Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
When I get the read receipt, my heart soars. Good, at least I know he saw it.
Yes, he saw it, but what did he do? Nothing. There are no blinking dots to tell me he’s typing out a message. No phone call. My message sits on read as one minute follows another, punctuated only by the heavy beating of my heart, and the sounds coming from downstairs as the people Dad hired get dinner ready. I’m not even sure I want to know who we’re eating with. Who would require this level of preparation? And why?
I’m going to find out soon enough, whether I want to or not. Tucker won’t help. Nobody will, because nobody can.
By the time Dad calls out for me downstairs, I’m wearing a black dress and flats, my hair pulled back in a clip, makeup accentuating my eyes and lips. The way I know he wants me to look tonight. It makes me want to get in the shower, turn the water on as high as it will go, and scrub my skin off. But no amount of scrubbing could possibly make me feel clean.
Pulling back my shoulders, I force my typical fake smile, knowing he’ll expect me to display it downstairs. Here goes nothing.
I’m halfway down the stairs when Dad crosses the foyer with an unfamiliar man dressed in a black suit by his side. Great, another suitor, I assume. The two of them come to a stop when they see me descending, and Dad has the nerve to smile like he’s actually glad to see me. “There she is. My princess.” The nerve of him. Only we know what a joke that is, I guess.
I have to force myself to return his smile, grinding my teeth together hard enough to make my jaw ache. “Hello,” I murmur, nodding at the unknown man before I continue my descent while holding onto the banister for dear life. If only I could run. If I could fly down the rest of the stairs, out the door, to my car. I would run down the street if I had to; I would keep running, screaming for help. He wants me arrested? Fine, let the police arrest me. At least I would be safe there.
“Maya. I’m Lucian Black. It’s a pleasure,” the man says, and I almost choke on my spit. Dammit, I should’ve known. There’s only one reason Lucian Black would be here—my memory takes me back to the night when I overheard their conversation, when Dad promised me to him. What kind of person runs the sort of club he runs? Who would profit from an underage girl losing her virginity without her consent?
I try to compose myself as he shakes my hand, his practiced gaze moving over me. Sizing me up. Wondering how much money I’ll make him? Maybe. Probably.
“Why don’t we go to the dining room?” Dad suggests, bright and chipper. “Dinner is all set up. Lucian, I hope you like prime rib. I managed to find a beautiful bone-in roast just for tonight.” As if he had anything to do with it. As if he did more than picking up the phone and placing an order.
The headache I finally managed to get rid of earlier this morning is coming back, egged on by my brittle smile. What a joke all of this is. What a sad, pitiful joke I have to go along with.
It’s a joke that continues after we’ve sat down, where the men enjoy wine while I sip water, my thoughts clicking as I consider my options. Somehow, they are able to make small talk, though Lucian doesn’t bother hiding the way he keeps looking at me. Studying me, almost. Making sure I’m worth it, I guess.
I just want to die. I want to die and get it over with. That has to be better than this, with me going through the motions of eating when really the most I’m doing is moving food around on my plate and taking a bite every once in a while. What a shame. The food is actually tasty. But I can’t possibly enjoy it.
I’m sure Dad notices, since he reaches out to pat my arm from the head of the table, while I sit on his right. “I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about,” he says, and there’s almost a note of paternal concern in his voice. It’s all for show, of course. He doesn’t mean it.
“I am sort of curious,” I admit. “I know the sort of business Mr. Black is involved in. I guess I’m wondering if he’s here on business tonight.”
“Smart girl,” Lucian murmurs, smiling briefly in approval before swirling the red wine in his glass. There is something calculating about the look in his eyes. Something ugly that clashes with his polished façade.