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I could barely hold in my angry cackle. "What makes you think I want to hear any story you have to spin? What's keeping me from snapping your neck right now and calling it a night?"
"Sit. Eat." He gestured to the chair I had been bound to moments ago, now just another piece of furniture. "And I'll tell you all about your mother."
The choice hung in the air, heavy and humid, and mingled with the scent of the breakfast feast. Seeking revenge or unraveling secrets—both fucked-up menu options.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold," The hunger for truth gnawed at me more fiercely than the need to hurt him. "But I'm guessing there's no doggy bag for later, huh?"
"Only one serving per customer," Oswin replied and the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement.
"Fine," I groaned and speared a piece of bacon with more force than necessary. "Serve it up then, Chef. Let’s hear this fairytale of yours."
And with that, I braced myself for the tale that would either feed my soul or poison it.
Chapter
Nineteen
Iplunked down at the penthouse kitchen counter, a high-rise prison courtesy of Oswin Yorke. The plate in front of me was an Instagram-worthy breakfast—eggs done just right, bacon crisp but not burnt, and toast slathered with butter that was probably churned by angels or some shit. I forked a piece of egg into my mouth and cursed internally because goddammit, it was delicious. Oswin, the man who kidnapped me, played chef this morning, and every bite was another reminder that I was under his control.
"Enjoying it?" he asked. His voice oozed self-satisfaction from across the counter.
"Would rather choke on dry cereal," I muttered and shoveled in another mouthful while I glared daggers at him. This guy was starting to chip away at my defenses, and that pissed me off more than the kidnapping itself.
Up close, he was unfairly handsome. His sharp jawline and piercing eyes were the kind that'd make you consider sinning if you weren't careful. Annoyance prickled under my skin like static. I wanted to hate him—needed to—but the bastard made it hard.
"Look, Averill." His tone shifted with a strange seriousness that replaced his usual theatrics. "Your mother, Annette, she framed me for her death...and your father's imprisonment." He leaned back against the fridge, arms folded, and watched me for a reaction.
"Is that supposed to be your twisted version of a sob story?" I scoffed and pushed the plate away."Why the hell would she do that?"
"I wish I knew." Oswin’s face darkened. "But there’s a bigger game at play here, and we're both pawns."
"Speak for yourself. I’m no one's pawn," My words were a blade aimed straight at his over-inflated ego.
"Believe me or not, it's the truth," he said and his eyes held mine. It was infuriating how they seemed to glitter with secrets, daring me to dive in and uncover them.
“You're telling me my dead mother, who I've mourned for years, framed you for her own death? And somehow involved my father too?" My voice dripped with disbelief.
The nerve of this asshat.
"Look past what you feel and see what is real, Averill," Oswin said. His voice was infuriatingly soft and coaxing, trying to slip past my defenses by rhyming like fucking Dr.Suess.
"Real is a stretch." I shook my head and tried to dispel the fog of his words. "I need proof. I need... backup."
"Backup?" He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his lip twitched like he found my defiance amusing.
"Let me call Kylo and Ansel," I felt a surge of power with their names on my lips. Their presence was like a shield, a reminder that I wasn’t alone.
"And why would I do that?" Oswin tilted his head, almost like he genuinely gave a damn.
"Because they're part of this now, whether you like it or not. And because I'm not playing your little game without my cards on the table," I planted my feet firmly. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" His tone was innocent, but the crooked smile told another story.
"Like I'm the next dish you want to devour." The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
"Would you blame me?" He leaned in, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.
"Back off, or I'll—" I began, but faltered, trapped by the intensity in his gaze.
