How can a princess locked in a tower save a prince prisoner in his own castle?
This was the question that kept me awake, picking at my lip until copper bites my tongue. Maybe this plan was doomed from the start. My bite marks throbbed, Grayson’s on one side of my neck and West’s the other.
Grayson was all I could think about.
On his knees.
I didn’t believe Lottie at first—I couldn’t, it was too insane. But was Grayson Crowne really a prisoner in his own home? Were those the consequences for loving me, for us not taking the chance to run? My throat was dry, chest hollow.
Every second I doubted myself more.
My only reprieve was that for the past two hours, West has left me alone.
I was back in the wing West and I had spent months in—I’d been dragged back here. It was like the past two weeks hadn’t happened. Only now my room was filled with luxurious accoutrements, my walk-in closet overflowing with various dresses, shoes, and luxuries all my size.
When I lived with my mother, I used to dream about being Cinderella, being whisked away into a fairy tale.
I suddenly felt very stuck.
Very confined.
I was the one who found my mother when she overdosed. That was the day my life changed, when I went from living in a ramshackle apartment, to a black castle.
I would get a castle—a prison—in Scotland.
I jumped off the bed and threw open both double doors—and was immediately met with a wall of black suits. Two men the size of linebackers glared down at me.
“Going somewhere, Angel?” Just behind them, West got off the couch, standing to his feet.
“What is this?”
“Your guards. You were attacked only a few weeks ago, remember?”
I rolled my lips, studying their callous faces. After what I’d just witnessed with Grayson…I knew they were here to keep me in, not keep me safe.
West reached them, and they parted like water for Moses. I walked backward, trying to keep the space between us. It was useless. He ate the distance until my back was flush against the cold glass window, and there was only a thread of shivering air separating us.
West reached into his pocket and I tensed, expecting the worst. He handed me a black credit card with Du Lac Enterprises written in silver, and my name written above it.
“There is no limit,” he said simply.
I flexed my jaw. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this.
“Your girl will be here every morning.”
“I have servants. Guards. An allowance. This is all very nice.”
“I told you
we take care of our mistresses.”
Right. Take care.
His bite mark still throbbed on my neck, painful and humiliating.
“What happened earlier?” I changed the subject.
He forced me flush against the window.