The Sun manor sparkled by the time I finished my first day.
Sure, I’d commandeered Zach’s obnoxious war vehicle for a joy ride and flipped the stone penis on the Roman statue in the garden maze upside down. (Not like I was the one who broke it in the first place.)
But overall, I’d left the place in better shape than I’d found it, granted it’d already come in tip-top condition. Nothing out of place. Not even a toothpick.
When I yanked the heavy double doors open and slugged toward my ancient Prius, my lock screen read half past seven. Way too late to trek down a quarter-mile driveway in the pitch dark in any other town but Potomac.
All the other homes on Dark Prince Road lit up with lights. Not Zach’s. Nope. He preferred to broadcast what a hellish existence he lived.
I trudged down the driveway, cursing my new boss.
This morning, when I’d pulled up to the iron gates, a security guard had instructed me to park outside the property.
He’d shrugged. “Boss’ order.”
I didn’t doubt it.
It sounded right up Satan’s alley to torture me, just for the fun of it. Cheap entertainment to see me running all the way to his mansion in the rain.
What a total asshat.
And yet, something fragile lurked beneath his surface that I couldn’t explain. The way he almost shriveled into himself when faced with human touch broke my heart.
I couldn’t hate him all the way, even when I knew I probably should.
Autumn leaves crunched under my boots. The gurgling water fountain washed over my ears as I lumbered past it.
I made it to the security gate, walking through it rather than climbing over it this time.
Across from me, the sprawling Costa mansion glowed with creamy lights, even from this distance.
I stopped and stared from afar, too exhausted to be concerned with how pathetic I looked.
A food truck rumbled past their private gate and sailed up the half-mile driveway, leaving the scent of ginger, lemongrass, and cinnamon in its wake.
Catering.
For a normal weekday dinner.
A current of drool fought its way past my teeth. I hadn’t eaten all day.
I spotted the blurred figure of a very pregnant woman. Dallas Costa, perhaps?
She burst through the entryway, racing to the truck in a glamorous knee-length canary-yellow dress.
Behind her, her husband tugged her back, sweeping her into his arms, so she didn’t have to walk.
They cooed into each other’s ears as an army of servers carried trays out of the trunk and into the house.
My heart wept with jealousy.
I wondered, for the millionth time, how different people could lead such different lives in the same zip code.
To my left, Oliver von Bismarck’s gates remained permanently open as a queue of luxury cars filed through.
Music blared into the street. He was probably throwing another salacious party. And by party, I meant orgy.
Rumors traveled fast in this town.
“Oliver is a self-proclaimed vaginivore,” I remembered Reggie telling Tabby. “He finds pleasure with anyone he deems pretty enough to become his next meal.”
I bet he didn’t have a care in the world.
I bet he never had to wonder how he’d pay a debt or preserve his father’s legacy.
Stop the pity party, Fae.
Struggles aren’t bad. You enjoy the view more if you climb there.
A brief honk pulled my attention away from the von Bismarck mansion. Thick mud splashed onto my sneakers as a Maybach rumbled to a stop beside me.
The rear window rolled down, revealing an older woman whose age I couldn’t quite pin down.
She wore a Lululemon jacket over an Ernest Leoty bodysuit that showed off her Pilates build. A tartan Burberry gym bag consumed the rest of the leather bench.
It shocked me that this stunning woman had given birth to a son whose feral smile resembled a health crisis.
“Farrow.” She untucked her AirPods from her ears. “Do you have a minute?”
Zach’s mother knew my name?
The Sun family sure did their homework.
Then again, I recognized her from my own research.
I nodded, but it didn’t matter.
Her chauffeur had already shifted the car into Park. He exited, swung open Mrs. Sun’s door, and offered a hand. She accepted it, stepping out with grace.
Judging by the flat line of her lips, I suspected that I’d enjoy conversing with her as little as I did her spawn.
Still, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, pasting a polite smile on my lips.
She arched a brow. “You’re Zachary’s new housekeeper, correct?”
I shrugged but didn’t say anything.
“I’m Constance. His mother.”
“I know.”
She didn’t offer me her hand, but I knew it had nothing to do with a phobia. Didn’t matter.
Dad always said—No one can devalue you without your consent.
Well, permission not granted.
Constance tightened her perfect ponytail. “You were at Zach’s party, weren’t you?”
Another nod.
And a… bark?
Three fluffy Corgis peeked their heads from the gaping window. They wore matching outfits, better dressed than I’d ever be.
Constance petted one of their heads through the window, her eyes still holding me hostage. “Zach seems to have taken a liking to you.”
Truly, there was no need for the disgusted tone. Her words made as much sense as the annual turkey pardoning.
Behind her, the Maybach blocked my Prius. Still, I fished a key from my backpack, jabbing the unlock button.
The car beeped twice.
I considered it my reply.
“Not a big talker, I see. Just as well, I suppose.” She dusted fur off her hands, nodding. “Let’s cut straight to the chase. My son is an excellent predator. As such, he decided to bring home his prey. But you’re wrong for him.”
“Am I, now?” I knotted a cheap scarf over my neck. The heater in the car was one of many luxuries I couldn’t afford.
“No offense.”
“None taken. It’s a compliment. Your son is very… peculiar.”
The dig bounced off her, probably cushioned by the truth laced into it. “I have nothing against you.”
“Great to hear.”
“It’s just… Zach is at an important juncture in his life. I fear you might interfere with his decisions. That he’s confused and blinded by your… your…” Her eyes scraped a path from my choppy hair down to my muddy shoes, searching for one positive thing to say about me. “…cunningness, perhaps.”
I wondered how long this conversation would take. I needed to do my stretches and run a few miles before dinner.
She toyed with the simple Chanel necklace resting between her collarbones. “Look, I’m sure you’re a lovely girl, who will make someone very happy. But that someone isn’t my son.”
The cold bit into my flesh like a ravenous animal.
I arched a brow, hoping to end this before I succumbed to frostbite. “You do know I spent the entire day cleaning his toilets, right? Not pole dancing on his Greek columns.”
“French, not Greek.” Her nostrils flared. “Nevertheless, you need to quit.”
“Maybe.” I walked around the Maybach to my Prius, tossed my backpack into the passenger seat, and opened the driver’s side. “But I need the money more.”
And all the help Zach promised would come along with it.
“I’ll write you a check.”
She slammed my door before I could slip in, plastering herself against the rusted metal. Her toned figure barely covered a fraction of it.
A ridiculous thought entered my head—how could something so small birth someone so big?
Constance stretched her arms wide, blocking me. “Name your price.”
“That’s the thing.” I folded my arms over my chest. “My integrity doesn’t come with a price tag.”
That was rich, considering what I’d done to get myself kicked out of competitive fencing, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Your integrity will come with a price tag if it ensures my son’s happiness.” She tipped her chin up, refusing to move. “And there is nothing more important to me than his joy.”
Wow. Okay.
I’d tried to be polite, but she’d shattered my patience.
The knots in my back taunted me. I didn’t need to deal with her son’s demands and hers, too.
For once, I wanted to be the sword, not the fencer.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I brought a hand to my chest, brows furrowed in mock sorrow. “I caught him in his closet after his date, crying into a bottle of champagne. Poor guy. Seems to have truly lost it. Vomited all over a brand-new Armani suit.”
The astonishment on her face practically pried her jaw off its hinges. I glanced around, wondering how Zach planned on destroying my life if his mother died of a heart attack right here.
She snapped her jaw shut. “I want you out of his house and away. Do not be ridiculous. Take the money and go.”
On cue, her driver lowered the window on our side, handing her a checkbook.
I reached into the Maybach to pet her dogs. One rested its front paws on my hand, licking my fingers and wrist. “Two million dollars.”
I didn’t know where the number came from. It seemed obscene. But it wasn’t like she didn’t have that kind of money.
I bet her freaking sneakers cost more.
“You cannot be serious.” She waved at the pup, shooing it away from me.
Apparently, it wasn’t just Zach I wasn’t good enough for.
“I accept cash and Bitcoin only. Wouldn’t want the feds to take their forty percent.” I straightened, gesturing to my Prius. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Constance Sun glanced at her Apple watch, shook her head, and stared up at the sky, which had decided to sprinkle rain onto this already miserable encounter. “One-point-five.”
Oh my God.
She was serious.
“Two million, or you’ll have to suffer through sharing a dinner table with me every Thanksgiving.” I grinned. “I’ll buy you the ugliest sweaters for Jesus’ b-day.”
“We’re atheists.”
“I’m not. Zach will respect my religion.” I cocked my head to the side. “Are you a small or extra-small? And do you prefer space pizzas or Christmas lights?”
Panic skated over her face.
She’d actually taken me seriously.
“Fine. Fine. Bitcoin.”
I was momentarily speechless.
She wanted to give me two million dollars to quit?
A part of me—a big part—wanted to take it.
But another part told me Zach had offered something far more precious than cash. The most talented, connected lawyers and private investigators and unlimited resources to get to the bottom of what happened to Dad.
“Actually.” I scrunched my nose. “I think I’ll stick around, after all. Nothing like a job that gives you a bit of gossip.”
Her hand flew to her chest.
It took everything not to burst into laughter. Rich people weren’t used to being rejected, especially after flaunting their money.
If she’d approached me politely, without condescension and cruel assumptions, I might have said yes.
But we’d never know now.
“This isn’t over.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Mrs. Sun.” I drew out the words, maintaining eye contact. “You won’t bully me into submission.”
She pinned me with a look before disappearing as fast as she’d come.
Sensing something—someone—I twisted my head, looking up to the grand bay windows of Zach’s manor.
He stood there, staring out the glass. At me.
Our gazes tangled.
His didn’t waver.
I’m not going to back down, my eyes said.
He smiled, and I could almost hear the word on his lips.
Good.
