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“Where’s your room?” Adrian asks me.
“Other side of the house.”
He nods. “Let’s go.” He places his large hand on the small of my back and leads me from the office. I lead him down several hallways to the room I’d spent my life in. Opening the door, I don’t miss the surprise on Adrian’s face as he takes in my room. What is he expecting? The royal quarters at Buckingham Palace?
I may have grown up around wealth, but very little of it had been afforded to me. My grandfather had been the only one to truly care for me, but even his love had its limits. My parents gave me the appearance of wealth. I have a closet full of designer clothes and accessories, but they were only pulled out when I was required to for an event. Otherwise, my clothes were plain, and I was given barely anything of sentimental value.
To my parents, I was nothing more than a pretty prop that would one day be sold into a profitable marriage. That was my only true value to them.
And it isn’t any different with Adrian.
The man who will sell my virginity for a pretty penny just to stick it to my dead family.
“What the hell is this?” the devil asks as he takes in the small, cramped quarters of my domain. There is a twin-size bed in one corner, a desk, and bookshelf with a few strewn books and school supplies, a chair for reading, and a small, open closet.
That is it.
“My room, jackass,” I hiss. Shaking my head, I head to the closet, pull out a small duffel bag and begin to shove my clothes into it at breakneck speed. I don’t need him judging what I wear on top of everything else. Adrian is rooted to the door. He looks apoplectic as he continues to sneer at the only place of comfort I have ever known.
“This isn’t a room,” he sneers. “It’s a closet.”
I shrug and grab a few books I want to bring with me. “What did you expect?”
“This is the maid’s quarters…”
Cue eye roll.
“And you call me a princess.” Pretentious asshole. Just because I’ve never swept a floor or vacuumed a carpet doesn’t mean I am spoiled. I learned to cook and bake. To care for living things. I may have been expected to learn etiquette and manners, but that doesn’t make me a princess or spoiled. Just because I didn’t know anything about my family’s finances or the everyday going-ons, doesn’t make me naïve or sheltered. I’m not blind to what my family did, I was just never allowed to participate.
Not that I ever wanted to. My family dealt in far worse things than drugs and guns. They dealt in flesh and sex.
Adrian is apparently no different. I always hoped he was. Sighing at his silence, I brush past him and grab up the small leather journal I keep under my pillow.
Shoot.
Tossing the journal in my bag, I reach down for the photo that fell out onto the floor. Quicker fingers snatch it up before I can grab it.
“Who is this?” Adrian asks as he stares down at the photo.
“That’s Ada and me when she first came to live here,” I tell him. There isn’t a reason to lie.
“I know that,” he snarks. “I’m talking about the woman with her arm around Ada.”
My brow furrows. How does he not know who she is? Ada would have shown him pictures, I’m sure of it.
“That’s Ada’s mother.” Is he for real? “Cora.”
He shoots me a befuddled look. “No, it’s not,” he growls. “I’ve met Ada’s mother, and this is not her.”
He what now?
“Unless you held a séance,” I mock, “I doubt it. She died when Ada was fifteen. Car accident.”
Adrian advances on me. “Don’t lie to me, little mouse,” he snarls in my face, hand coming up to wrap around my throat.
“Why would I lie to you?” I push at his arm frantically because this time he isn’t just holding me still, he’s squeezing. Hard.
“Ada introduced me to her mother just after the wedding,” he tells me. “She is very much alive.”
