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“I what?” he barked, and I shrank several feet under his sudden harsh tone and sharp, dark gaze.
“You picked the wrong girl!” The words rushed from my lips. “I’m sick. I’m terminally ill. I’m sure your son doesn’t like a wife who’ll die on him.”
Mr. X looked at me, face as unreadable and hard as Marc’s. A sliver of hope ignited inside. He didn’t know. My father never told him, just like he told me not to talk about it to anyone. I royally had him. He’d have no choice but to reconsider his sick plans. What guy wanted a girl that could drop dead any second? Marc’s shocked face flashed before my eyes, and I nearly cried again. He sure didn’t. Since I told him the reason for my weak health, he never looked at me the same, and could I blame him?
Mr. X laughed so sudden and so loud it made me jump, abruptly snapping me back to the room, away from memories of Marc.
“You’re not sick.” He gestured toward the chair. “Sit.”
“Wh—” I didn’t understand, and I couldn’t move. Something froze me to the floor. My feet heavy as cement, rooted to the spot.
Mr. X shrugged, moving a chair to face me, and sitting himself as he studied me. He leaned back, casually crossing his legs and hooked his arms behind his neck. “You foolish girl.” He shook his head at me. “Believe everything daddy tells you?” He chucked, and my legs began to tremble.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not dying. You’re not even ill,” he paused, eyeing me with a twisted grin on his face. “You’re exactly the way I wanted you. A perfect little virgin. You are, right? Or did you spread your legs for that handsome bodyguard?”
He laughed at the mixed feelings I couldn’t hide. Disbelief and shock battled in my head, and my heart ached from the reminder of Marc’s rejection, even though my belly clenched from the memory of how hard he felt pressed against my body.
“Wh—what?” Was all I managed to whisper.
“Did you?” Mr. X suddenly snapped.
I flinched, stammering out a breathy, “No.”
“Good girl.” He crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing me with an amused grin. “Sweetheart, daddy sold you to save his ass. We made the deal years ago. I was waiting for the right time to collect you.”
No.The word echoed in my head. Over and over on repeat, until the room started to spin. “I don’t understand,” I whispered, stumbling over to the chair and grabbed its back for support. “You’re lying.”
Mr. X stood, grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me down onto the chair he just occupied. “Didn’t I tell you to sit?”
I blinked up at him, refusing to take his words as truth. He lied. He had to.
“You are beautiful. Stunningly so. I’d say the perfect match for Alex. I only want the best for my son, you understand that?” he said it as if it was the most obvious thing. “I couldn’t have him marry some random slut from the streets. He needs someone pure. So I created you.” He pulled out another chair and sat facing me. “The perfect little princess for my prince.”
“No,” I whispered.
“But yes!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t it brilliant? Your daddy fed you pills to make you sick. To keep you from straying until I could bring you home.” He laughed at his own words, and bile rose in my throat.
It’s all lies,I tried to tell myself.It’s all lies.Mr. X’s sick ways of trying to brainwash me. He wanted me cut off from the rest of the world. What was better than to make me believe my old life was the lie. That I wasn’t wanted anywhere else than right here.
“Here.” Mr. X held out his cell phone. “Call your daddy if you don’t believe me.”
I stared at the phone and his hand. Strong. Calloused. Tanned. I was sure it could break necks. Take lives. A whimper climbed its way through me, but I forced it down, clamping my mouth shut and averting my gaze. My previous calls to my father came to mind. Did Mr. X already know he wouldn’t answer? Was it another trick? Or… a cold sensation gripped my belly. Did he know my father wasn’t available because he made sure he wasn’t?
I snatched the phone, finding it already open with a number I didn’t recognize on the screen.
“Go ahead.”
My eyes darted to Mr. X, then back to the phone. He sounded so confident, so sure that one phone call could back everything he said.
My hand trembled as I gripped the cell tighter and tapped the number.
“On speaker,” Mr. X instructed, and I did as he said, waiting for the call to connect.
My father’s voice came through, and an instant wave of relief flooded me. He wasn’t dead. He was…
I frowned. He changed the number…
