Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 223(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
The tea turns bitter on my tongue. I should be used to this by now.
Walking blind into the hands of another man.
Adapting to whatever waits for me in his domain.
But I’m not, and I don’t think I ever will be.
8
Liam’s been in the library for what feels like forever. I pace the corridor, the soles of my flats scuffing the polished marble.
Forward. Pivot. Back again.
That closed door taunts me. I don’t know how much time has passed. Ten minutes? Twenty? Regardless, every second drags, stretching my nerves to the breaking point. My thoughts spiral through the worst possibilities…
Oliver Whitney’s expectations.
The details Liam might be sharing.
And the looming threat of the dungeon.
The toast and eggs I forced down this morning want to make a reappearance. I hug my rebellious stomach and turn on my heel once more, and that’s when the door creaks open.
Liam steps out, followed by Oliver, who’s even taller than I remember, easily clearing six feet. The precision of his tailored suit clashes with the unruly fall of midnight hair grazing his ears. His brown eyes, lighter than Liam’s by several shades, sweep over me.
“I’ll give you a minute to say your goodbyes.” Oliver strides toward the elevator and stops a few feet away, allowing us space to breathe.
As Liam closes the distance between us, a strained silence lingers. He clears his throat, as if he’s trying to dislodge something heavier than words. “I don’t know what to say.” His hands slide into the pockets of his light grey trousers, shoulders stiff. “I’m not ready for this.”
My gaze lowers to his rustic brown shoes. “Did you tell him about last night? I mean the cliff.”
“He’s aware. We also came to an understanding.”
“What kind of understanding?”
“We agreed that you need to see Dr. Price.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Sullivan Price, from the House of Pisces. He’s a psychiatrist.”
“I don’t need a shrink.”
“Oliver disagrees. So do I.”
“You can disagree all you want.” I fold my arms, the picture of petulance. “You might be able to drag me there, but you can’t make me talk.”
“Then you’ll be very bored.” He lifts his chin. “Because you’re not leaving Sully’s office until you cooperate.”
“You can’t do this!”
“You’re right. I can’t. But Oliver can.” Liam’s stare is unwavering. “He’s also assigning someone to watch you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snap.
“Your stunt on the cliff says otherwise.”
“I said I wouldn’t do it again.”
“I know what you said.” He scans my face, studying me as if I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “And I believe you meant it, but I have to be sure. Until I know you’re not a danger to yourself, the babysitter, as you called her, stays.”
The fates must be laughing, because a woman rounds the corner from the tower’s grand foyer, the tap of her heels sharp against the floor. Dressed in navy slacks and a fitted cream blouse, she carries herself with a no-nonsense air that sets my teeth on edge.
Oliver rejoins us, his gaze settling on the woman I assume is my babysitter. “This is Astrid,” he announces. “She’ll be staying with you.”
The woman gives a single nod, her face an unapproachable mask. She’s tall and poised, the embodiment of composure, with her dark hair swept into a sleek bun.
I press my lips together and fight the impulse to argue. Objecting outright won’t get me anywhere, not with Liam’s mind made up, so I shift to Oliver instead.
“I understand the concern, but is this really necessary? I’m sure Astrid has better things to do.”
“Better things than her job? She’s a professional, hired to keep you safe.” Oliver adjusts his cuff. “And I agree with the chancellor. We can’t risk you, my queen.” His words leave no room for debate, so I bite back any further protest.
If I’ve learned anything from these men, it’s that resistance is pointless.
Liam meets my gaze, and though he says nothing, emotion swells behind the quiet. The message is clear.
Don’t forget your promise to me.
Only then does he look away, his voice rough as he turns to Oliver. “Take care of her. I’m counting on you.”
“Of course.”
Liam hesitates, jaw set, his earth-toned eyes revealing too much. Without another word, he turns away, and I can’t bring myself to watch him go.
A beat of disquiet hangs, but Oliver doesn’t extend the moment. “Follow me.” He moves forward like a man used to being obeyed.
I fall in step beside him, Astrid trailing behind, and no one speaks during the short elevator ride to the fourth floor. When we enter the House of Capricorn, I’m not prepared for what awaits.
The space is the opposite of the penthouse’s contemporary design, and while its layout mirrors the other floors of Zodiac Estate, Oliver’s taste for antique decor sets it apart. High end pieces of mahogany furniture define the sitting room, each sofa, chair, and accent table carved with meticulous detail. A grandfather clock marks time in quiet, deliberate beats, and low lighting glints off crystal decanters on a sleek bar cabinet.