure he’s cleared of the
charges. I don’t know how to do that yet…”
I withhold the part about them being true since I have no idea how Francesca will receive that
information.
“I’m with you on this. I refuse to see my brother go to jail. Hell, I’m ready to get involved with
the mafia if I have to.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think the mafia will be of any help.” I rub my thumb over my bare knee. I’m
glad I have an ally and even happier that it’s my best friend. This is the toughest problem I’ve ever
encountered in my life and I’ll need to use all my wits and all the help I can get to solve it.
I’m not going to lose Ethan now. Not after I finally fell in love with him. Not when there’s finally
a glimmer of hope for us to be together.
I bite my nails. Something has been bothering me about this situation from the beginning. Ethan’s
smart. I’m certain that he was careful when he dipped his toe in the mess of framing someone for
murder two years ago. Especially since he hasn’t, to my knowledge, ever framed anybody for murder
before. He must have planned it out meticulously and left no loopholes. That’s the cold devil I know.
He doesn’t make mistakes. I mean, he has been doing illegal stuff for years and he has never been
caught before so he must be good at it.
That’s why the sudden arrest is so baffling. It sprung out of nowhere like someone quietly planned
it and waited for the perfect moment to strike.
Who would do such a thing?
And why now?
“Francesca, does Ethan have any enemies?” I click my tongue. “Sorry, stupid question.”
“He has more enemies than friends,” Francesca confirms. “And most of them are powerful. Shall I
make you a list? Will that help?”
No, I wouldn’t be able to narrow it down even with a list. Besides, that’s just my hunch. For all I
know, the police might have suddenly found evidence randomly and decided to reinvestigate that
case. Or maybe my mother’s agent has something to do with it. If the evidence used to incarcerate him
turns out to be false, he can be released. He’s the person who benefits the most from Ethan’s
conviction. Maybe he found out that I was involved, traced it back to Ethan, and managed to use his
contacts in the outside world so he can get out of prison.
My blood turns to sludge at the thought. Nausea washes over me at the mere possibility of
glancing at his vile countenance one more time. But I’ll do anything for Ethan. I’ll even face my
demons and slay them if I have to.
I place a firm hand on my stomach, willing myself not to throw up. Despite all the progress I’ve
made in accepting myself, I’m still not fully recovered from the past. Being broken now could mean
I’ll never find the courage to heal again.
“Can you find out more from the police about what they found to suggest he tampered with
evidence? You’re his family, after all. They might tell you,” I say to Francesca, pushing my thoughts
away from that man.
She sighs. “I’ll do what I can, but I think I’ll have to babysit my mother all night. She’s distraught
over Dad’s arrest.”
“It’s alright. Don’t push yourself.”
“Ella, will you do something for me, too?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you meet Ethan? He’ll be worried if nobody comes to see him after he was arrested. I don’t
want him to be lonely.”
“I was going to do that anyway.” The ragtag tempo of my heartbeat slows enough to allow me to
hear the next words over the blood rushing in my ears.
“But can you do it now?” Francesca’s voice hardens with fear. “Please.”
My desire to face my demons and find the truth wars with my desire to pick the easy path and do
my favorite thing in the world—talking to Ethan. I’d use any excuse to delay meeting with that man so
I take the escape that Francesca is offering me gratefully. It doesn’t make me weak, I tell myself. I’m
only postponing the worst.
“No problem.” I rise to my feet and find the stockings that I tossed on the armchair before. “I’ll do
what you want.”
Francesca’s breath escalates into a loud huff of relief. “You’re a lifesaver. Tell me how he is once
you’ve talked to him. I’ll be waiting.”
CHAPTER 22
E
than
ELLIOT ARRIVES BEFORE THE LAWYER, which is more unexpected than me getting arrested in the middle
of the night.
But I welcome it. There has been nothing but silence and waiting in a holding cell ever since the
police brought me in. I haven’t gleaned any new information and I really need to engage a lawyer
before the detectives begin their interrogation. Time’s running out for me.
My younger half-brother crosses his legs, a languid, satisfied smile fixed on his rosy, neverworked-a-day-in-my-life lips as he watches me with my shoulders sloped downward. “Enjoying your
prison stay, Ethan?”
“No, but I’m certainly enjoying your company.” I shrug. “Beats being alone. Get me anything to
eat?”
“Don’t they feed prisoners in jail? Or did you tire of the food already?”
“Forget it,” I say, a touch irritated at the deepening spite in Elliot’s voice.
Our gazes meet and we engage in a silent war for about thirty seconds. A war he loses when he
blinks.
“You can’t get out of this, Ethan.” That hint of determination—I only ever hear it in his voice
when he’s promising to make some random woman come during an orgy that I’ve accidentally stepped
into because Dad wanted me to ‘get Elliot out of trouble’ again.
“And how’d you know that?” I gesture with my chin toward the door.
He flips me his middle finger, the smile inching up a notch on his face. “Because I’ll make sure of
it.”
His seething hostility takes me aback. I’ve known that Elliot doesn’t like me. And he’s mostly an
asshole to me. But that’s how he is to everyone, even Francesca. I never thought I was special. But
today, there’s something else that charges his words, actions, his very aura. He has slicked back his
usually unruly beach waves, he’s wearing a suit, and he even managed to spritz some perfume.
Fuck me, he almost looks like a businessman in the making.
Wait.
Wait.
Was it…?
The cool confidence, the malice…could it be…
“It was you. This—” I hiss, storming to my feet. “—you made this happen.”
“You thought I wouldn’t fight back?” He looks down his pointed nose at me. “I told you I’d
protect her. I won’t see another person hurt because of you.”
“What?”
“That’s right; I was the one who testified and supplied evidence of your murder to the police. Are
you shocked?” His jaw snaps with a triumphant click.
“Why?”
“Because I’m sick of what you do. How you casually ruin people’s lives.”
My glorious comeback is cut short by the rage shooting through me. Every cell in my body
trembles at his betrayal. Even my toes feel hot with blood rushing to them. I’m beginning to realize
that somewhere deep down, I trusted Elliot. Just like I trust Francesca. I trusted that they were
different from my father. That we had bonds—no matter how imperfect—tying us together. That they
would never deliberately hurt me.
And now my trust has been shattered, all I feel is stupid at being bested by my idiot younger
brother. Stupid at my naïve optimism.
“What do you want?” I spit out, part of me still reeling from the aftereffects of being stabbed in
the back. Still reeling from the fact that despite everything I did for him, despite everything I sheltered
him from, despite all the times I saved him from dying of dehydration and neglect after drinking
himself into oblivion—all he feels for me is nothing. I suppose it’s true that you can’t buy people’s
affection with money or actions. “I already paid off the money you owe Zara. Do you want the hotel?
The CEO spot? If you wanted to be the successor, all you had to do was tell Dad—he’d never deny
you anything. Why go through this trouble?”
“No; you dumb bastard. This isn’t about the hotel or money!” Elliot punches the table hard, baring
his teeth in anger. “I want to put a stop to the evil things you and Dad have been doing all these years.
It isn’t right.”
The metal handcuffs cut my wrist and my hand convulses in shock. The words percolate my brain
slowly. However, the implication hits me all at once. “You knew?”
“I live in the same damn house as that man. I overhear things. Of course, I knew!” He rakes a hand
through the uneven edges of his blonde hair, fingers digging into his scalp. His mouth scrunches in a
wince. “Thought I could ignore it. Thought I could forget what I heard if I partied hard enough or
escaped through drugs. But every time the high wore off, I was back where I’d started. I was back to
being a silent accessory to someone else’s destruction.”
I look away immediately because his accusing gaze fills me with guilt. His eyes are wide, lost,
tortured—it’s how they always are but I assumed it was because of the drugs.
Anxiety claws its way up from the base of my spine. Elliot and I have never been close. Even
when we were younger, while Francesca tried to desperately befriend me, he only took shots at me. I
thought it was sibling rivalry, that he was lashing out because I’d taken away the privilege of being
the eldest son from him, that it was his resentment at me for showing up and taking what he
considered his birthright—the hotels. But his venomous words, his indifference, his naked distaste for
me…it can all be traced back to that night. The night Dad gave me the order to kill someone. He
must’ve noticed that the guy disappeared…and assumed the worst.
“Since when have you known?” I say.
“Since you started that scandal with Senator Grayson that led him to resign from office.” I
calculate mentally—I was eighteen then. So Elliot has been aware of my activities for a decade at
least. He clears his throat softly before adding, “I used to like his daughter, you know. Not that you’d
have cared.”
“It’s not my job to care about you, Elliot,” I say without thinking. “I’m not your father.”
I harbor no special love for my half-siblings. Being the eldest, I may have always, unconsciously,
tried to shelter them from the ugly truth but that wasn’t because I loved them. I preferred that they live
a shallow, self-centered, spoilt lifestyle because that’s all they seemed capable of doing well. And
even then, I had to keep cleaning up after them.
My brother’s eyes harden. There’s more resentment swirling in those depths than I have ever seen
before. “You’re worse than Dad. That’s why I let him get off with a lesser charge. But you—you’ll
definitely get a big one for tampering with evidence.”
“I’m worse than him? He was the one who—”
“Who conceived the ideas,” Elliot finishes. “True. But tell me this, Ethan: is a person who plots
murder more heartless than the one who commits it? Because believe me, if push came to shove, Dad
could never have carried out those plans himself. He was arrogant. He was malicious. He was
vengeful. But he was a coward. He could never have killed another man with his own hands or
threatened someone to their face. That’s why he needed you—because you had what he didn’t. You
had guts.”
His words send a rush of indignation down my spine. My patience is the edge of a sword that’s
close to chopping somebody’s head off. Preferably his.
“It wasn’t bravery, it was desperation,” I clarify. “And more than that, it was fear.”
“Doesn’t matter what it was.”
To Elliot, it’s all the same. Because a prince like him has never been desperate for anything in his
life. Explaining desperation to him would be like explaining poverty to him—he’d never get it
because he has never experienced it himself. Probably never will. Neither has he experienced the
cruel, terrifying side of father that I have seen. A coward? Dad might’ve been a manipulator who
preferred other people to do his dirty work, but if it came down to it, he’d have happily buried a knife
into the flesh of the men he hated and done it with a smile on his face.
But there’s no way Elliot would believe me even if I told him this. Nobody would believe me.
Because there are some things you discover about a man only when you’ve seen him fiddling with
your IV drip in the middle of the night after telling him you’d refuse a transplant and chose death over
following his orders anymore.
Elliot jumps to his feet. “I have nothing more to say to you, big brother. I hope you realize that
people’s lives are not a game and that no excuse you make can justify what you have done.”
With that, he storms out.
“I SAW YOUR BROTHER OUTSIDE. Good to know you haven’t been lonely.” Ella walks in with an old,
bald man in a black suit with an air of sharp intellect about him and a tie so straight it could set a new
Guinness world record. A lawyer, I assume.
“Go,” I grind through my teeth. “I never asked you to come.”
In response, she wiggles a finger at me, shaking her head. “You should be nicer to me. I brought
you the best defense attorney in the city.”
A quick check of my surroundings tells me that the policeman outside the door is scratching his
ear. I feel anxious about Ella’s presence here. Elliot must have noticed her before he left. What if he
tries to get back at me by hurting her? I can’t let her be dragged into this family’s mess.
I swear, I should’ve thought of all this before I slept with her.
Before I told her all of my secrets.
Before I fell in love with her.
The way my heart soars at the sight of her, it’s not even worth denying that I am absolutely, wholly
in love with her.
Her very presence is like air to me.
I hate how much I need her when I’m weak and how much I want to be weak just so I can need
her.
I draw my arms over my chest, trying to stand firm in my conviction, trying to shake away these
feelings. “Take your lawyer and leave.”
“You got into this trouble because of what you did for me years ago. The least I can do for you is
to get you out of this mess.” Ella lowers herself into the seat opposite mine. Her expression is a
jigsaw of dread and panic.
“It’s not your fault,” I assert. “Stop being melodramatic.”
Ella bites her lip so hard it bleeds. “What if it is? I was thinking about who benefits the most if
you’re indicted and…it’s my mother’s agent. He’ll be released if the evidence proves to have been
falsified. Can’t you see?”
“It’s not him.” I pin my elbow to the edge of the table.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I know who made this happen.”
“Ahem, excuse me, but can we sign some papers first? You want me to keep all that I’m hearing
confidential, right?” The attorney butts in before I can answer, pulling out some papers from his
briefcase. He places them in front of me and asks me to sign them. I spare a cursory glance. It’s a
formal contract to hire him. Ella pushes the pen into my hand.
“You have no other choice—and this guy’s the best,” Ella says. “My mom recommended him.
Your father can’t help you since he was arrested, too. And your stepmother fainted. Francesca is too
anxious to find you a lawyer in her current state. So this is your best bet.”
She pats the contract. “Sign it.”
I do just that. I had to engage a lawyer eventually anyway. Besides, when was the last time I could
refuse Ella anything? With her gentle voice, her pained eyes, and her determination, she has me under
her control again. And I’m too tired to hate it.
“Thanks,” I mouth, so that only she can see.
Ella leans forward. Places her hand on mine. I soak in the sensation of her touch like a starving
man. Not even five hours have elapsed since I last held her in my arms, but every moment I breathe
the same air as her feels like heaven. “Let me help you, Ethan,” she says. “Let me save you once
again.”
“Princess—”
“Don’t fight it.”
“But how can I not?”
“I know you live in a world where every kindness is a transaction, a deal to be ironed out with
terms and conditions. But I’m not a person who lives in your world. And I’m tired of bargains and
exchanges. I want to help you so I’m going to. And I won’t listen to any arguments from you.”
“Well, if you’re so determined…” Despite the situation that I’m in, I manage to crack a smile. The
lines on Ella’s face immediately relax. “But I want you to be careful. It’s dangerous. My brother…I
have no idea what he’s thinking or how far he’s planning to go.”
“Elliot? What does he have to do with it?”
There’s no point in hiding anything so I come clean with the truth. I must say, she’s even more
shocked than me at Elliot being the mastermind of it all.
“Your arrest was Elliot’s doing?” Ella asks in a soft voice when she has folded the locker code
and placed it into her purse.
I nod.
“Why?”
“He has his reasons, I think.”
“Still, there’s one good thing that’s come out of this situation,” Ella concludes. “You can be free
of your father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on! Can’t you see? If your Dad is put away in prison for good…then he can’t control you
anymore. He will no longer have any power over you.”
My jaw drops. “That’s…princess, you’re a genius. I never even considered it.”
“See? Reading romance novels makes you smart.”
“Guess it does.”
I wasn’t listening carefully when Elliot was talking because I was too angry at being betrayed.
Elliot turned out to be a lot cleverer than he looks. I thought he’d have tried to pin Dad down with
some ambitious crime that would be hard to prove and he could easily wriggle his way out of. But an
embezzlement charge will definitely stick if the police do a bit of digging. I made sure to keep the
records meticulously, after all.
“Listen to me, Ella. There’s a locker in my office under the third drawer in my desk. This is the
code.” I scribble it on a sheet of paper. “Open it and give everything inside to the person in charge of
my father’s case at the District Attorney’s office. Don’t tell them I sent it their way. In fact, it’s better
if you ask my secretary to do it. Tell her to pretend she found them.”
Ella swallows audibly, processing this avalanche of new information. This must all be foreign to
her. She’s a literature student, for crying out loud. Corporate conspiracy and crime are out of her
range. I didn't mean to drag her into this unsavory world, didn't want to taint her innocence with blood
and crime. But there’s no other choice. She’s the most trustworthy person I have on my side at this
moment.
“And you want me to give him what? Important documents?”
“He’ll understand their value when he sees them. They can get my dad convicted.”
“What about you? Shouldn’t I try to find out what evidence they used to arrest you?”
“That doesn’t matter. Just do this for me, princess.” Begging is not a familiar feeling for me but I
feel desperate enough to acquaint myself with it now. “Please.”
In exchange, I’ll give you my heart, I think to myself. In exchange for saving me, I’ll give you
my heart.
The only thing standing between Ella, me, and our happy ending was one man. Elliot very
conveniently put into motion a plan to eliminate him. If I can finish what he started, my father will
never again threaten me or Ella.
When life gives you lemons, the only choice is to make lemonade.
And maybe, just maybe, I can seize the ending I want along the way.
CHAPTER 23
E
lla
MRS . ASTOR’ S howl of despair echoes through the entryway when the maid opens the door to let me
into the Astor family’s townhouse. Francesca, wearing a navy silk pajama set, shows up right after,
breathing heavily and looking sad.
“Hey, Ella.” Her voice sounds like a deflated balloon.
I take each step carefully behind her, arm folded over my satchel that contains the documents I
extracted from Ethan’s suite. I glanced through them beforehand and even scanned them at home—in
case something happens to the originals. A girl can never be too careful.
When Francesca walks ahead, I grab her collar at the back. “Can I talk to your brother?”
“And what’ll you say to him?”
“I just…”
My words falter when a tear slips out of Francesca’s eye. She soaks it into the sleeve of her
sweater, but she can’t do anything about the redness of her eyes. “That idiot’s acting all high-andmighty. I told him he needs to stop this nonsense but he says they ought to be punished! I swear, he has
a God complex or something.” Francesca wrings her hands in despair. “Mom’s been crying. Elliot
won’t do anything to help Ethan or Dad. I don’t know what to do. I thought convincing him would be
easier.”
If his sister can’t do it, what are my chances?
I stuff the negative thought away. Resist the urge to give up before I’ve even started. I need to find
a way. I need to find a way to save Ethan even if it’s the last thing I do for him.
I stroke Francesca’s back. “Be with your Mom. I’ll talk to him.”
“Will you be okay? I can stand outside and guard you in case he—”
“I’ll be fine.”
My ribcage feels as fragile as a spider’s web as I stride into the living room. I just handed
evidence to a prosecutor to put a powerful and terrifying man in prison and if that didn’t break me,
this won’t, either. Squinting past the lush opulence of the furniture and décor, my gaze lands on Elliot
who is casually sitting on the chaise lounge with his legs crossed, attention buried in his iPad.
My instinct tells me to figure out what he’s reading and if I can use that to threaten him or get an
idea about his plans. Because I’m sure he didn’t start this without a surefire scheme to achieve
victory and put away his brother and father for good.
However, after racking my brains all of yesterday, I’ve figured out that the best course of action
isn’t to dissuade Elliot from destroying his brother but to find or manufacture—I’m willing to do
anything for Ethan—evidence that proves Ethan’s innocence. That shouldn’t be hard. I know that
Ethan didn’t actually murder the man. Years ago, he told me the fellow was killed by the mafia and he
simply took the body and framed my mother’s agent for the murder because coincidentally, he’d been
shot using the same model of gun that her agent had bought the previous year. So I know he never
killed the guy and probably has an alibi for the time of death.
As I creep up on Elliot trying to snatch a view of the iPad screen, I make a sound that could’ve
come out of a small, frightened animal, causing Elliot to notice my intrusion into the living room. He
casts a bored look at me then immediately goes back to reading whatever he was reading on his iPad.
“You’re going to beg me now?” His scoff could make a freshly-bloomed rose wither. It gets under
my skin, making me doubt my confidence with nothing more than the cutting intonation of his words.
I stand straight. “I’m not.”
“If you want to get him out of jail, hire a lawyer.”
“Already did. But I need to know what else you have on him.”
“Excuse me?”
“You wouldn’t be so smug if you were simply trusting the legal system to its job. You have
something to ensure things go your way.”
“And why would I tell you?” His eyebrow raise is sharp enough to cut steel. My stomach
somersaults. He knows he has the upper hand here and I have nothing to make him reconsider.
“Because otherwise, I’ll find another way to get that information,” I say at last. A sudden idea flits
through my mind. “Also, I’m sure whatever you have, you didn’t get your hands on it using legal
means. There’s no way Ethan left proof of his crime lying around in plain sight. Which means you
either stole it or...” I hold his gaze for a long moment, letting the silence seep through his proud façade
and crack it a little. “You manufactured it.”
Elliot brushes back his hair with swagger, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in dismissal
but none of it hides the sweat etched on his features. My intuition screams that I got him. He isn’t
completely in the right here, either.
“Oh, please, I’m not my brother.” He’s in control of his voice and somehow manages to lace
every syllable with venom.
“Too bad.” I shrug. “Ethan’s a far kinder man than you.”
“Are you right in the head? Ethan’s kind?”
“I don’t know what bone you have to pick with him, but yes, he’s a wonderful man.”
“Anyway, why are you so determined to save him?” He sneers. “Is the sex that good?”
Heat prickles all the way up to the top of my head. I know Elliot’s trying to get under my skin, just
being mean because he can but I’m no saint, either.
“I’m not trying to save him. I’m saving myself.” I encase one fist with my other hand, trying to
create warmth under my skin. Elliot’s gaze is cold enough to freeze this room twice over. “I can’t
afford to have the original murderer be released.”
“You mean the fake culprit?”
I don’t rebuke; it’s the truth anyway.
Elliot puts away his iPad for the first time, squaring his gaze at me. “I’m curious; what did the
innocent man do to you?”
“Whatever he is, he’s definitely not innocent,” I say in a low voice.
“But is he guilty of murder?”
“He’s guilty of something worse.”
I hesitate for a moment, wondering how far I should go, how much I should tell.
In the end, I tell Elliot everything. Sparing no details, from the first time I met Ethan to everything
he did for me. I’m hoping Elliot sees the side of Ethan that remains hidden from the world. I hope he
realizes that his brother may not be nice or noble, but he is kind and would never hurt anybody
harshly unless he believed they deserved it. I hope I can dissolve at least some of the irrational hatred
he harbors for his older brother.
“I know Dad makes him do it,” Elliot says at the end. “I’ve eavesdropped on more conversations
between them than you can imagine. But that doesn’t excuse Ethan for carrying out his orders.”
“What option does he have? Your father doesn’t love him as he loves you.”
“Love has nothing to do with it.”
“Love has everything to do with it.”
Elliot shakes his head and I can see the conflict swimming in the depths of his blue eyes. He looks
so different from Ethan—the angel to his devil. The light to his darkness. The tightening of his fists,
and the too-long pause betrays that his conviction is faltering. Honestly, I don’t believe Elliot’s a bad
person. When I was younger and came over to Francesca’s place, I always had the impression that he
was fun. That he wanted nothing more than to enjoy life and make sure the people around him could
do the same. But of late he seems obsessed with justice, even if that justice comes at the cost of true
justice.
“You should dump my brother and find someone better while you’re at it.” Elliot picks up his iPad
again. “You deserve a better life.”
“Can’t.” Air rushes to me in a stream and I blurt out, “I love him.”
Pure silence greets my confession. Elliot’s lips twitch in a smile but he wipes it away
immediately. “Looks like you’re not that smart.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I exit the living room quietly. I have already revealed more to Elliot than I intended to. And if he
still wants to go ahead with his rampage, then there’s nothing in the world that can make him change
his course.
Nothing except the fact that I will make sure that he doesn’t succeed.
Because despite how badly that went, I don’t feel defeated. In fact, I feel energized.
I used to think that I was weak. And maybe I was when I was younger. I needed other people to
solve my problems and deal with my demons. But being with Ethan has shown me that I can overcome
my weaknesses if I put my mind to it. That nothing in this world is beyond my power. That fear will
not control me forever.
Can I face another guy groping my ass? Can I ever feel calm in a dark and isolated place?
Probably not. I’ll need way more time and therapy for that.
But can I find Elliot Astor’s weakness and stab him in the eye with it?
Hell yes.
“ARE YOU ALRIGHT ?” Francesca nibbles into a cookie the maid just brought up to her room, eyes still
red. There’s a platter full of them on her bed, arranged in between the two of us. Her Mom took some
pills and is now sleeping in the adjacent room. “I mean; this can’t be pleasant for you. Your boyfriend
—Ethan’s your boyfriend now, right?”
“Probably.”
“Well, your boyfriend has been framed for murdering someone, and if he gets convicted…”
Francesca stops eating long enough to exchange a spooked look with me. “…it means the guy who
was originally in for murder will be released. And you told me earlier that you made a deal with
Ethan that he’d get rid of someone who was bothering you and I pieced things together and figured
your mother’s agent...I mean, the original culprit, was the guy you were talking about?”
It’s a battle to keep my expression impassive. Because I had a thought last night when I was in the
throes of anger and despair, that this was some sick form of poetic justice—Ethan framed my
mother’s agent for the same murder that he himself got framed for years later. And then I felt worse
because it was my fault in the first place that he had to do it.
“That guy tried to hold me captive in his house. He drugged me and then when I woke up, I was at
his apartment,” I confess in a soft voice, absently fingering the sugared surface of the cookies on the
plate. I bury my face in my hands. The afterimage of that day burns my retinas. The rain pounds in my
ears as if I’m still sitting in front of that grimy window, hearing him tell me that if I love him, I’ll
never leave. And that he’ll lock me in my room if I act like a slut again. I somehow find the vein of
words to continue. “I escaped. But when I was there, I thought I’d never be able to leave. He said I
was his. That I needed to stay close to him at all times. That I should start homeschooling so I’d never
have to interact with other guys. He thought I was flirting with the boys at school and hated it.”
“Ella, that’s…why didn’t you tell your Mom?”
“My mother was struggling in her career back then. She depended on him as much as I did. He
was the one who carried her home after she got too drunk to walk. He got her roles so she could make
money and I could go to school. Mom was already so depressed at the time…I worried she’d freak
out.” Pain burns behind my eyes like a searing flame torching my nerves. A deeply buried truth curls
up to the surface from the depths of my past. “I was afraid she’d choose him over me. Because she
needed him more.”
“She wouldn’t….” Francesca trails off. “She wouldn’t right?”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “But I was frightened regardless. I never had any confidence when I was
eighteen. Not in myself or my mother’s emotional stability. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to handle
it if she became more depressed as a result of firing her agent. That we’d become poor and I wouldn’t
be able to go to college anymore.”
Francesca wraps her arms around me. Touch used to make me uncomfortable before but now I’m
okay with receiving other people’s kindness.
“I’ve always felt guilty about everything because of how fuzzy things were that day,” I say. “I
thought I’d imagined some of it because I was passed out, but no.”
“Oh, Ella. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright. I used to struggle to talk about it but now I don’t as much.” Another tiny change that
I’ve experienced as a result of being with Ethan.
And whatever anxiety remains about that episode…I hope it’ll lose its hold on me as time passes.
“I have my suspicions but did my brother have anything to do with the way that guy ended up in
jail?”
“We stuck a bargain. Two years ago.” There’s no point hiding it now so I tell her the entire story.
How I exchanged one of my kidneys for my safety. And how Ethan helped me escape my nightmare.
“If not for him, I probably wouldn’t be here.”
“And if not for you, he wouldn’t be alive,” Francesca says. “I always wondered what you both
saw in each other, but you were connected through the bond of life and death. I don’t think I’d have
donated a kidney to a stranger even if it was my best friend’s brother. Or framed someone for murder,
even if it was for my sister’s best friend. You’re both weird.”
“Weird. Yeah, probably.”
For the first time, my tears dried. But Francesca still holds me, not letting me go. I’m grateful I’m
not alone. That she cares for Ethan almost as much as I do. I know she’ll do anything to help him.
“You know, I’m so happy you both found each other. You both deserve happiness more than
anyone else in the world. Ethan has been through hell. And I’ve never been able to help him. So I
thought I’d give him a memorable vacation at least. I never thought my London holiday scheme would
bring you both together. But I am happy to have contributed to your love story.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.” I hiccup. “Even though I was pretty mad at you when you kept tricking
us.”
“Had to do it. You’re both so thick.”
I sniffle and a smile inadvertently leaks out of my storm of emotions. As some of the memories
from London filter into my mind, my spirits lift a little. Willpower glows inside me like a torch. I
want to experience what we had again, those intimate moments free from the demands of the world. I
want Ethan to open up to me more, to be free of the darkness that chains him. To live and enjoy life
and laugh the way he did in London. It’s thanks to him that I was able to dissolve my past traumas
little by little. It’s thanks to his encouragement that I can love myself—even the part of me that wants
sex—now. I want him to know the feeling of breaking free from the past, too.
“Francesca, will you help me? I want to save Ethan.”
“Of course, I will. He’s my brother, too. And I want him to be happy more than anyone else. I
promised him when I was younger that I’d make him happy and I intend to keep that promise.”
“Even if it means your father ends up in prison?” I ask, hardening my voice. “I had someone meet
the prosecutor in charge of his case and…I don’t think he’ll get off. It’s what Ethan wants.”
Francesca draws back. Her face breaks a little. I know she loved her father. He might have been a
monster to Ethan, but he was never evil to her. Still, I can’t forgive that man. I’ll be clapping in the
courthouse when he gets sentenced.
“Nothing to be done about it then,” Francesca says with a shrug. But her shoulder trembles. This
is so brave of her. And I’m both relieved and touched by how much she loves Ethan. By how much
she’s willing to sacrifice for him. Mr. Astor’s absence will surely hurt her mom. And probably her,
too. But she is willing to bear that pain for the sake of her brother.
“Thanks. Means a lot to me.” I blanket her hand with mine. “And to Ethan, too, I’m sure.”
Francesca scoots closer to me on the bed. “So what’s the plan now?”
CHAPTER 24
E
than
I’ VE GOTTEN my hands dirty enough times to understand how the criminal justice system operates.
It’s no surprise that the day after I’m arrested, I’m taken to the Criminal Court of the City of New
York for my arraignment where I’m informed of the charges against me which primarily consists of
tampering with evidence during the murder investigation from two years ago. I’m relieved that this is
the only evidence of misconduct that Elliot managed to find since I’m totally guilty of tampering with
evidence on more occasions than one.
If I had any shred of conscience, I’d plead guilty and accept responsibility. But the guy who
kidnapped Ella sure as hell deserved to be dealt some injustice and I’m not going to apologize for it.
My defense attorney already made the decision yesterday that we’d be going in with a not-guilty plea
since he doubts there can be compelling evidence against me.
The initial hearing ends with me being allowed to go home as the charges against me aren’t
severe and I’m not considered a flight risk. However, I’m given a court date for my next hearing. A
hearing where I need to redeem my reputation and my life.
Reporters and cameras flock to me outside the courthouse the moment I exit. The attorney fends
off some of them and I’m relieved to see my secretary waiting for me. She’s not alone—Ella is right
beside her.
“I’m so happy to see you.” She jumps and puts her arms around me immediately, her lips brushing
against my ear as she whispers, “I did what you asked for.”
“Good.” I slide my hands down to her waist, feeling her softness once again. Just the fact that I
can be around her again, that I fill my hands and soul with her dissolves all the anxiety in me.
“To the hotel?” My secretary asks and I merely nod.
“So when’s the trial?” Ella asks as we both slide into the car my secretary brought. The attorney
joins us as we’ll need to discuss my case further.
“If possible, I’d like to get the case dismissed,” I tell the attorney. Things will get complicated if
the case actually goes to trial. I don’t want to perjure myself in a court of law on top of every other
crime I’ve committed. No idea why lying under oath makes me so anxious but it does.
The lawyer’s lips tighten in an unyielding line. He probably knows my request won’t be an easy
one.
“There are a few ways to get your case dismissed…I’ll get started on preparing a motion to quash
the indictment.” He clears his throat carefully. “However, given the media furor surrounding your
arrest and your father’s, they’ll be reluctant to outright dismiss the case. For better or worse, the
public loves seeing a rich man brought low and District Attorneys love delivering what the public
wants.”
I groan inwardly. Involving the media must be Elliot’s idea, too. The Astor family might be
prominent in certain elite circles but not prominent enough to warrant so much mass media attention.
We aren’t national celebrities and both Dad and I have strived to keep our names out of the spotlight.
Even Elliot’s various orgies and crazy exploits have never been covered by the press.
“Do your best,” I tell the lawyer. “And keep me posted on every move.”
“Certainly.”
The car rocks as it stops again and again at traffic signals, making the journey to my suite
excruciatingly long. All I want is to be alone with Ella, to lie curled up next to her on my bed and
forget about this fiasco. However, there’s no chance of that happening given the seriousness of the
situation.
Once a suspect is arrested for murder, the NYPD officer in charge of this case will present
information and evidence about me to the District Attorney's Office. If the DA decides to not file
charges against me, either because of insufficient evidence or because they do not believe me to be a
suspect anymore, I’ll be released immediately.
However, it’s too late for that now since charges were already filed against me.
Therefore, my best chance is now to quash the indictment against me.
However, in order to do anything, I first need to know what evidence the DA office has on me.
I’m already assuming this would be some conversation Elliot recorded between me and the people
who helped me move the body and frame Ella’s mother’s agent by planting his DNA and then creating
a tenuous connection between the victim and him. Still, I wonder if that evidence would be permitted
in court. I really hope Elliot didn’t do too much damage in his rampage to destroy me.
My bubble of mental detective work is interrupted by a feminine voice snaking into my ears like
sweet music.
“I talked to Elliot,” Ella says, threading her fingers between mine and laying her head against my
shoulder. “I suspect whatever evidence he used to convince the police you tampered with the
evidence wasn’t obtained legally.”
“Then it won't be permissible in court,” I finish, proud of Ella’s insight. It should’ve been obvious
to me. I left no proof, no trace, and even any that I may have inadvertently left would be buried so
deep, he’d need an act of God to dig it back up. That, or, a really talented hacker.
If that’s all the evidence Elliot has...
The defense attorney taps his briefcase, eyes alight with interest. “Also, if the only evidence the
prosecution has is proven to be illegally obtained, it’ll leave them with no real evidence for the trial,
forcing them to close the case before it ever goes to court.”
“That’s great!” Ella pipes up. She’s still holding my hand. And I’m still dreaming of how soon I
can have her all to myself. “Let’s do it. Let’s pursue this angle.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” the attorney seconds.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say. If there’s anyone who is connected to these kinds of people, it’s not
these two. It’s me. A little digging should help me find some kind of lead.
Ella snuggles against my side. “On a different note, I’m trying to find your brother’s weakness in
case he interferes. Any ideas?”
“Drugs.” I tap the window glass, mind still busy mining possibilities for what evidence Elliot
could have used to get me indicted. “Women.”
“Can you be more specific?”
I shake my head. “I don’t keep tabs on my younger brother. Probably should have. Then again, I
never thought he was a threat.”
“Can you remember anything…anything that might make him want to do this now?”
“Not really…though he seemed angry by my latest attempt to destroy a certain woman. But he
should be happy. I mean, he owed her money.”
“The debt Francesca was talking about? She said it was millions of dollars.”
“Five, to be exact. I paid it all back, though.”
“Who did he owe it to?”
“A venture capitalist by the name of Zara Sharma. She’s ambitious and rather rule-abiding so I
was surprised she lent him money unofficially.”
“Could there be…” Ella hiccups. “Could there be something between them?”
“No way. Zara has more sense than that. Even if Elliot will sleep with anything that moves, she
isn’t the type to indulge his nonsense.”
But as I curl my hand around my knee, what Elliot said at the gala weeks ago floats back to the
center of my attention. The way his whole expression contorted in rage when Zara came up in the
conversation.
“Maybe I should protect her after all.”
It was right after he accused me of slandering Zara’s reputation and running a smear campaign on
her. He seemed touchy. But why would he be touchy about a woman he owed money to?
Unless he likes her. Or doesn’t want to see her destroyed for some reason?
What if he borrowed more money from her?
What if he needs her company to survive because he’s planning to borrow more money from her
in the future? I can’t think of anybody else who’d lend an idiot like Elliot millions of dollars without
even asking for collateral. He won’t even come into his trust fund until he turns thirty.
Does my brother have a dangerous and expensive habit I have no idea about?
“It’s possible he needs Zara’s money,” I concede to Ella. “Should I look into it?”
“You have enough on your plate as it is. I was simply curious. Ignore me.”
“I’ll have to deal with Elliot at some point. I can’t simply pretend that he didn’t do what he did.”
“What will you do?” she says when we finally, finally manage to reach my suite after what seems
like endless hours in traffic. It’s just the two of us again. No lawyer. No secretary. No outside world.
But the mood isn’t one for celebration or sex. Time’s ticking. We have to come up with a plan to get
out of this situation first.
“Honestly, princess? I think I want to mend our relationship.” Ella’s raised eyebrows mirror my
own inner feelings. Even last week, I’d have expected myself to be on the warpath, determined to
destroy Elliot for trying to get in my way. However, I reflected on what he said to me and realized I
hadn’t been the best older brother, either. I had a choice in what I did and I made the wrong one again
and again. “He was right in some of the things he said about me. I used to be cruel, and unfeeling. I
believed that was how the world was so that’s how I needed to be to deal with it. But meeting you
changed me. It made me see things I was blind to—that there were people around me all along who’d
have helped me if only I’d asked.”
Ella’s lips part. Her eyes mist. She curves her hand behind my head, holding my head to her chest
where I can hear the steady hum of her heartbeat. It’s an incredibly intimate moment, more intimate
than even the sex we’ve had.
“This feels different.” Her whisper ghosts over my hair.
I slip a finger under her chin. “This?”
“What we’re doing. Actually talking to each other and bounce ideas off each other. Trying to
solve problems together. This isn’t something lovers do.” She waits for me to interrupt or dismiss this
conversation since we clearly have more important stuff to be getting on with. But I’m interested in
where she’s going so I nudge her to go on. She brushes the sleeve of her dress over her lips. “It feels
like we’re partners.”
Partners.
I smile. “Yeah, it does. Do you hate it?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Because I like it, too.”
CHAPTER 25
E
lla
THERE ARE thirty-four days until Ethan’s first hearing. More than a month. That should be plenty of
time but all I feel is panic and a sense of doom when the days start to roll by without much progress.
I meet Ethan and the attorney at his suite every day and we brainstorm new ideas and new routes
to speed things along.
“I found out from someone in the ADA’s office that Elliot used the phone call between me and the
guy I used to engineer the crime scene,” Ethan says on the fifth day, finally breaking our streak of
stuckness. “That’s the most conclusive evidence he could possibly have. But the thing is, I burned the
phone I used that night. And the other party destroyed it, too, and threw away the remains. Which
means he either stole parts of a phone from a dumpster and retrieved the data or manufactured the
recording entirely based on what he overheard.”
“That sounds complicated,” I remark.
“But it’s the only possibility. And it’s good news for us. The DA office can’t use that evidence in
court.”
The defense attorney nods. “Can you find a hacker or expert to testify to the recording being
fabricated? That will be the best course. Once we have his testimony, I’ll be able to file a motion to
dismiss.”
“Great.” I trade a tense glance with Ethan. “How soon can you get the proof?”
He leans back against the armchair. “I’m working on it. A few days at the most.”
“You’ve done well discovering the card up the prosecution’s sleeve already,” the attorney says.
“That was major.”
Ethan rubs his forehead. The lines on it have gotten deeper in the last few days alone.
“We can’t let this chance go to waste,” he says, a note of pain in his voice. “We’re so close.”
I grind my feet against the carpet. I’ve been just listening to the two of them talk. This case has
become a bit complicated for me and I haven’t been able to contribute much even though I said I’d
help him. Ever since he left prison, Ethan has been doing most of the work. He seems to have found a
new drive within himself. Sometimes, his passion scares me…because if we lose after all this, I
don’t think he can take it.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” I ask, inching forward. “I want to do my part in all this.”
“It’s all thanks to your idea that we even considered the possibility that Elliot obtained evidence
illegally.” Despite the attorney’s presence in the room, Ethan takes my hand between his palms,
stroking my fingers reverently. It’s the most intimate touch we’ve shared since the night the police
arrested him and my body longs for more. It longs for long, drugging kisses and lingering caresses.
But I know we can’t have that kind of leisurely lovemaking experience amidst this storm. So I content
myself with what I can have. “You’ve saved my life twice now. I’m not sure how I can ask you to do
more.”
“I’ll do it even if you don’t ask.”
Ethan shakes his head. “From here on out, it’s my battle. I don’t want you getting involved with
unsavory and dangerous people.”
“But I want to do something other than sit around.” I ball my fists in frustration. “Or I’ll drive
myself crazy with overthinking.”
“Keep an eye on my father with Francesca, then,” Ethan says. “Tell me what he’s planning to do.
More than my own case, I’m worried about his.”
That’s right; there are also exactly thirty-four days until Ethan’s father’s trial. Mr. Astor was also
released and is at home now, convening with his team of defense lawyers. I don’t believe he can
escape indictment, though, given the evidence against him. The evidence he doesn’t even know the
prosecutors have. And never will, if everything goes to plan. Let him be confident about his victory.
That’ll make the moment sweeter.
“Alright.” I scratch my thighs, tearing a hole in my pantyhose. “Will do. I’m sure Francesca will
be happy to be of service as well.”
“Let’s meet again when we have more information, then,” Ethan says.
“I’ll wait for your call.” Pushing up his glasses, the attorney takes a sip of water from the glass
that the housekeeping staff brought in at the start of our meeting.
“Message me and keep me in the loop, okay?” I say to Ethan. “I want to know everything.”
“I promise,” Ethan whispers.
“Don’t hide stuff because you think I’m too fragile to handle the truth,” I say.
“I don’t think you’re fragile. Not anymore. When you decide, you can be stronger than anyone,” he
says. “Though I hope you never again have to be strong for me.”
THE NEXT TEN days are pure torture as Ethan and I communicate via messages. He’s out meeting
people who can help him secure proof all the time so hotel room meetings aren’t possible any longer.
After finding out that the evidence used to charge him was a recorded phone call between him and a
guy he used to move the body and change around the crime scene, he hired someone to look for the
source of the recording and verify if it was legal.
The clock ticks away silently beside me, drawing the curtain at the end of another day. The
eleventh day. We have barely three weeks left and we need to file a motion before that. To make
matters worse, the semester exams at university are upon me. But my books lie unopened on my desk.
All my attention has been consumed by Ethan and his situation. I’m probably going to flunk this
semester, but I couldn’t care less.
Ethan: I think I’ll manage to prove the recording is fake by tomorrow. The guy I hired is hard
at work.
Ella: That’s great news. Have you talked to Elliot yet? What if he has more evidence?
Ethan: I left him a message on his phone. And princess, if he had better evidence, he’d have
used it by now. He’s stalling because he doesn’t have conclusive proof. Maybe he’s trying to find it.
Or create it.
Ella: Did he call you back?
Ethan: Not yet.
Ella: Yet? So you’re hopeful?
Ethan: I’ll speak to him one way or another.
Ella: Be careful.
Ethan: Don’t worry. I’ve done this a lot of times before.
Ella: Still. Sucks when you’re on the receiving end of it.
Ethan: It does. But I won’t be on the receiving end for much longer. So don’t worry.
Ella: I really hope things work out. All this stress is killing me. And I’m sure it’s much worse
for you. Are you doing alright?
Ethan: I’m fine. Any update on my father’s case?
Ella: Francesca said he had another meeting with his lawyers today. They don’t seem aware of
the ledgers you submitted to the DA office. So we’re safe for now.
Ethan: Let’s hope it stays that way. I can’t wait for him to be in prison and for it all to be over.
Ella: Same.
Ethan: By the way, Francesca says you have exams coming up.
Ella: Ugh. Did you have to remind me right now?
Ethan: Study, princess. I don’t want you doing badly because of what happened. I’ll handle
this. I told you.
Ella: But what if you can’t? What if things go wrong?
Ethan: Have you ever known me to break a promise?
Ella: Never.
Ethan: Exactly. You’ve already done enough for me. Now worry about yourself.
Ella: Yes, Dad.
Ethan: I…I wasn’t ordering you.
Ella: I was just joking. Also, fathers don’t usually order their children.
Ethan: Mine does.
Ella: That’s why both his sons are trying to send him to prison.
Ethan: Good night, princess.
Ella: Good night. I can’t wait for tomorrow.
I lay my phone face down on my desk to avoid the temptation to check messages. Ethan’s right. I
need to focus on my life and let him deal with it. Pulling my unused textbooks from my backpack, I
buckle down to get some studying done.
CHAPTER 26
E
than
DAD CALLS me while I’m in the middle of eating lunch. I briefly consider letting him go to hell, but I
need to lull him into a false sense of security before he digs too deep into the prosecution’s case
against him. I need to convince him that he has this in the bag.
I answer promptly, setting down my knife and fork.
“I thought you’d forgotten about me already. Never showed up when I was arrested,” he accuses
me right off the bat, irritation evident in his tone.
“I was arrested, too, Dad,” I remind him.
“I heard.” I imagine him stroking his white beard as something crackles in the line. “Is that why
you’ve been too busy to come home to see me?”
“Can you blame me for avoiding Elliot?” I retort. “It’s his fault we're both about to go to prison.”
“What do you mean?” The guttural pause. The inflection of surprise. He doesn’t know? I can’t
believe Elliot didn’t rub this in his face the way he rubbed it in mine. Maybe he’s more scared of Dad
than he lets on.
“Elliot was the one who tipped off the prosecution about the both of us,” I continue to the
accompaniment of perfect silence on the other end of the line. Not even breathing. Dad’s holding his
breath. “He told me himself.”
“That makes no sense!” A harsh bellow. “Elliot’s always been a good boy. Always so cheerful.
Why would my son want to—”
“He knows what we do,” I interrupt his raging monologue. “And he hates it. Thinks we’re evil.”
He may be right, I think but don’t add.
“And he thought we’d stop if he tipped off some no-name assistant district attorney about it?” The
bark of laughter grates on my every nerve. “God, I sheltered him too much. He doesn’t know that the
law can’t stop people like us.”
Us. He thinks we’re alike. That we’re both cut from the same cloth of evil and cruelty. A few
weeks ago, I’d have agreed. I had already given up on any hope of having a soul, of having a say in
my life. I’d accepted that I was a monster because accepting my situation seemed like the smartest
thing to do. But I’m different from him. Because I at least want to change. I want to stop. I want to
someday help the people I destroy rebuild their lives.
I can see that I was wrong.
While he’s an entitled tyrant who thinks he’s always right.
I dig my fingers into my thigh. I want to laugh in his face, tell him his days of feeling omnipotent
are over. But I need to bide my time. I need to wear the face of the evil, dutiful son one last time.
“Both my brother and my sister have no sense of when to stop when it comes to playing pranks.” I
sigh. “Talk to him, Dad. He won’t listen to me.”
“Oh, I will certainly talk to him,” Dad says. His pen clicks.
“Also, don’t worry too much. I had my contacts dig around at the DA office and they don’t have
much against you. You’ll get acquitted easily given your legal team’s prowess,” I lie, praying that he
buys my lie and turns all his focus on Elliot rather than on his upcoming trial.
“Well, obviously.” He clicks his tongue. “And I’m not going to clean up your mess, Ethan. Fix it
yourself. There’s nothing more disgraceful than being caught for your crimes. If you’re that stupid, I
might as well cut you away now.”
“You’re right,” I admit through gritted teeth. “I’ll have to make sure this blows over. The PR
team’s doing damage control as we speak. They’ll probably ask you for a statement later. We should
be able to turn public sentiment with the trial.”
“The public forgets easily. They don’t have the attention span to focus on anything for long. That’s
why they have no power.”
“Anyway, can you please make sure Elliot doesn’t cause any further trouble? I have my hands full
with the situation already.” Pride glows in my chest. Look at me using Dad to keep Elliot in control.
Even my father has his uses.
Dad clears his throat. “I’ll have a word with Elliot.”
“Cut his credit cards while you’re at it. We should never have paid his debts.”
“Elliot’s just rebelling,” Dad says. “He’s still young.”
“He’s twenty-six!”
“Still a young boy. Youth makes men stupid.”
Bitterness pricks my tongue like needles. I’m afraid I’ll say something snide and tip him off to my
hatred. Something like, ‘But I was killing people on your orders when I was half that age’ or ‘You
never thought of me as a young boy, not even when I was sixteen.’
In the end, I manage to restrain myself, closing my eyes, imagining myself victorious at the grand
finale. Even picturing that kind of freedom sends flurries of fear through my veins. I’ve never had
anything like that before, a life of freedom and choice. Never had control over what I could and
couldn’t do. Now that I’ve experienced the phantom image of that life, I can’t stop mentally clinging
to it, desperately wishing to hold it in my hands.
“I’m looking forward to your trial,” I say in my sweetest tone, embodying that perfect Brooklyn
elite prep-school boy voice. “Can’t wait for all this to end.”
I stick my knife into my uneaten steak.
I hope you bleed.
CHAPTER 27
E
lla
ON MONDAY EVENING , I'm finishing work and heading back to my suite when I receive a call from my
attorney.
“Good news. The judge dropped your case. You’re a free man now. Congratulations.”
“That’s…” Words fail me momentarily. I’m not the crying type, but even I get a little misty-eyed.
Given the evidence I collected, it shouldn’t be unexpected, but it is. I collapse onto the bed, staring at
the ceiling, my heart bursting with an uncontainable mix of happiness, relief, and hope. “Thank you so
much. I’m grateful for your help.”
“No problem. There are just a few more procedures to complete. Forms to fill out and all that.
Will tomorrow morning be a good time?”
“Yes, that’s perfect.”
When he disconnects, I immediately click on Ella’s name in my contacts. She’s the first person I
want to share this news with. But before she can pick up, a knock resounds. I hang up then, my legs
leaping like there are springs under them. I tear the door open with the force of a hurricane, expecting
to find Ella, unspoken words upon unspoken words vying for space in my tight throat. I’ll kiss her
first, though. Been forever since I did. Amidst all the legal drama surrounding us, we haven’t had any
time for intimacy. I even had to confess my love to her in a rush, which wasn’t my finest moment.
But I’m determined to do things leisurely and properly starting today. Because from now on, we’ll
have all the time in the world.
All of my excitement fizzles out instantly when I register the tall, blonde chiseled figure of my
younger brother planted outside my suite, limbs twitching restlessly. He’s back to his usual jeans and
sweatshirt attire having ditched both the slicked-back businessman hair and the uncharacteristically
starched suit. It suits him.
“Oh, it’s you.” My chest deflates and all the adrenaline pumping in my veins vanishes.
Elliot sneers. “Don’t sound so disappointed. I’m your one and only brother even if I’m not your
girlfriend.”
“I’m assuming you heard about my case being dismissed.”
“Yeah, I heard. Why else would I be here?”
“So what are you going to threaten me with this time?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’m not here to threaten you. Just to…talk.”
“Come in, then.”
He kicks the door shut behind him but doesn’t budge much further than the doorway. “I thought
about what your girlfriend said to me. She said that you were too young when it all started and you
had no choice but to do what Dad asked of you. Where else would you have gone?”
“And?”
“I think I’d have done the same in that situation. Still, I don’t feel completely comfortable about
everything you’ve done.”
“So why are you here then? You plan to find some other way to expose me?” I close the gap
between us in a quick stride and bring my hand down on his shoulder. “Because Elliot, whatever you
do, it’ll end with you losing. I love Ella and I’m not leaving her. Even if I have to lie and scheme for
the rest of my life to make that happen.”
Elliot angles his eyes upward at me. Light hits his widening pupils.
“You’re not the only one who has something—someone—to protect,” I finish.
My brother clears his throat awkwardly. “I’ll keep this short, then. I’m sorry for all the trouble
that I caused.”
“I’ll forgive you since Dad is now in prison and my life is now mine again, thanks to what you
did.” I swallow. Then swallow again. I haven’t ever been nice to Elliot, so it’s hard to start. But I
have to start someday. Today. Even if it feels as awkward as swallowing wet cotton balls. “And you
were right. I carelessly hurt people before. I’m going to do things the right way now. The legal way—
as long as nobody messes with what’s mine.”
“Good to know.” Elliot shuffles his feet. Hesitates. He probably feels just as awkward as me at
this new, strange dynamic in our relationship. “And I’ll see you at Dad’s trial?”
“Definitely. I will see to it that he’s put away for a long time,” I say.
Elliot nods. It was his original intention, too. And seems like he hasn’t changed his mind about
Dad. A smile touches my lips at that.
Elliot slides a step backward, dropping his gaze to the ground. “By the way, I’m leaving home.
Permanently.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’ll find a place. I’m still going to be in New York. Also, about your five million dollars,” Elliot
pauses. “Zara will return it to you. I asked her to. I can pay my debts myself.”
“And how are you planning to do that?”
“I worked something out with her. She said I could join her company. Pay her back from my
salary.”
“She’s too soft on you.”
Elliot’s eyes meet mine head-on. Steely blue and endless brown. There’s a new resolve in his
demeanor. “I know I’ve been partying all my life but I’ll work hard.”
I’m afraid my expression blatantly screams ‘no way’. Because that’s exactly what I’m thinking.
Elliot would need to be reborn to become someone serious and hardworking. But our brotherly bond
is still new so I dare not damage it by criticizing him before it has started. And who knows? Zara
might be able to make a proper adult out of him where Dad and I failed.
“I’m curious; why did you borrow five million dollars in the first place?” I cross my legs. “And
why didn’t you ask Dad for it?”
“I wanted to do something on my own. Break away from this family. Become my own person.”
“So how did you lose the five million, then?”
Elliot shrugs. “That’s a story you’re not hearing from me. Not until we’re a lot closer.”
I laugh.
Fair enough.
I BLINK my eyes open the next day and the first thing I feel is pain. A heavy, inescapable pain that
looms over me like a great, monstrous shadow. This is the nameless, oppressive pain that has awoken
me for the last few years, and depending on the turn of events, it will do the same for the rest of my
life. I’m alone in my room, but I know what day today is.
The day of my father’s trial.
My heart’s constant, deafening thump accompanies me throughout the ordeal of brushing my teeth,
dressing, and then heading to the court to witness what could be the most liberating or most
disappointing moment of my life. He has a great defense team that throws a wrench in Ethan and my
plans, but with the mountain of evidence, he’ll still be convicted, right?
Right?
That sliver of uncertainty morphs into a raging cloud of stress by the time I’m inside the
courtroom. Francesca and my stepmother are in the front row. Elliot’s there, too, looking far too
excited.
But Ella’s nowhere to be seen. Her unmistakable head of curly hair is absent. There’s no way I
could miss it.
A flicker of panic snaps against my insides like a stretched rubber band. I check the hallway
outside the courtroom. None of the women in suits and dresses lining the passage look like Ella. It
isn’t like her to be late. Not to the event we spent so long orchestrating. My thoughts slide down the
steep incline of paranoia. What if something happened to her? What if she got into trouble?
Before the scenarios in my head spiral out of control, I call Ella. She picks up.
“Where are you?” I yell. “It’s almost time.”
“I’m right here.” The solid weight of her hand on my shoulder makes me jerk backward.
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Thank you for coming,” I squeak. A mixture of emotions expands in my chest, growing bigger and
bigger until I can’t contain them in my body anymore. “It’d be my fault if you flunked your exams this
time.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m brilliant, remember?” She loops her arm around mine in silent reassurance,
nudging me forward. “Also, you need to stop worrying. Those worry lines are going to become part
of your face.”
“I know. It’s just that—”
“Today’s a big deal. I get it. We did everything we could. Just trust that things will be okay.”
“If you say so.”
She accompanies me to the courtroom where the judge has already taken her place. The trial will
commence now. Ella and I find empty seats near the back. I don’t think I can bear sitting in the front
where I’d be right next to Dad. I don’t even want to see his face if I can help it.
My toes are quaking inside my shoes just at the scent of him in the air. He dressed up to the nines
today, certain of the fact that he’d be attending a press conference at the trial’s conclusion. And he
wanted the media to get a great shot of his victorious face.
The prosecutor in charge stands up and rattles off his opening statement.
I drop my eyelids, joining my hands in prayer, hoping for the best.
“THE DEFENDANT IS FOUND guilty on multiple counts of embezzlement—”
My eyes draw open to the bright, loud scene of a courtroom, just in time to hear the judge
pronounce his sentence. The whole world turns static. Time freezes. Until it’s broken by further
words from the judge.
“He is henceforth sentenced to ten years in prison…” There’s more following that but the
screaming voices in my ears tune out any more sounds.
Despite being in a public setting, it’s like I’m in a private bubble of my own.
The darkness that always cages my heart evaporates when my eyes meet the watery, defeated eyes
of my father across the courtroom.
No longer a monster but a man.
No longer omnipotent.
The indescribable weight that I always carried around vanishes.
It’s over.
It’s finally over.
I no longer have anything to be scared of. I’m free now.
And before I know it, my cheeks are hot and wet with tears.
I don’t reach to wipe them away.
It’s alright. For today, for this one day, I’ll let myself enjoy freedom.
“WE DID IT ,” I say, disbelief still swirling around me like mist, my cheeks still damp with all the
tears I shed after the trial.
Ella dabs my face with her handkerchief, rubbing away the trails left by my tears. Her thumb
brushing my jaw makes my insides glow like I’m drinking in sunlight. “Yeah, we did. And it was
magnificent.”
Magnificent. Magical. Miraculous.
“I never imagined I’d ever be free.” I turn my palms over, somehow expecting them to look
different, expecting the colors to look different. I’m looking for a sign that something has
fundamentally shifted in the fabric of the world because that’s how monumental this moment appears
to me. “It feels…like it’ll disappear any minute.”
“It won’t,” Ella assures, burying her fingers in the soft nest of my coat. “You have people who’ll
protect you from now on—me, Francesca, even Elliot, maybe?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Elliot’s retreating figure treading down the stairs, a bright red
scarf wrapped around his neck. “I wouldn’t go that far with him…”
My younger brother doesn’t miss me, either. He gives me a single, decisive nod, lips spread in a
small smile, as he wanders away from the courthouse, diving into the cold, crowded streets of the
city. A twinge of sadness pulls at me as I watch his lonely form, wondering what’ll happen to him
now. Wondering if he managed to find an apartment and how he’ll pay back five million dollars on his
own.
Clad in a bright, eye-catching yellow coat, Francesca follows closely behind him. She stops to
wave at me, beaming. Stepmother’s face is buried in a handkerchief. I don’t think the woman will
stop crying for days. She’ll likely need therapy to get over her husband’s imprisonment. Even so, I
can’t bring myself to feel bad for her. After all, she still has her wonderful daughter by her side.
When Francesca’s eyes glide to Ella, she widens them in a mischievous suggestion, then hurries
away as if to give us space, nudging her mother along with her.
“I love you,” I blurt out the moment Ella enters my suite. I told her we needed to celebrate today
and I plan to do so in the grandest fashion possible.
She cocks her head. “I know. You already told me. Remember?”
“Yeah, but we were in court then. And you probably still don’t believe me. I intend to make you
believe though. No matter what it takes.”
“I do believe you. I believed it long before you said it. I’ve known you long enough to know that
you feel deeply though you rarely talk about your feelings. But your actions speak louder than your
words. So even if you hadn’t told me…I would’ve known that you loved me. But thanks for telling me
anyway. I was moved.”
“Do you want to be moved even more?” I dip my hand under her oversized sweater, caressing up
to her back, tracing the hard ridges of her spine.
Something between a moan and a hiss touches my ear.
“It has been weeks since we did anything and I…” Ella’s breath stutters. “I missed it. Yes.
Please.”
“I missed it, too. I missed having you against my skin.”
That’s the last thing I say to her because then my mouth is on hers and nothing in the world can
convince me to pull away, to surrender the sweet contact for the sake of more talking. Some emotions
are so powerful, they cannot be put into words, only shown through actions.
And love is one of them.
EPILOGUE
E
lla
IT ’ S the early morning sunlight hitting my eyes that wakes me up. The notification ping from my phone
echoes delicately in the room like a fairy’s whisper. I already know what it is—the final chapter of
the fanfic I’ve been reading ever since the night of the gala was finally released. I cannot wait to read
it.
My sleep-streaked boyfriend with bed hair snores beside me, turning when I reach over to him to
retrieve my phone from the nightstand. I decide I’ll let him sleep and move as stealthily as a cat. He
just returned from a business trip last night, after all.
We have big plans for the rest of the day, though, so I’ll be kicking him out of bed if he doesn’t stir
by noon. I finally convinced Ethan to watch a movie with me in the theatre. It’ll be our first normal
date. And guess what we’re watching? A romance movie. Yep, today will be epic.
Before that, I steal quiet moments and my dose of small, mundane pleasure as I click on the last
chapter, allowing the words on the screen to paint pictures of devils and princesses and castles in my
head.
I’m so deeply absorbed by the story that I don’t realize when it’s already over. It met all my
expectations but at the same time, I’m sad to lose something I looked forward to so much every week.
As I reread the chapter, the last line grabs me by the throat. I can’t smother my smile.
Love is the wickedest of fates.
A C K NOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to all the people who made this book possible. I’m grateful to my critique partners and
beta readers—Maggie Sims author, Ellie K Wilde author, Holly Riordan, and Anna Wheeler for their
input which made this book so much better. I am blessed to have the support of my dear sister who
has cheered for me throughout my writing journey. Finally, thank you to all the readers who have
enjoyed my previous books and look forward to my new works.
A L SO BY SA SHA CL IN TON
You’re Still the One (NYC Singles #1)
Ashley
He was my first love. My first kiss. My first husband.
Until he broke my heart and left my life shattered beyond recognition.
In seven years, I’ve barely moved on from the divorce and managed to get my dream job as an editor.
But he throws my life into chaos again when I’m forced to work with him.
He might be a billionaire and hot as sin, but my heart can’t survive a second chance with him.
Andrew
It was an instant kind of love between her and me.
But we were young. When things went wrong, I couldn’t do anything to save her.
We weren’t supposed to meet again. Or work together.
But fate seems to have other plans for us.
The one thing I know is that this time, I’ll make sure she stays.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to fight for her.
Henry & Me (Henry and Me #1)
★★★★★ I adored this cleverly amusing book from start to finish—DJ Sakata, Goodreads reviewer
★★★★★ I suggest 1-clicking it now, sitting back and simply enjoying this fun, flirty yet meaningful story about Max,
Henry and a really great supporting cast!—Barbara, Goodreads reviewer
Author Sasha Clinton returns with a hilarious new rom-com about what happens when an inept, out-of-work actress is forced to
work for the guy she brutally rejected in college…
My name is Maxima Anderson and there are three things I regret in life: being mean to Henry Stone, moving to Hollywood for my acting
career, and choosing to become Henry’s housekeeper. The third’s the worst, though, because I suck at housework. I’m pretty sure
Henry hired me because he knows this, too, and wants to see me make a fool of myself while he savors my misery.
Did I mention he’s a millionaire and he’s paying me a ridiculous amount of money to do a bad job at housekeeping?
But things aren’t going according to his plan. Or mine. Because I’m beginning to realize that under his stony façade, Henry has a golden
heart. And he’s gotten so much cuter since college. Our chemistry sizzles hotter than my burnt pancakes, and his sweet words corrode
my resistances faster than bleach corrodes the lime scale in his bathtub. And if I don’t do something about it, I might end up falling for
the guy I hurt once...and hurt him again.
Henry & Me is an uplifting, hilarious, standalone romcom perfect for fans of Sophie Kinsella, Jennifer Crusie, and Sally Thorne.
Since I Met You
Sasha Clinton returns with a slow-burn, age gap romance written in an introspective, reflective style that will tug at your heartstrings…
Akash
My straitlaced chemistry professor is the last guy I expected to find making out with another man on campus.
And the last man I expected to start growing feelings for.
My life’s already complicated without adding in a hopeless crush on my professor.
But the more time I spend with him, the more I want to hold onto the forbidden love that’s growing between us.
Rahul
This has to be the worst mistake of my life—getting involved with a student.
And not just any student—Akash Mehta is the #1 troublemaker of my class.
Never mind that he’s also the campus hottie. Or that he has more layers than a puff pastry.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, he now knows my biggest secret, so I have no choice but to keep acting as his friend and help him get his
wreck of a life together.
But somewhere in between assisting him with coursework, consoling him after his dreams are shattered, and listening to his wild ideas on
life, I’m actually starting to like him.
Too bad this can only end one way—with the both of us getting hurt.
This is a MM romance set in India and trigger warnings include homophobia, internalized homophobia, imprisonment, and trauma around
sexuality.