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When she wronged me.
When she took what was mine and taunted me with it.
So much for having the blissful fucking fairy tale others have.
Grace finishes first. She always does. Nothing turns her on more than knowing she is getting dicked by the man she loathes the most.
I come a few minutes after. Yanking the condom off on my way to the bathroom, I pass by a floor-to-ceiling mirror in the hallway and pause.
I am extremely athletic. I play tennis six times a week. I’m relatively young. Handsome enough, and wealthier than anyone has business to be.
I can find a decent woman. The Arya type. A compassionate, smart, attractive companion whose lifelong wish isn’t to see me burn in hell. And yet Christian and Riggs are right. The only woman I have eyes for is my poisonous, fickle stepsister.
“This was good, wasn’t it?” she asks when I exit the bathroom.
I nod. “Wanna see a movie?”
I need to decompress after the wake.
“Actually, I’m gonna work on the balcony for a bit.” Grace is unplugging her laptop from its charger in my bedroom. “While the weather’s still nice and all.”
We never share a bed for more than sleep and sex. Never watch movies together. Go to museums, picnics, vacations.
Never do anything that is remotely couple-like.
“It’s fine, I have my own projects to tend to.” I make my way to my office and close the door.
It is time to call Dad’s estate lawyer and see what hell he brewed for me before he died.
CHAPTER FIVE
ARSÈNE, FIFTEEN
My taxi stopped in front of the Corbin mansion. I hopped out, a duffel bag dangling from each of my shoulders. I squinted up at the arches of the manor that I used to call home. At the closed door. The empty driveway.
I didn’t know why I hoped someone would be waiting for me here. Hadn’t I learned anything in my years at Andrew Dexter Academy?
Summer vacation was going to be long, lonely, and full of tension. I should’ve stayed back.
I dragged my ass to the entrance and raised my fist to knock on the door before remembering,Fuck it, this place is going to be mine one day.
I pushed it open all the way. Servants were rushing back and forth. No sign of Dad, Miranda, and Gracelynn.
“Welcome home, Arsène. Your father asked me to tell you that he, your stepsister, and your stepmother went to the country club. There’s a golf tournament.” Bernard halted in front of me, a manila file under his arm. “They should be back soon. Do you need help settling in? Some refreshments, maybe?”
I shook my head.
I went upstairs to my room and dumped the bags onto the floor. I glanced around, and it didn’t take a genius to see what had happened here. Gracelynn had taken over my space. It wasn’t pink central or anything, but my closet was open and full of glittery sneakers. The desk was littered with her textbooks, pastel Sharpies, and heart-shaped Post-it Notes. There were scrunchies on my unmade bed.
What the fuck?This place had dozens of rooms. She could’ve picked any one of them as her second room. But this was not accidental. She was trying to send a message—I was no longer a part of this household.
Defiant, I flung myself on the bed and rubbed my unwashed self over the linen, just to be a dick. Then I stared at the ceiling. The bed still smelled of Gracelynn. Her shampoo and French perfume and expensive nail polish. Why’d she sleep here? It seemed like such a weird thing to do.
The entrance door downstairs opened and shut. Laughter filled the foyer. Dad. Miranda. Gracelynn. They were talking animatedly. My gut twisted with anger.
How fucking lovely: they’d managed to become one happy family the minute I became “manageable.”
“He’s here,” I heard one of the servants announce, and I knew she was talking about me. But as I waited—ten, fifteen, twenty minutes—no one from my so-called family knocked on my door.
