Declared so by the king himself.
We were raised with different expectations, and honestly, we both like the roles we were assigned. We used to at least.
Our father allows us to go to school and pursue our passions, including hockey, with an understanding that, eventually, whenDean’s hockey career is over, he’ll take over as the head of the companies.
But that understanding has waned since our mom’s passing. The kingdom and the crown seem to have darkened since then.
Expectations are higher.
Tempers, shorter.
Rules, more overbearing.
Instead of joy and laughter echoing through the corridors, it’s silence—or worse, our father’s disappointment. I don’t know who he’s become in the recent months, and I don’t know how to stop him from being stuck in this new persona.
Dean and I both know that’s not who he really is. But he’s not ready to listen to us about it. So, for now, we deal with it.
He’s on borrowed time though because there’s no way in hell we are letting our dad marry someone new after our mom passed only months ago.
We don’t have a reason to distrust Adrianna, but there’s something off about her. A lack of genuineness that lingers behind her smile.
Dean and I both agree that there’s more to her than meets the eye. Maybe we’re biased because we miss our mom. Maybe Adrianna is secretly evil. Only time will tell.
If we’re right, the problem will fix itself. Our father may not see her true colors yet, but people like that can’t help but to peek through their mask.
He claims to be marrying her for the family dynamic and for the success of the family name, but none of that will matter if we break the fourth wall and tell everyone that their love is a lie, a facade. If it comes to it, we’ll force his hand, make a public scene. But we’ll wait, up until the day of the wedding. But not a moment more. We won’t let her destroy our already-fractured family.
“You just gonna stand there all day, you fucking creep?” Dean mutters, not tearing his gaze from the ball and ceiling.
At least he’s still himself.
I laugh to myself. “Are you going to sulk all night or what?”
Slowly, he drags his hand down his face and drops the ball on the bed. “Probably, yeah. Got something else in mind?”
A smirk tips the corner of my mouth up. “Wanna go for a ride?”
This catches his attention, and he rolls his head on the comforter to face me. A soft smile drifts across his mouth, lifting his face.
It’d break the house rules, going out after curfew—a new addition of our father’s expectations.
Home no later than ten p.m.
Unless, of course, it’s for an event we’re expected to attend.
“I’m in.” He sits up, jumping out of bed with newfound life, adjusting his joggers before striding toward me. “Fuck it.”
“Relax, tough guy. Breaking rules is a gateway drug,” I warn him, feigning concern that he may turn into me.
I like to think of the curfew as asuggestionwhile Dean has never broken it during the last month of its enforcement.
The heel of his palm digs into my shoulder as he plows through the doorframe. “Shut up, idiot.”
Laughter bubbles out of me as I run behind him, throwing my arm over his shoulders.
“Race you.” I shove him back down the hall as I take off, racing out of the double-door entrance to our wing of the house. “Loser buys ice cream.”
The best part about this place is the thousand doors leading outside. Our easiest, stealthiest escape is through the servant wing, which is exactly where we’re heading.
