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“You’re playing with fire, Lev.” Aiden’s words bring me back to the present.
I stop and face him so we’re toe-to-toe. Only I have a few inches on him. “Yeah?”
“One miss.” He raises an index finger. “Whether it’s alcohol, fights, or any disaster, and you’re done for with my daddy. It’s checkmate.”
My jaw clenches so hard, my teeth hurt. I want to pummel Aiden into the wall and punch that smug look off his face.
Before I can act on the impulse and give Uncle the trouble he’s been pining for, Ronan’s high-pitched voice breaks the tension. “Oh. Shit.”
Cole winces as he throws me a look over his shoulder.
“What is it?” I walk ahead of Aiden and stop short in front of my black Jaguar.
On the windshield, there’s something written in white paint.
‘Run along, King. You don’t need to beg for it.’
7
Astrid
I was forgotten until you said my name.
* * *
My muscles lock as I make my way down the marble, sweeping stairs. I’ve been living here for more than two years, but it still doesn’t feel like home.
It's a tower and I'm trapped.
Nope. Not like Rapunzel or even Disney’s Tangled. This is the real-life version.
Since Mum's death, I've been nicknamed by the press as Clifford's Hidden Princess. Because Dad hid me away for a whole fifteen years even though he and Mum were married for some time and I’m not an illegitimate child.
Since the public revelation, I started to think that I might truly be a hidden, forgotten princess. Locked up in this mansion.
One more year.
With that splash of hope, I take a deep breath and cross the grandiose lounge area with gold-rimmed chesterfields and high platform ceilings.
I peek through the dining area where my ‘family’ is having breakfast.
“Morning,” I blurt, already heading to the exit. “I’m leaving for school.”
“Astrid.” Dad’s calm but non-negotiable tone stops me in my tracks. “Come eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sit down and eat.”
I wince at the harshness in his command and my shoulders slump. With careful steps, I cross the gigantic dining room with its flawless marble flooring and stone fireplace. A few of the kitchen staff stand in waiting like an episode from freaking Downtown Abbey.
I smile at Sarah, the head cook, but it must’ve come out as a grimace judging from the deep frown on her blond brows.
At least I have a friendly face around. It helps that she makes me the most delicious chocolate smoothies and cheesecake.
I flop on the chair at the tail of the table — which is the farthest seat from Dad and his
wife’s. Not meeting their gazes, I start gulping down raw jam and the cheesecake. I scarcely taste anything. The sooner I’m done with breakfast, the faster I’m out of here.
