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He’d shrugged. “Boss’ order.”
I didn’t doubt it.
It sounded right up Satan’s alley to torture me, just for the fun of it. Cheap entertainment to see me running all the way to his mansion in the rain.
What a total asshat.
And yet, something fragile lurked beneath his surface that I couldn’t explain. The way he almost shriveled into himself when faced with human touch broke my heart.
I couldn’t hate him all the way, even when I knew I probably should.
Autumn leaves crunched under my boots. The gurgling water fountain washed over my ears as I lumbered past it.
I made it to the security gate, walking through it rather than climbing over it this time.
Across from me, the sprawling Costa mansion glowed with creamy lights, even from this distance.
I stopped and stared from afar, too exhausted to be concerned with how pathetic I looked.
A food truck rumbled past their private gate and sailed up the half-mile driveway, leaving the scent of ginger, lemongrass, andcinnamon in its wake.
Catering.
For a normal weekday dinner.
A current of drool fought its way past my teeth. I hadn’t eaten all day.
I spotted the blurred figure of a very pregnant woman. Dallas Costa, perhaps?
She burst through the entryway, racing to the truck in a glamorous knee-length canary-yellow dress.
Behind her, her husband tugged her back, sweeping her into his arms, so she didn’t have to walk.
They cooed into each other’s ears as an army of servers carried trays out of the trunk and into the house.
My heart wept with jealousy.
I wondered, for the millionth time, how different people could lead such different lives in the same zip code.
To my left, Oliver von Bismarck’s gates remained permanently open as a queue of luxury cars filed through.
Music blared into the street. He was probably throwing another salacious party. And by party, I meant orgy.
Rumors traveled fast in this town.
“Oliver is a self-proclaimed vaginivore,” I remembered Reggie telling Tabby.“He finds pleasure with anyone he deems pretty enough to become his next meal.”
I bet he didn’t have a care in the world.
I bet he never had to wonder how he’d pay a debt or preserve his father’s legacy.
Stop the pity party, Fae.
Struggles aren’t bad. You enjoy the view more if you climb there.
A brief honk pulled my attention away from the von Bismarck mansion. Thick mud splashed onto my sneakers as a Maybach rumbled to a stop beside me.
The rear window rolled down, revealing an older woman whose age I couldn’t quite pin down.
