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Before my bravado can crumble, he turns on his heel and marches out of the kitchen. His heavy footsteps echo around the house as he heads upstairs, slamming what I assume is his bedroom door behind him.
Ally might have been a generous term, but whatever there was between us, I think I’ve just managed to completely ruin it. I’ll be leaving soon anyway, and when I do, I never want to see Royal again.
So why am I so upset?
“Because you’ve gone back to having no one on your side in this house,” I mutter to myself. “Not that he was ever really on my side…”
Ignoring the doubt I feel at my own words, I head up to my own bedroom. I’d hoped to have a bubble bath, but I settle for a hot shower instead. As it’s nearly lunch and I doubt Syn’s going to allow me to sit at their table with them again, instead of changing into my uniform, I dress in the maid’s outfit and head straight to the dining hall.
After dinner, back in Denali House, I linger in the entrance hall until I get a message from Payne telling me Syn and Gemini have arrived. Then, I grab a duster and polish from the cleaning closet and take them upstairs with me.
Although I’ve not made the most effort with keeping the house clean, I’ve somehow managed to avoid complaints from Syn, because I have been making the effort to go into his room once a week to at least do the bare minimum. Like his appearance, Syn keeps his room spotless, with everything having its own home.
I change the bedding, give each surface a wipe down to keep a noticeable layer of dust at bay, and I always make sure to move a few items just a bit, so he can tell I’ve been in and cleaned. The only thing I refuse to clean is the giant enclosure his pet lizard lives in.
Not that I have a thing about reptiles. The green lizard is rather cute, and while I know there are only a small number of venomous lizards in the world—and I doubt his is one of them—if it’s anything like its owner, it’s probably a bad-tempered asshole that bites.
Although I’m not sure Syn even has a soul, and I have a feeling that if I did something to let the lizard escape—or worse—nothing would save me from Syn’s wrath.
Thankfully, there’s no need for me to hide the camera in the lizard’s tank. I sit in the chair at Syn’s desk and spin around, looking for a closer, less obvious location.
The bed.
Like all the other beds in the house, Syn’s is a large four-poster. There are dark green drapes that match those on the windows, hanging from it. These remain tied back to the posts, and the pleats are so perfectly spaced, I can tell they’ve never been drawn since they were hung. That, and there doesn’t seem to be nearly enough fabric to fully enclose the bed.
I unravel the short, thin cable and plug it into the back of the small camera, then the battery pack, before I turn it on.
Carefully, I climb up onto his bed, stepping up on the wooden footboard for a better vantage point, and then I stick the camera on the thin wooden rail, poking the lens through the curtain hoop so it’s pointing at the desk. Unfortunately, the camera isn’t one that I can connect to remotely, but hopefully, from this angle, even if I can’t see exactly what keys he’s typing, I might be able to guess the password anyway.
Once the camera is secure, I make sure that it’s hidden among the drapes, using a couple of hair elastics to keep it in place.
The whole thing has taken about fifteen minutes, and while I’m sure Payne will probably make the detention last for at least an hour, I don’t want to be in here longer than I need to be. I strip the bedding, hurry around the room with the duster, then head back to the basement with the dirty laundry. Once they’re in the washing machine and the cycle is going, I get a fresh set of bedding and hurriedly remake the bed.
Of course, I don’t care if Syn’s bedding is clean. I made sure to change it over the Thanksgiving break, and he’s only slept in it one night, but if he somehow notices that the drapes look out of place, he’ll hopefully attribute that to me making his bed.
Now I just need to work out how to get the camera out.
XXXVII
Syn
Birthdays are for the insecure and the poor.
The poor want things. The latest iPhone, a vacation, a new car…
The insecure want a day when they are the center of attention.
When I turned twenty-one, my trust fund was released. Around two hundred and fifty million—and a fraction of what the Keyingham legacy is worth. Even before that, there’s never been anything I’ve wanted that couldn’t be bought.
Almost everything has a price tag—even if you can’t see it.
This year, like last year, and the year before that, the only thing I wanted was JP back. And while money can own a life or take one, it can’t bring anyone back to life.
Attention is something I neither want nor crave. However, money attracts people. People without money seem to think being around those who do will somehow magic wealth to them. Those with money understand that money is power, and they’re attracted to those they think are like them.
My birthday party is nothing more than a façade.
I don’t care who’s here.
