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“What?” He smirks, knowing exactly which cord he hit. “Cold feet?”
“Of course not. You’ll keep your word. If Papa agrees, you won’t intervene.”
“Cross my heart.” He continues smirking.
Because he knows full well that Papa’s approval is as impossible as seeing a unicorn.
But I have a secret weapon.Mom.
Seems like I’ll have to fight a whole other battle back where I hate it.
Where I was nothing more than a sheltered princess.
Home.
* * *
Homeand I share a love-hate relationship.
I cherish all the memories I have with Mom, Papa, and Jeremy growing up, but I dislike it for how helpless and suppressed I felt.
However, the moment we drive into the vast property that Mom has somehow changed from a gothic mansion to a homey one, the only thing I’m hit with are those precious memories.
Like when Papa taught me how to ride a bike. I ended up falling and hitting my knee, so Jeremy blew on it and Mom cleaned the wound as I cried a river. Then I was up and running again as if nothing had happened.
Or when Papa let me ride on his shoulders and I wouldn’t stop grabbing onto his face and blocking his vision.
Or when Mom surprised Papa with a birthday party that he low-key hated because she invited all the guards.
It’s the little things, minor things, that might seem unimportant, but they’re what come to mind right now.
Maybe it’s a psychological trick I’m playing on myself so that I’m mentally prepared for the upcoming battle.
The car comes to a halt in front of the imposing building that I call home. This is where I was born and lived for seventeen years, shielded from the outside world.
I never had friends, definitely couldn’t invite anyone over or visit anyone else’s home—unless they were willing to have their house flipped upside down for a security check and enjoyed the company of my guards.
I was supposed to be homeschooled, but after I begged and implored and was kind of depressed for a while, Papa allowed me to attend a private school. After he bought it and planted his people everywhere.
That’s the type of person my father is. When it comes to our safety, no detail escapes him.
My brother steps out of the car and I open my door before the driver does, then I thank him with a smile.
“Jeremy!”
A tall middle-aged man gathers my brother in one of those side hugs men do and Jer grins. “Yan, how have you been?”
“Bored to fucking death from the lack of action.”
They break apart and Yan nods at me. His long hair is gathered in a small ponytail and his face is as pretty as ever. He’s one of my father’s two most trusted guards and Mom’s best friend.
Oh, and I totally used him as my makeup subject countless times because he’s cool like that. Mom still has the pictures of my amateur creations as proof.
He smiles at me. “Princess.”
“It’s just Anni, Yan.”
“Don’t go using those tasteless American nicknames. Now, come. Your mother has been waiting for you.”
