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The same prostitute who asked me if I minded protecting her from handsy clients for a ten percent cut. Needless to say, living here is an experience.
The kid nods and runs to the bathroom, washing his hands. He rushes back to the kitchen while I open the fridge and take out the pot, ready to heat it. “Have you eaten something today?” He nods again, although I doubt it since he practically vibrates with anticipation when I put food on the plates and place it on the table, diving right in.
I wonder what will happen to him once all this is done.
The kid makes me feel less lonely in this awful town that’s so beautiful yet unwelcoming to me.
We eat in silence for several beats as he periodically grins at me and pats his stomach, telling me that he enjoys it. I think I should invest in some sign language program. Maybe we can find something for him to learn so he can communicate with the world better. And arrange a doctor’s appointment to determine whether it’s a physiological or psychological problem.
Can’t afford it for shit, though.
I sigh inwardly. I probably will have to call Callum. At this rate, the dude will block me for good soon.
Finishing up, I load everything in the dishwasher as the kid jumps on the couch, already turning on the cartoons and grinning while covering himself with his blanket, and that’s when the envelope snags my attention again.
My pathetic self felt so sorry for myself I didn’t even open it on the way home and then wanted nothing else but to hop in the shower to clean myself up from the hurtful words akin to razor slices through my skin.
“What is it? Another threat?” Or maybe he wants to buy me off? If there is a check, I’m so cashing it in to pay for the doctor’s visit and will donate the rest. Screw being noble with these entitled assholes. “Oh.” I rip it open, and a card falls into my palm when I realize it’s an invitation.
To Atlas Price’s eighty-fifth birthday tomorrow.
Even if I haven’t done excessive research on the dark four, I would still know his name, considering Atlas is legendary in the business and design world alike, always striving for success and luxury.
While his character leaves a lot to be desired, he’s wildly respected for tripling his family fortune and building the Price dynasty into what it is today.
One thing no one could ever question him on despite all the shit he pulled over the years is his devotion and love for his family. He protects them fiercely, and if you hurt one of his own, his wrath is absolute.
Price men might be easygoing and charming, but you better never fuck with any of them because the rest will eat you alive.
They’ve planned the celebration for the past year. The elite practically stayed on the edge of their seats waiting for an invitation because only the best deserve it. The patriarch’s birthday is a privilege not everyone is worthy of, and no one wants to be in the unworthy category when it comes to the richest of the rich.
The Prices don’t just want the best; they demand it. And if they send you an invitation, you have to go.
Otherwise, they ban you from everywhere. That’s how much power this dynasty has.
Despite having given the business reins to his son long ago, Atlas still designs their jewelry pieces along with his grandson, and they sell obscene amounts. Callum gifted one to Giselle, and even my broke ass found it mesmerizing and worth the money, the diamonds glistening so brightly one could go blind.
Florian invited me to his grandfather’s birthday? Why? People literally had to beg Atlas on his knees to get an invite, and he just randomly gave me one?
“You can go to hell, Florian.” I open the trash can and drop the invitation there that’s a mockery in itself. What would I even wear?
The minute I step foot inside, everyone will judge me and say shit to me, and maybe that’s what the dark four crave.
To show me that I don’t belong and never will.
Well, they shouldn’t worry! I’m not chasing their friend anymore. I have pride and can avenge my parents without his help.
My phone vibrates, and I grab it, frowning.
Follow the rules, pretty little thing. No one can touch you. Remember that.
It falls on the counter with a loud clutter while I step away, breathing heavily at the implication of this message and what it means.
Pretty little thing.
Only that monster called me this, and he spies on my life so much he even knows what I’d done tonight.
Thousands of thoughts play in my mind when my phone buzzes again, the sound breaking disgusting goose bumps all over me.
