One hiccup. Two hiccups. A sniff.
With my ear pressed against her door, I can hear every sound, every breath.
I can’t stop biting my lip as I listen, wondering what she’s doing right now. Something muffles her cries, a pillow perhaps. I imagine her hugging it tight as she curls up on my guest bed … her bed. In her room. The room I gave her as a prison to stay in.
I shouldn’t be here.
But I can’t stay away either. Wherever she is, I’ve always wanted to follow. It’s what drove me to her in the first place, what made me take her away from her father.
She’s right. I’m a cruel monster who only cares about his own desires. But a part of me, somewhere deep inside, wishes for something else too. Something … better. Something real.
But we can’t have that. We never could and never will.
Not when she’s my hostage, someone I keep in a soft and velvety cage for my selfish needs.
My hand lingers on the wood, nails digging in as my heart sinks into my shoes. I’m fighting the urge to unlock the door and go inside.
I have no place in her room. Not after taunting her to the brink of despair. Did I go too far? The knife and fork were only a game—a way to toy with her emotions—but the sight of her obeying me filled me with such power that it consumed me and made me lash out. I wanted her to eat that cake until she was full and then sink to her knees and take my cock as a second dessert.
But that was a filthy dream of mine. Nothing more.
I should’ve known my fantasies would interfere with my ability to reason. I couldn’t keep my cool and made her face the rage inside me. Of course, she’s upset.
I close my eyes and let out a sigh. I don’t want to be this mean. I want to make her happy.
But I want her to suffer too, and those wishes clash like hell. I want her to know what it did to me when she chose to deny me and chose her goddamn father over me. That fucking arrogant son of a bitch who didn’t even love her … who ruined her for me.
Who worked my father to death … literally.
Taking in a deep breath, I lean away from the door and stare at it for a few seconds. Then I turn around and walk away. But there will come a time when I won’t be able to keep that door locked. When I won’t stop myself from touching her … from kissing her. And that day will be here sooner than she thinks.
When morning comes, I instruct Nick to unlock her door and tell her to dress so we can eat breakfast. It takes her a while to come down—two hours, to be precise—and I don’t know why she needed that much time. The hunger must’ve gotten a bit too much for her to cope with, which I assumed would be the case. It doesn’t take long for a person to break when it comes to food. Just like water and sleep, it’s essential for a person to survive … and also the perfect tool for getting someone to do your bidding.
And what I want right now is for her to eat with me at this big table that is otherwise pretty empty without her. I’ve looked forward to this moment for ages.
When she enters the room in her floaty white gown that I had custom tailored to her size, it feels as though the entire room suddenly lights on fire. Her beautiful eyes blaze as she glares at me.
I know she hasn’t forgiven me yet, but that’s okay because I don’t expect her to. I do expect her to behave in an orderly fashion, though. As long as she obeys my rules, everyone will be happy and remain alive. Simple.
“Sit,” I say, pointing at the chair next to me. There’s plenty of space for her to sit, but I’ve asked them to set the table to ensure we can look each other in the eyes.
She observes the table, standing frozen in place before walking toward the other end of it and sitting as far away from me as possible. The deadly stare she gives me sets my body ablaze. Does she not realize it only makes the urge to grab her and fuck her right here on this table stronger?
All I want is her, and all she wants is to get away from me. How fitting.
A tepid smile forms on my lips as I clear my throat, and say to Nick, “Please bring Miss Davis her plate and cutlery. We wouldn’t want her to eat with her hands, now would we?”
She gives me a faux smile accompanied by eyes reduced to mere slits. I honestly imagine she’s shooting venom at me at this point, but I don’t mind. I know she’s upset, and she has every right to be, but that won’t change the fact she’s mine. I still won’t let her go, no matter how hard she tries to pretend she’s going to fight me on this.
Soon she’ll give in … and then I’ll ravish her bit by bit.
When Nick’s done setting the table, the food comes in, and her eyes immediately hone in on the cream-filled bagel I bought early this morning from an American baker in Amsterdam just for her. I know she likes these things, like cranberry juice, coffee without sugar or milk, and a fried egg on toast, sunny side up. All of which are stacked onto a plate and brought to her side of the table right now.
She sure loves pure tastes with no dilution and nothing from a can or a box. Everything has to be fresh with Miss Princess. Her eyes widen at the sight of all that delicious food. Her mouth must be salivating by now. I don’t even have to guess … I know because I took extensive notes on all her favorites courtesy of her father’s staff … and my own personal research, of course.
I clear my throat, and say, “If you eat your breakfast without protesting, I’ll overlook the fact you refused to sit next to me.”
She snorts and looks away, shaking her head, but she doesn’t respond. Typical for her, but I know she’s thinking a myriad of things. She’s just afraid to say them out loud.
I pick up my bagel and take a bite, but the more I swallow, the less she seems interested in her food.
“Go on. Eat.”
“No,” she says, folding her arms.
I’m offering her an olive branch right now, and she throws it right back in my face.
“Charlotte, are we going to play this game again?” I raise a brow at her, challenging her attempt to defy me once again. “Please don’t try. You know it’ll only end in heartbreak.”
“You mean pain,” she replies. “My pain.”
I wish her words didn’t cut into me the same way I’m slicing through the butter right now, but they do. I do desperately want to hurt her, but not in the way she thinks.
I don’t want her to feel the pain that I felt. I want her to feel the pain that makes you squirm, that makes your throat jam and takes your breath away. Not the kind where your heart is ripped out of your chest, thrown on the ground, and stomped on. Because that’s what I felt when she didn’t even acknowledge my existence in front of her father. Nor does she know the kind of pain you feel when you find your own father lying on the floor dead.
“You don’t know what pain is,” I growl back, angered by the memory.
She narrows her eyes. “Like you do.”
I stab the butter knife into the butter like a butcher’s knife into meat. “You don’t fucking know what I’ve been through, so don’t even try.”
“Really? Tell me then. Tell me how hard the world has been to you,” she jests, trying to get under my skin. It won’t work. I won’t let it.
“Eat. Your. Breakfast,” I say with a low, commanding voice. Then I proceed to eat my bagel and take a sip of my coffee.
“Only if you tell me why. Why all of this ‘pretending’ to be happy? Why do you even care? You already have me. What more could you want?”
I look up from my food, narrowing my eyes at her as I answer. “Your heart and soul … and I won’t stop until they belong to me.”
“Then you’ll die trying,” she says, picking up her bagel and taking a defiant bite. She can even turn food into an object of aggression. I don’t know how she does it, but she makes me want to dig my nails into my skin until I bleed.
“You say that now, but you’ll warm up to me eventually,” I say. Her tongue dips out to lick the spread from her lips, and I wish that was my tongue instead. Fuck.
“Why do you think that?” she asks, taking another bite.
“Because I charmed you once …” An arrogant smile curls my lips. “I can do it again.”
“Before I knew what a manipulative bastard you were, you mean,” she retorts.
“You’re angry because I do everything in my power to get what I want,” I say, and I put my coffee down. “Make no mistake, Charlotte. I may look like a gentleman, but I’m far from it. My only interest from the start has been to destroy your father’s business and take you as a prize.”
“I’m not a fucking object,” she hisses.
There she goes again with that dirty mouth of hers, but I like it. “You should swear more often. It takes the edge off things,” I taunt.
“Stop. Stop playing these games,” she spews.
“No. I like it when you’re uncomfortable,” I reply, cocking my head. “Gets me off.”
She growls out loud and then throws her bagel onto her plate. Leaning back in her chair, she crosses her arms across her chest with a scowl on her face. She reminds me of a child who’s not getting her way, but that’s something we can work on. After all, we have all the time in the world.
“So you planned this all along?” she mutters. “Tell me how.”
Does she really want to know? I can tell her, but it’ll only make her hate me more. Then again, maybe she’ll finally take me seriously and start listening. “I bought the last of your father’s stock and then sold it dirt cheap to make the markets plummet.”
She grabs the napkin to dab her lips, but she can’t help but scrunch it up in her hand as I talk.
“A few phone calls were all it took to make the other shareholders start selling … and for the price to drop like a stone in the water. It didn’t take long for the company to go bust and for his wife to abandon him and take whatever he had left. Poor fucker. I should feel sorry for him, shouldn’t I? But I’m glad he took my loan afterward. I was the only one who would offer him one after his business went to shit, of course.” I chuckle and take the last bite of my bagel, but Charlotte doesn’t seem remotely amused. What a surprise.
“So it was you?” she hisses, barely able to control herself. I wonder what she’s going to do as she clenches the napkin in her hand. Will she try to throw her knife at me? Or will she dig her claws into my skin to make it personal?
“You ruined him and his company and then took me too just for fun …” she murmurs.
I brace myself for the ensuing fight. I wait and wait … except nothing happens.
Instead, she begins to sniff, her eyes turning red and puffy, and then a single tear rolls down her cheeks. Beautifully broken is how she looks … but still fierce like a lion willing to fight its way out of the cage. And she stands proudly, gives me one fixated glare, and stampedes out the door, leaving me simmering alone. Just as only a true queen would.
