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My hands ball into fists as I pace the room, the plush carpet beneath my feet doing little to soothe my nerves. My mind races, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions threatening to overwhelm me. But beneath it all, there's a kernel of determination that won't be extinguished.
"Next time," I promise myself, even as tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "Next time, I'll get away."
ChapterEight
With a heavy sigh, I slide back into the driver's seat of my sleek black car, the irritation coursing through my veins. Lulu's incessant escape attempts - as futile as they are - have me spending far too much time in this godforsaken mansion. My penthouse in the city beckons to me, but she refuses to cooperate.
"Damn her stubbornness," I mutter under my breath as I drive up the curving driveway, the tires crunching over the gravel. The guy carrying her back to her room follows closely behind.
As soon as I step out of the car, the grandiosity of the mansion looms over me, its imposing presence a constant reminder of the life I'm trying to leave behind. My mind is plagued with thoughts of Mariana's suggestion. Keeping Lulu close might keep her occupied, but at what cost to my sanity?
"Ugh, now I'll have her around all the damn time," I grumble, stepping out of the elevator and into the main house. Despite the luxurious surroundings, all I feel is the weight of responsibility bearing down on me.
Entering my room, I run a hand through my hair, the frustration practically tangible. "What choice do I have?" I ask myself, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The man looking back at me appears exhausted and disheveled, a far cry from the composed figure I strive to maintain. In an attempt to regain some semblance of control, I shed my work clothes and slip into something more casual for the evening – a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans.
"Alright, Lulu," I say, steeling myself for the inevitable confrontation. "Let's see if we can reach some kind of understanding."
The tension in my chest coils tighter with every step I take towards Lulu's room. My jaw clenches, the muscles in my neck straining as I wrestle with this frustration that refuses to abate. The marbled hallway stretches before me, an endless path leading me towards yet another inevitable argument.
"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, my knuckles turning white as I grip the railing for support. It's maddening that I have to deal with a stubborn, bratty princess when there are far more pressing matters at hand. Taking the family business legitimate is a Herculean task in itself, and I've not forgotten the ever-present threat of Constantino lurking in the shadows.
I pause for a moment, leaning against the cool marble wall, trying to gather my thoughts. "Get it together," I tell myself, taking a deep breath. But as I exhale, the image of my bitter older brother creeps into my mind, his green eyes filled with murderous intent. It's a chilling reminder of the danger that constantly hovers around me.
"Focus," I snap, shaking off the haunting thoughts and forcing one foot in front of the other. Before I know it, I'm standing outside Lulu's door, the ornate wooden barrier all that separates me from the storm brewing inside. I decide that what she needs now is a firm hand.
I wrench open the door and it slams against the door, my frustration the driving force behind it. She looks up from her book, a mix of surprise and annoyance flashing across her face as I storm into her sanctuary.
"Enough of this," I snap, my patience worn thin. "You're coming to work with me."
Her eyes narrow, and she sits up straighter, defiance radiating off her. "No, I'm not," she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Actually, you don't have a choice in the matter," I inform her coldly, fixing her with an unwavering stare.
"Like hell I don't!" she snaps back, her anger rising to meet mine. I take a deep breath, trying to control my own temper.
"Fine," I say through gritted teeth. "I can make it worth your while."
Lulu raises an eyebrow, curiosity breaking through her anger. "What do you mean?"
"If you come to work as my assistant and behave yourself, you can earn privileges," I explain, watching her closely. Her irritation is still present, but I can see that she's becoming intrigued by the offer.
"Go on," she prompts cautiously, her eyes narrowing once more.
"Alright," I say, pacing the room as I outline the system we'll use. "For every day you work without causing trouble or making a scene, you will earn one point. You can exchange those points for things like internet access, phone calls, and outings, all monitored, of course. But if you step out of line or disobey me, you'll lose points."
"What's the exchange rate on points for privileges?" she asks without missing a beat.
"Five points for one privilege," I reply. "Meaning you need to work a week successfully and you'll get your privileges on the weekends."
She scoffs. "No way. One point fortwoprivileges."
I give her a curious look. "I'm not sure if you fully understand your bargaining position here."
"I understand it just fine," she says, crossing her arms.
I sigh. "Two points, one privilege, final offer," I say.
Lulu seems both annoyed and excited by the prospect of our new arrangement, her brown eyes flickering with a fire I haven't seen in her before.
