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White sheets.
White walls.
It’s perfect.
No . . . it’s sterile.
As if it has never been used before.
I’m almost afraid to walk into the room.
The thought of making it dirty is giving me anxiety already.
No wonder the guy made fun of me when I was lying on the floor.
Besides the fact he’s a complete dick, he must also be a clean fanatic.
“As you will soon see, living here doesn’t have to be all bad.” I roll my eyes. It doesn’t matter how beautiful and pristine this place is. It’s still a prison. I didn’t choose any of this.
“Why am I here? All this BS and you still haven’t told me why you are doing this to me.”
“Because despite what you say, I don’t fucking believe you’re innocent in all this. Maybe you didn’t know about what happened to Ivy and the Russians, but no way you’re ignorant about everything else.”
“I didn’t—”
“Your word means nothing to me. I’ll find out the truth, and until I do, you will live in my house and do as I say.” He walks across the room, and his finger points at a door. “Your belongings have already been put in the closet.”
“You went through my stuff?” I hiss even though I’m admittedly shocked and pleasantly surprised he didn’t throw them out.
“No. I didn’t go through your stuff. A member of my staff did.” He says this like it’s normal for someone else to unpack. It’s not. Even when my sister was with Ronald, my life wasn’t like this.
“How many people do you have employed here?”
“You will meet them later, and you can count for yourself.”
“Why do you have to be such a dick all the time?”
“Because I’m my father’s son. And if you knew the real him, my sunny personality wouldn’t be such a shock.”
“Just get out.”
I storm into the room and start to slam the door. But just as it’s about to close, Trent steps into the doorframe. “I expect you downstairs in my office in thirty minutes.”
“Why?”
“To go over the rest of the rules and stipulations of my house.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously.” With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, slamming the door behind him on his own.
I guess it could be worse. At least I still have a pulse.
It’s not a convincing pick-me-up, but it’ll have to do. I don’t have the energy to pretty-up my situation.
The sound of the slam echoes around me. Which isn’t surprising, seeing as this room is barren.
If I’m to live here, I’m going to have to spruce it up.
