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Annabeth
They call me a princess.
But I’m nothing like the royalty found in fairy tales. The Noble family aren’t the kind that live in castles.
Instead of a stone tower protected by a moat and knights, a New York high rise penthouse with a view of Central Park is my home. Well, one of them; we have a palace dripping in luxury in almost every major city around the world. My father owns half of New York as one of the richest real estate tycoons in the country.
Sounds like a charmed life, right?
Seated cross-legged on a plush pink velvet chair at my vanity, I finish lining my heart-shaped lips in a suitably dainty shade of rose, and pucker them at my reflection, bobbing my head to the playlist streaming from my phone.
I certainly look the part. I might as well be a porcelain doll with my hazel eyes and blonde hair tied half up with an oversized velvet bow. It’s all part of my preppy princess illusion.
Black tights, Burberry plaid skirt, and a tan mohair sweater over a button down with a crisp collar—no small detail is overlooked.
Every morning I become the Annabeth Noble the world expects to see.
Well-mannered. Outfitted in designer labels and a starlet smile. Perfect daughter with a perfect life.
What a load of shit.
The heavy beat of Halsey’s Castle ends and a Lizzo hit starts up.
With a sigh I stop fussing with a powder brush and toss it back onto the vanity. I’ll be late for my Social Psychology class at Columbia at this rate. I collect my textbook and notebooks, scooping them into my leather saddle bag. I wish I could take more courses like it, but the agreement I made with my dad is that I can study anything I want as long as I register as a business major and fill my core studies with beneficial classes.
Spotting the item I hid beneath the stack of books last night, I’m halted in my tracks like a metal chain around my ankle.
Damn. I dig my manicured nails into the meat of my palms and school the surge of anger.
I’ve had years of practice at ignoring everything my father does, and who am I to rock the boat? As long as I get my small wins in—like persuading him to allow me to study for a degree he thinks is pointless when I have the world at my fingertips, all thanks to him—I can bide my time until I make my escape from this glitzy hellhole.
But every day this week that crisp, shimmering pearlescent invitation—my decree, collar, cage—sits on my vanity as the big party draws closer.
Join us on New Year’s Eve to ring in the new year and celebrate two families becoming one…
Pushing out a razor-edged breath, I snatch it up. The sides are creased from where I gripped it too tightly when I couldn’t control the boiling in my veins. The New Year’s Eve gala is one of the most discussed events of the season amongst the socialites that claw at my family’s heels for a scrap of attention.
If only they knew better; no one should wish for my family to notice them, not when the connections that built us are soaked in blood.
So, don’t go—that’s the obvious choice, right?
Wrong. I thought of that.
Problem is, I’m the star of my father’s little show. They’ll notice if I’m not there to trot around and show off.
Even if I get away with refusing plenty of my father’s edicts in his effort to control my life by grooming me as his prize pony to sell off to the highest bidder, this is one party he won’t allow me to skip. We’ve had two blow out fights about it and I’m gearing up for a third now that I’ve licked my wounds from the last sparring round.
If he thinks I’ll gladly sit still and look pretty as a trophy—
I don’t have time for this right now. Glancing at the time on my phone, my brows pinch together.
Moving my gaze quickly over the slightly worn invitation promising a special announcement at the themed masquerade ball, I stuff it into a side pocket of my saddle bag. What to do with the invite is a problem for future Annie to deal with.
I dash out of the room to make up for lost time, vowing to myself that I will figure out a plan. It’s the only chance I’ll have to slip away with everyone wearing masks and focused on Dad’s big news.
Big news. I scoff under my breath and plaster on my well-practiced Barbie smile when I catch Dad’s deep baritone rumbling in the hall as I head for the private elevator.
He comes into sight when I round the corner, his back to me with his phone pressed to his ear as he surveys what piece of property he plans to add to his empire next. Everything about him is commanding—it’s why he has fit in well with the business partners that back him.
