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I stood in the centre of unapologetic grandeur. Splendour that didn’t come from money but obscene fucking wealth.
Up until recently, I’d never stepped foot in the world of the rich. I’d lived in a small two-bedroom house with my mother in Devon. Quaint streets, greasy fish-and-chip shops, and loud-mouthed tourists were the main flavour of our seaside town. I’d never really known why my mother chose that village as hers. Her answers were vague, her avoidance of where we came from and why we had no family far too rehearsed.
Sometimes, I’d have dreams of a different house. One with high ceilings, intricate architraves, and expensive furnishings. I remembered being forbidden to touch anything, to stay quiet and unseen, but there’d been others as well. Other children. Several other children I couldn’t recall.
That’d always bothered me. I felt as if I should remember them. I’d been haunted by the forgotten past until the day our teacher asked us to do a family tree. Our task was to interview our relatives and find out their life stories. Most of my fellow students groaned and rolled their eyes, having spent their days suffering through dinner at Grandma’s and playing with annoying cousins. I pretended to be pissed off like them, but secretly, I couldn’t control my excitement.
I’d gone home.
I’d shown the assignment to my mother.
I’d sat by her feet with my pen poised and notepad eager for my history, but she’d merely bent over and said, “Some people have many, and some only have themselves. We just have each other.”
I’d frowned. She had to have had people. She existed, didn’t she? Who made her? What faceless grandparents raised her? What man helped create me?
She kept those secrets until her dying day, using her last breath to whisper the truth that led me to finding a small fortune in her bank account, donated to her by a Quincy Mercer II.
An unknown man who shared my blood.
A brother from the father I’d never met.
I’d chosen him over suicide, hoping he could explain why I was the way I was, but…stepping foot into my half-brother’s mansion had been my downfall.
The moment I met him, I’d physically stumbled. Not because he was the first kin I’d been allowed to know but because his face held parts of mine. Even our eyes were similar, regardless that the colours were not. His were green and mine were grey, yet it wasn’t the tint that drew me but the shadows beneath. Shadows that answered mine so strongly, so viciously I swear he’d been moments away from killing me.
Perhaps he should’ve.
Maybe if I was dead, I wouldn’t have to keep fighting this unwinnable war to stay nice and normal and sane.
“Ward?” Victor’s fingers shot into my eyesight again, snapping loudly. “Jesus, if your thoughts are that distracting, I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve allowed you to be my guest. Whatever you’ve trapped inside yourself desperately needs to get out to play.”
I balled my hands.
I cleared my throat and focused. “Sorry. Long day.” I made a show of being sufficiently impressed. “Your home is stunning, Victor.”
Home?
More like a medieval prison with its drawbridge, walls, and oppressive stone.
Focusing on the foyer, my eyes widened as I took in the details. Colossal archways led into cavernous rooms beyond. Two staircases curled around each other before branching off east and west. Travertine tiles and woven tapestries complemented the giant glittering chandelier that was the size of my old house. Flowers bloomed in humongous vases, and golden thread highlighted the images in the tapestries, proving that an initial glance didn’t reveal the eroticism hidden within.
Women lay spreadeagled while men ate them out. Virgin girls were chained to crosses while demons with horns fucked them hard. I swallowed as I drank in the other artwork. Each one held something sinful, something far, far too explicit for a normal home. Spanking, whipping, riding, coming...
My hard dick twinged in its imprisonment. I’d strapped it to my belly with my belt, doing my best to ignore the spasms of sharp desperation. Twice I’d been so close to fucking Ily. And twice I’d been cock-blocked. I’d never really understood the meaning of blue balls, but now I did. They’d never been so tight, so hard, so eager to do whatever it took to be inside someone wet and hot and…unwilling.
I flashed another look at Ily.
My heart spasmed.
That kiss.
That goddamn kiss on the grass.
What the hell was that?
“And what do you think?” Victor looked at Ily, his hand encasing hers, the golden collar and cuffs trapping her in this monstrously beautiful place. “What do you think of my home. Or should I say, your home?”
I expected her to shudder and say something derogatory. To hate on this place purely out of principle but she shocked me stupid as she blinked cold, intelligent eyes and sniffed. “Judging by the keystone as we came in and the year 2000 carved neatly into it, this place isn’t nearly as old as I suspected. You did a passable job of making it seem ancient, but two decades is barely a scratch on history.”
