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“You didn’t see the signs? The rope cordoning off this area?”
I shake my head. “There were no signs. There was no rope.”
“Really?” A strange expression passes over his face. “How curious.”
“I have to go,” I tell him, not sure what he’s driving at. I go to step past him, but he gently places his fingers on my arm.
“Ignore what you’ve heard, Miss Anderson. Stiff upper lip. Get what’s rightfully yours. It is your legacy.”
The door opens behind me, and I’m sure I’m about to be caught, but just in the nick of time, Dalton releases my arm, stepping in between me and the doorway, allowing me to sneak around the corner unseen.
“Dalton?” I hear Silas’s voice as the tears start to flow from my eyes, my feet moving on their own back in the direction I came. “What are you doing here?”
“Just coming to finalize the details for this evening, Mr. Worthington. And to bring you these.”
I put the rope back in place behind me, wondering how on earth I missed it the first time. These ropes, these signs…I swear they weren’t here when I left my room. I didn’t see anything warning me I was entering the west wing. But now that I have, I can’t forget what I heard.
The whole thing was a setup. Parker Silas Worthington. Of course. The present Mr. Worthington not just some distant family member. I bet he has some plan to get hold of the estate. Drive all the contestants away with fake ghosts and when it didn’t work with me he…
Oh my god, he wouldn’t. Would he?
My stomach lurches as I realize he certainly would. And did. He seduced me for what? So that he could hurt me? Make me break the contract? Why not just use the fake ghosts like he did with the other contestants? I guess this was way more fun for him.
Urgh. I’ve been so stupid. He’s probably had a vasectomy and just made me think he wanted me to be knocked up by him. Making me feel somehow, he was serious. Bound to me.
A part of me wants to leave right now. But as I take the final turn to bring me to my own bedroom door my mind is settled. No goddamn way. No. He doesn’t get to win. I’ll get the house and the land and the trust fund and laugh in his stupid face.
His stupid, gorgeous face.
As I slip in through my door, I see a shadow move across the wall, and laugh.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” I say out loud, turning on the spot, looking for the hidden cameras. They told us they’d be watching. That’s why there’s a screen to dress behind. “You’re going to have to do better than—”
“Sit down, little girl, let me look at you,” a voice whispers, and my heart leaps into my throat.
It’s not real. He’s set all this up. It’s Silas. It even sounds like his voice. Like he’s trying to disguise it but I can tell it’s him.
“What if I don’t want to sit down?” I ask, laughing. “I’m not scared of your little tricks, Silas. I’m going to go to the ball and I’m going to win the contest and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop—”
“Oh, we’ll see about that.”
Chapter 12
Silas
“What are these?” I ask, looking at the papers Dalton has just placed in my hand. “Letters? I don’t live here, Dalton, I don’t get correspondence here.”
“They’re letters from your great-grandfather. The first Mr. Silas Worthington.”
I shrug. I don’t want to read letters. I want to prepare for tonight’s ball and seeing Delia again. Fuck, just being away from her for a few hours is killing me. I want to throw out all the staff, I want to end the stupid fucking contest. I want to give Delia everything she could possibly want and more.
“I found them earlier today, while dismissing your ghost operators. They just…fell into my hands, you might say. Long forgotten. By most.”
“You did what?” Carolyn steps in beside me. “Why would you dismiss the operators?”
“Because I told him to, Carolyn, that’s why.” I turn to her and hand her the letters. “You take these, read them, burn them…I don’t care. I have no idea why Dalton would think—”
“If you read them, I think you’ll find them of interest, sir.”
“Silas, what’s going on here? Why would you…My Dearest Cordelia.” She laughs. “That’s funny, isn’t that the name of the last surviv— Hey!”
She glares at me as I snatch the letter out of her hand, and start scanning the words. My Dearest Cordelia…our love will withstand this…I’d live on the streets if it meant I could be with you…who cares what the papers would say?
“What is this?” I demand, turning my eyes to Dalton.
He raises his eyebrows. “I already explained, sir. These letters were from your great-grandfather. The first Mr. Worthington.”
