Protector's Claim

By Airicka Phoenix

Gabrielle Thornton

I made a mistake.

I allowed myself to be born. I allowed myself access into a life that wasn’t mine, and for that, I had willingly submitted my body and soul to a man whose sadistic pleasures knew no bound, a man who relished in my pain as much as he craved my flesh.

A monster I would do anything to escape.

But what if I could make it stop? What if the cost of freedom was a single night in a stranger’s arms? What if one final sin was all I needed to commit to find peace?

Kieran Kincaid

I had always known of the sickness that lived inside my father, the demons who controlled the man. His death was a blessing to every innocent he’d destroyed with his dark hunger.

Yet, despite his demise becoming my curse, a shackle trapping me in his twisted secrets, it lured me to it, too. It promised me the thing I coveted above all else. It seduced me deeper into the world I wish I knew nothing of, but there was no turning back, not even if by accepting, by taking what didn’t belong to me made me a monster like him.

Gabby would finally be mine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Airicka Phoenix
• Release date: Oct 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386064640

Airicka Phoenix

Airicka Phoenix is a multi genre author of over twenty-five bestselling novels starring strong female leads and sexy alpha heroes. She started her journey after never finding the type of books she wanted to read. Her love of tortured souls and forbidden romance carried her into writing her own hard-earned happiness. Currently, she lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her babies and can be found hard at work on her next project. For more about Airicka, visit her at AirickaPhoenix.com

Book preview

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DEDICATION

For my lovers of the dark & twisted.

PROTECTOR’S CLAIM BLURB

Gabrielle Thornton

I made a mistake.

I allowed myself to be born. I allowed myself access into a life that wasn’t mine, and for that, I had willingly submitted my body and soul to a man whose sadistic pleasures knew no bound, a man who relished in my pain as much as he craved my flesh.

A monster I would do anything to escape.

But what if I could make it stop? What if the cost of freedom was a single night in a stranger’s arms? What if one final sin was all I needed to commit to find peace?

Kieran Kincaid

I had always known of the sickness that lived inside my father, the demons who controlled the man. His death was a blessing to every innocent he’d destroyed with his dark hunger.

Yet, despite his demise becoming my curse, a shackle trapping me in his twisted secrets, it lured me to it, too. It promised me the thing I coveted above all else. It seduced me deeper into the world I wish I knew nothing of, but there was no turning back, not even if by accepting, by taking what didn’t belong to me made me a monster like him.

Gabby would finally be mine.

Chapter One — Gabrielle

Six Weeks Ago...

Sellable: to give up or surrender in exchange for a price or reward: to sell one’s soul to the devil — a word I had never used to describe myself.

Yet, I tasted my own failures sitting in that compressed little room. It was the repugnant sting of a final meal with too much salt and desperation.

I hated myself.

I pitied the person I’d been forced to become.

That I’d allowed myself to become.

This was on me.

Can you come on command?

The unabashed question hung in the oppressive weight of the room, a personal invasion I had given permission to and couldn’t ignore.

I eyed the thick, hairy man seated across the desk from me with his sweat stains and foul odor. Gin exuded from his pores and created a thick sheen across his heavy brow. It glistened in the sickly hue radiating from the single lamp lit between us.

He sickened me.

Everything about the place did.

But this foul, little man was the only person in the world who could help me.

I’m sorry?

Fat knuckles rapped the end of his blue pen on the folder open in front of him.

My folder.

The photo I’d been asked to provide was held to the corner by a silver paperclip.

I hated that picture. Granted, I hated any picture with me in it. I wasn’t photogenic at the best of times, but even less when I was expected to act natural for the camera.

This was no exception.

I resembled someone who had been on the heavy stuff for too long. The flash had made my face stark and waxy. My green eyes appeared dull and too big, and I’d made the mistake of pulling my blonde hair back that day, so I looked spooked, strung out, and bald.

You left it blank.

I had left many of his questions blank. Most of them, I hadn’t understood. The other half was too horrifying to even entertain.

I don’t know what it means, I explained lamely.

Large hands folded one on top of the other with the pen still threaded through the fingers. Small, beady eyes the exact shade of animal turd bore into me, heavily shadowed by his caterpillar eyebrows.

It’s when you’re told to come and you do. It’s self-explanatory.

When put like that, I probably should have guessed, but it wasn’t as if I were some kind of expert on the matter. If anything, he was the idiot. If he had only read all the way through my answers, he would have known without having to embarrass me by asking.

No, I answered quietly. I mean, I don’t think so. I’m not sure.

He scribbled something in the space I’d left open for interpretation.

It was my first sit down with Hans, but my third interview. Not one had felt right, or natural. Not Hans. Not the pretty blonde woman in the café. Not the robot-faced man behind the counter at the insurance kiosk. Each one seemed steadily worse.

"You’re still a virgin?"

Virgin was enunciated with a guffaw of disbelief, a heavy slap of scorn that burned my cheeks with his verbal handprint. If I had even a lick of any kind of confidence, I would have said something. I would have at least pointed to the note the doctor his people had sent me to had written verifying that very fact. It was in there somewhere, in his massive, methodical folder. I knew it was, because getting that tiny slip of paper had been one of the most mortifying experiences of my life.

Yes.

Hans nodded a large head that was just a wee bit flat on top, like someone had tried to make him shorter than he already was and ended up pressing his skull in.

Why?

I blinked when he raised his face and fixed me with those prodding eyes. I’m sorry?

Why are you a virgin? he repeated, speaking very slow now, like I was an idiot. Says you’re twenty-two. That isn’t normal. Was it religious reasons? Personal reasons?

Personal, I semi-lied.

I didn’t think he’d understand if I told him I’d already sold my virginity once before. The person just hadn’t claimed it yet, not until after graduation. That was the deal. He would kill me if he knew what I was doing, if he knew I was giving away the thing he considered his.

But that was an answer I couldn’t give Hans. I doubted he would take my confession as endearing or mildly entertaining. If anything, he’d probably deny my application on principal. After all, he made money selling sex, selling women. It wouldn’t make sense to waste time on a woman whose only reason for remaining a virgin was because she’d been forbidden to have sex with anyone else.

You have read the requirements?

I nodded.

He continued to jot down notes while he talked, simultaneously doing both effortlessly. You will not meet the client outside the safety of our house. You will not take money after the act is finished. You are selling a service, not yourself. This is not prostitution. All money made during the auction will be divided sixty-forty with the house taking a larger percentage due to expenses. You will be paid in check at the end of your session. The client will be given your file before every session. He will know your limits, your preferences, etc, but occasionally, in the heat of the moment, if they should forget, you will be given a safe word. You are encouraged to use it if you feel uncomfortable, or need security. The rooms are equipped with voice monitors designed to pick up those words and those words only. It will alert the staff and someone will come to make sure you are all right. Your safety is our only priority. Do you understand so far?

I nodded again.

He paused just long enough to make sure, then went back to his writing and talking. You will be issued a handler, a medium between you and the clients. They will vet each client carefully and make sure they match your criteria. He flipped the page over and continued down the back. You are not to do drugs before or during your session. You are not to be intoxicated or medicated. You will not stray from character while in session. Clients may request a certain scene and it is your job to provide that. You will be trained by our professional choreographers and kept up to date on all popular fetishes, tastes, plays, etc. Do you have any questions?

I shook my head.

I told myself this was what I wanted, what I actually needed, but it didn’t stave the feeling of nausea building in my throat. I’d gone my entire life never wanting sex, yet there I was, signing away the one thing that made me physically sick to even think about. But dire times required dire solutions, was what David would have said. We all have to do what needs to be done, whether we wanted to or not. Selling my body was cliché, mortifying, degrading, and terrifying, but it was the only valuable thing I owned.

Gabrielle Thornton?

I shook out of my thoughts and blinked at the man. Yes?

Hans looked up. Is that the name you want to use?

There wasn’t a person on earth who didn’t know the Thornton name. My family legacy was legendary. As famous as the Rothschilds, Waltons, and Ferreros. It was impossible not to know who we were.

Hans knew.

He’d known the moment he’d scanned my photo ID. But other than a raised eyebrow, he hadn’t brought it up. He hadn’t asked why the daughter of David Thornton was coming to him for money when her father could easily buy the entire city. I liked him a little for that. But I knew he would be the only one. Anyone else and my business would have been all over the press.

Hans couldn’t afford that.

Neither could I.

No, I said.

His head nodded like that made perfect sense. What is the name you want clients to call you?

I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t...

We can put it in later. Just think of something before the first auction.

The first auction.

Hans had already explained that I could return as often as I wanted. As long as I needed the money. The application process wouldn’t be as grueling, but it would still need to be done to update the changes.

I would still need to attend the auction.

I would still need to be sold.

Every time.

When...?

Hans barely glanced up when answering, "In six weeks, after your training.

Chapter Two — Gabrielle

Six weeks later...

Thornton Manor greeted me with the same cold, calculating emptiness it always had. Its columns of ivory, it’s gleaming windows, and marble floors remained an elusive, and bitter friend I could never fully convince I wasn’t a traitor. Standing at its steps, head tilted up to embrace its grander, I was still struck by its intimidating force, by the shame that quickly followed. It knew, like the people dwelling within, that I did not belong there. That I was an outsider, a weasel in the hen house. I was not wanted and yet I continued to return like a loyal dog.

As the youngest of three, one would think the attention would be kind, loving even as I was the baby. That I would get all the support and leniency. But everyone knew the bastard child of infidelity seldom received compassion in the betrayed’s family.

My mother had had an affair. She’d admitted it to David and he had forgiven her.

I was another matter entirely.

I had soiled the Thornton name.

I had tainted the royal blood.

I had forced myself into a place I did not belong, a weed amongst a valley of roses, and I hadn’t had the courage to abort myself before being pushed into the world.

All sins I would forever be condemned for.

Gabrielle. The sultry purr with the musky potency of red wine bled through the late October breeze, equally brittle, equally dismissive. You came.

Cordelia, the second born, the golden goose of her father’s eye, the greatest replacement for a son any man could ever ask for, unfurled miles of legs and supermodel grace from her sleek Lamborghini — a gift from David. Her platinum mane glinted like the fine threads of corn silk in the sharp sun, each glossy strand was twisted expertly into a French knot to compliment the oval structure of her face. She wore Mother’s pearl earrings, I noted with some dejection. I’d always loved those.

Hello Cordelia.

She sashayed towards me as if she were in the middle of a Paris photoshoot. Every willowy limb moved and swayed in time with the crack of heels across stone.

Has Eric arrived?

Eric, the first born, was the only male heir and the love of their mother’s entire existence. There wasn’t a single drug charge, speeding ticket, or assault charge she hadn’t made vanish for him. All lies, in her eyes. Fabricated stories to ruin her precious son’s reputation. But Eric’s most recent vehicle, the one he had yet to demolish in some drunken rage, wasn’t parked in the cul-de-sac.

I don’t think so, I told my sister.

I couldn’t make out Cordelia’s icy blue eyes behind her Gucci sunglasses, but I could feel them slip away from me and linger on my 97’ Honda Civic parked discreetly off to one side. I knew it, because the one corner of her mouth quirked upwards the way only pretty girls knew how to do when they were silently laughing at someone. I braced myself for the comments, for the sly little jabs I should have been fairly used to at that point.

Instead, she made this little tittering sound at the back of her throat and started around me. I waited a full heartbeat before pivoting on my sensible three-inch heels and following.

Jameson, my father’s butler for what felt like the last eight hundred years, opened the door before we reached the top.

He inclined his graying head to Cordelia.

Ms. Thornton.

Then brushed aside to let us in.

Cordelia swept in, dainty hands already unfastening the fat, ivory buttons on her beige coat. She shrugged free and Jameson immediately accepted it when she practically tossed the article at him.

Where is Father? she asked, fluidly removing her glasses and scanning the grand foyer.

As if on cue, David Thornton descended the graceful sweep of the staircase, his strides sprinkled with just a hint of quickness a Thornton should never show, because Thornton’s never hurried for anyone. But he hit the bottom landing and made a beeline for his daughter.

Cordy.

I looked away as he embraced her and brushed her perfectly rosy cheeks with kisses. I focused on removing my own coat and handing it to Jameson with a quiet murmur of thanks.

Gabrielle.

David had released Cordelia and had finally noticed me, but the appraisal he gave me was nothing like the one he’d given her. There was nothing fatherly about his once over. There never was. Instead, it left me feeling violated and dirty. The long-sleeved dress that went nearly to my ankles wasn’t enough fabric to protect me from his dark, soulless eyes. I had to resist the urge to cross my arms, knowing any attempts to cover myself from him would result in repercussions much worse later. All I could do was offer him my best smile, just the way he liked it, ignoring the slimy sensation in the pit of my stomach as if I’d consumed a nest of snakes. It took all my senses to maintain eye contact the whole time.

David had always been a ruggedly handsome man. He’d gone from being a wealthy, athletic lady’s man in school, to a cunning businessman later on. He’d always been the ideal candidate for any gold digger. Even in his later years, he stubbornly kept to his fit figure and took monthly trips to touch up any undesirable blemishes that came with age. He forever remained that arrogantly smug lacrosse hero from his youth, the one with dazzling blue eyes and a head full of perfect hair. The only thing he’d allowed to change was the graceful graying in the strands. He considered it his greatest feature, the ability to keep all his hair, unlike his counterparts.

Hello Father.

The corner of David’s mouth bunched as it always did when I used the F word, a fleeting wince that contradicted the very strict instructions he’d given me my entire life to always call him Father. Never David. Never Dad. Father. Yet, he flinched every time I did, as if I’d cussed. Now was no exception, except it was followed by his focus reverting to the driveway through the open door behind me.

Jameson, did one of the maids leave their car in front again?

I turned as well, not entirely sure why, but secretly hoping there was another car he was referring to. But no.

That’s mine, I said.

To his credit, David almost didn’t make a face. It was more of a subtle little tick just above his right eye.

Of course. He drew in a breath and turned away, turned back to Cordelia where his flourishing smile returned. He offered her his arm. Come. I have instructed the new cook to make all your favorites.

New cook? Cordelia chuckled and slipped her slender hand through the crook of his elbow. What happened to that fellow from the Mediterranean?

The two of them glided away, leaving me no choice but to follow. I checked my watch and timed my departure exactly one hour from the moment I set foot in the parlor.

Sunday dinners were a mandatory affair. All Thornton’s, legitimate or not, were required to attend. Sundays were days for rich, lavish meals and talk of their many successes that past week. It was filled with chatter about politics, charity events, and me. But never directly. Always with an added little barb too underhanded to actually address.

Cordelia was the queen of underhanded insults.

So, of course, I boarded the plane straight away and got to Paris just in time to save the entire magazine before it was an absolute disaster, Cordelia was saying when I took a corner seat out of the way.

David, for Cordelia’s twenty-fifth birthday, had bought her a magazine. Not simply a glossy booklet, but the actual company. And not just any company, Le Fever, a pristine and highly popular fashion magazine that had once humiliated her for wearing fall shoes in the spring. The first thing she’d done upon accepting her new CEO role, was to fire the columnist who had written that article. Then she’d taken to the business like a true daughter of David Thornton.

The magazine was thriving, much to most people’s surprise.

I hope you fired the editor, David reprimanded, from the drink cart where he poured one glass of whiskey and a martini with extra olives. The martini was pressed into Cordelia’s perfectly manicured hands. That’s inexcusable.

I didn’t get myself a drink.

Everything, including the water, came with a price I literally could not afford. And I knew if I so much as looked at it, Cordelia would make some pithy remark about scraps and beggars, because nothing in that house was mine.

I was an unwanted freeloader, an unwelcome leech sucking the family dry. My only purpose was to be present, be quiet, and leave as quickly as possible.

The front doors blew open. The resounding bang of heavy wood creating a dent in the plaster resonated through the entire manor. It was followed by the riotous laughter of too many male voices.

I instinctively rose from my seat and tucked myself away by the picture window, the one nearly out of view of the doors when the small crowd barged in.

Eric strolled in with the strides of a king. He was followed by two of his obedient friends, Alton Grant and Knox Laird, the spoiled sons of an oil tycoon and an investment banker. Judging from the crimson in their cheeks and the touch of unsteadiness in their stance, I wagered they’d had their own party before arriving.

Eric. David’s disapproval silenced the cackling. It was nice to see that look aimed at someone else for a change. I was not made aware that you would be inviting guests this evening.

Just a few school friends, Father. Eric grinned. We’ve always got plenty.

School friends was stretching it when none of them had seen the inside of a school in seven years, and barely even before that. But to be fair, Eric had gone to university with the pair. They’d spent the majority of it partying and sleeping with every girl that crossed their path. It was a wonder any of them graduated. I had a suspicion the school had been properly convinced to make sure they did.

David pursed his lips, but we all knew he couldn’t say a damn. Of course.

Eric and his hoard of idiots stampeded into the parlor, dragging mud and filth across Mother’s antique rug. They took the entire length of the sofa I’d been sitting on. But no sooner had Eric’s backside touched the cushion when he sprung right back up and made a path to the drink cart. The clink of glasses being filled interrupted the silence that had unfolded since Eric’s arrival. The drinks were brought over and distributed.

So, Eric took a slurping sip and smacked his lips. What did we miss?

Just waiting on your mother, was David’s curt reply.

But it wasn’t Marcella Thornton who stalked into the room after nearly five rigid minutes of Eric and his friends making inappropriate jokes about the co-ed they’d tag teamed the night before. It wasn’t her stubbornly kept figure occupying the threshold, or her floral scent washing into the room.

Instead, the shadow was of a man who meant everything and absolutely nothing to me. The mere sight of him propelled my lungs to promptly forget their purpose. They sat in my chest, confused while my heart struggled to make up for their inadequacy. My stomach jittered, a frantic little dance that made my nerves tingle and my skin prickle. I was aware of him in a way I had absolutely no right to, in a way that mortified me, shamed me into folding myself deeper in my tiny corner.

The chill from outside bit through the cotton fabric of my dress and burned the bony curve of my spine where it flattened against the glass, but I didn’t dare pull away.

I didn’t dare move in fear that he might notice me.

I hope I’m not too late.

His baritone hum vibrated through the room, masculine dominance swaddled in silk. The sheer force of it was like the perfect tease of a lover’s fingertips gliding over exposed skin. Not that I had any knowledge of that, but my skin never failed to prickle when he spoke.

Kieran, my boy! David sprung to his feet and closed the distance to shake the other man’s hand with a vigor he never showed anyone. You’re right on time. We were just having drinks before dinner.

Kieran Kincaid.

He’d walked into my life one balmy, July afternoon seven years before dressed in torn jeans and a leather jacket, and I was never the same. He no longer dressed with reckless disregard, but the form fitting suits were no better at keeping at bay the seductive pull of the man beneath. He still made my heart jump at the mere sight of him, which was every Sunday like clockwork.

I wasn’t the only one.

The Thornton family adored him, and not just because David and Kieran’s father had been close friends before Walter Kincaid’s untimely passing. The Kincaid’s were influential, wealthy beyond reason, and one foot away from being practically royalty. Kieran was David’s wet dream. With ties like the Kincaids, David could run for world leader and win.

My needs for Kieran were far more complicated. I was almost certain they were borderline immoral. I just wasn’t sure how exactly. But everything about my feelings for him felt wrong, dirty even. Not out of anything he’d ever done, but because of who I was; someone like Kieran deserved someone better. Someone not tainted by things out of their control. Someone who wouldn’t embarrass him to be seen with.

I was not that person.

I never would be.

Kieran was directed to the high back armchair while David went to get him a drink. Long hands with tapered fingers undid the glossy button holding the dark blazer closed over his crisp, white dress shirt and the soft material parted. The silver buckle of his belt winked once before he bent at the waist and accepted the cushion.

Hello Cordelia, he said politely. You look lovely this evening.

The second martini in Cordelia’s dainty grasp was lifted to her lips and drained before she answered, You’re looking quite charming yourself, Mr. Kincaid.

Eric said something to his friends and the trio snickered like teenage delinquents.

The sound redirected warm, amber eyes over the coffee table to the grown men in the opposite sofa.

Eric. Kieran fixed the man in the middle with his full attention, a terrifying place to be when that stare had the power to look straight into your soul. How’s life?

It was an odd sort of question given that we’d all been sitting in that exact room, in those exact seats only a week before. At the same time, it really wasn’t that strange. Eric lived life the way I always imagined a man with not a care in the world would, with abundance and extravagance. I’d always envied him that ability. He’d been everywhere, seen everything. Minus the drugs, booze, and women, he lived the way I’d always wanted. So, for Eric, a week was practically a year in the life of a normal person.

My half-brother scoffed. You’d know if you hadn’t gone all upstanding citizen on me.

Kieran offered him the ghost of a smile that tipped higher on the right side, reminding me of the old Kieran, the one Eric was talking about. That Kieran had been nothing but trouble in all the ways that mattered. That Kieran probably scared me more than the Kieran seated before me now, because the old Kieran could melt the panties off a girl from a hundred paces with that grin alone. I’d never been on the receiving end of it, but I’d felt the brush of it from a distance, the backwash as it homed in on someone else like a laser.

The old Kieran had been a lot like Eric back then. They’d been identical, best friends. Practically inseparable, but that Kieran had been gone for years. I never got the chance to know him, but I’m not so sure I missed him when left with the now Kieran. 

Perhaps next time.

Eric snorted, believing Kieran nearly as much as I did. You’ve washed out. We used to have some crazy times. We’re too young to be tied down.

There was a hard edge to Kieran’s firm mouth now, even while it curved in a passable show of amusement. Thirty-five is hardly that young and we all have to grow up eventually.

I almost laughed at the idea of Eric ever growing up. So long as he had Mother paying to get him out of every problem and David’s money to ease the way, he would squander everything life handed him. I doubted anything would ever make him change his way.

It was a shame, really. He was the eldest, the heir to the Thornton fortune. After David’s death, it would all go to him, not that David was stupid enough to do such a thing. Odds were, everything would be left to Cordelia, and it would be up to her to decide where and who had access. Eric would most likely wind up with nothing, except maybe liver problems, and a coke addiction.

I would get nothing. Not even a paperclip. The illegitimate bastard didn’t deserve any more of David’s family money. He’d already spent enough the last eighteen years just by keeping me, of which I was to be eternally grateful.

It didn’t matter. I didn’t want his money. I didn’t even want to be in that family. Had I been allowed a choice, I would have stayed in my little apartment, as far away from that place and those people as possible.

But appearances were everything. What would people say if I didn’t make the mandatory weekend dinners? Never mind that there was only the one person who would actually witness my absence and it wouldn’t do for Kieran to know I wasn’t a Thornton, especially not with the plans David had for him. My bloodline was a secret that needed to go to our graves with us.

I’m sorry! Mother clacked into the room in her black wrap dress and velvet pumps. Her hair bounced around slender shoulders in a wave of silky sunshine. Her blue eyes shone just a little too brightly against the heart shaped contours of her face. I’ve been on the phone this entire time. I hate that I kept everyone waiting.

That may have been true, I mused, but it was unlikely. Mom didn’t have any friends. It was unclear if that was a personal choice, or something David insisted on. Most likely the latter. After all, I was never allowed to make friends. It was an unspoken warning growing up.

But Mom always needed an extra few minutes before making her way down, medicated and mildly intoxicated. It was never at the point anyone would notice, but I’d spent the majority of my life watching this family that should have been mine as the fly on their wall. I saw shimmers of imperfection in an otherwise flawless masterpiece. This world, the one I’d been dumped into with no regard, was a picture hidden within a picture. Nothing the first picture said was true. That one was the polish, the veneer that kept people from seeing the truth.

My world was a lie baked on top of a lie.

My mother was part of that lie. Marcella Thornton hadn’t been lucid a day in her life. She wouldn’t know what to do with the demons living in her head.

I sometimes wondered if David didn’t prefer her drugged and subdued, easily controlled. Granted, my mother had never been a strong woman and needed constant reassurance to her worth, so it must have worked for them both.

David and Kieran rose at her arrival. Eric’s friends attempted to do the same, but wound up teetering into each other and tumbling back laughing.

No one paid them any mind.

Kieran. Marcella beamed. I’m so happy you could join us.

The way my parents went on, one would think Kieran rarely visited when in fact, he was there every weekend for as far back as I could remember. He even had his own stocking at Christmas.

It’s always a pleasure, he told her with an inclination of his head.

Is it time to eat? Eric sounded from the sofa. I’m starving.

Maybe you should have a few more bottles of vodka, Cordelia snipped. You’re clearly too coherent.

Eric flipped her off, which earned a hiss from their mother and a sharp bark from their father.

Enough! David warned. Everyone to the dining room.

Eric and his friends got to their feet with a lot of shoving and tittering, and ambled out before anyone else. David offered Marcella his elbow and allowed her to lean into him as they followed the pack.

Then it was just me, Cordelia, and Kieran in the parlor alone. I remained perfectly still. So far, no one had noticed me and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible until I could leave.

Cordelia waited until the footsteps had faded down the corridor before getting fluidly to her feet. The movement was a beautiful dance of slender limbs unfurling and straightening. She could have easily been a ballerina on a brightly lit stage, a performer acting out the role given to her from birth. She stepped around the coffee table to Kieran’s side, her blue eyes pinning him in place.

Walk a lady in?

Even her voice was sultry and seductive, the husky purr of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and made no apologies about doing whatever it took to get it. And Cordy wanted Kieran. He’d been her goal for years. Not just her goal, but David’s as well.

I sometimes wondered if she wanted him because she wanted him, or because it was what David wanted. Kieran certainly wasn’t hard to look at. He had money. He had the position and power. He was the perfect catch for any woman. But I still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t yet another desperate act to earn more love from her father, which I never understood. David loved Cordelia more than anyone, including his wife.

Kieran pushed to his feet with a whisper of expensive fabric, startling me out of my reverie. I blinked and focused as he offered my half-sister a smile I would have given anything to be alone in a room with.

I would be delighted.

Cordelia flushed, and I didn’t blame her. I’d have been a puddle at his feet. Her ability to remain upright was impressive.

But neither paid me a single glance as Kieran held his arm out to her. The pair made a striking set, a play of her light to his darkness, her softness to his raw masculinity. They were perfect. The prince and his princess. A modern fairy tale of class and elegance. Cordelia was exactly the type of woman Kieran deserved. She was everything I never could be, beautiful, graceful, sophisticated ... wanted.

I was none of those things.

I waited until they’d left and I was alone before pushing off the cushion and smoothing down my skirt. I checked my watch and calculated fifteen minutes to eat, then five to leave if my luck held up. It all depended on whether or not Cordelia was occupied when I arrived. That seldom happened. Cordelia deliberately sat facing the door. Sneaking in would require jumper cables and a catsuit.

But I crept out of the parlor, a thief in what should have been my home and rounded the corner at an almost tiptoe. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until a shadow lurched into my path and I choked on the wedge of air caught in my lungs. I staggered to a stop, my body automatically tensing for the blow. My arms crossed over my face even as my whole torso twisted in defense.

Hey. It wasn’t David’s voice.

That much I was nearly certain of over the roar of my own terror throbbing between my ears. But that only meant it was someone worse.

Kieran’s golden gaze found mine between the fingers I spread. Their concern was like acid dribbling onto my face, burning away skin and muscle until there was nothing left but my shame. I wanted to snap my fingers closed and keep covered until he went away, but I knew it didn’t work like that. There was nothing left to do, except lower my hands and pray he wouldn’t ask.

Kieran. I snuck a peek behind him, half expecting Cordelia to be watching, disgusted, and finding only the empty corridor. I returned to his perfectly poetic features. What are you doing?

I forgot my phone. That hint of a grin appeared in the subtle lifting of his lips, as if we were sharing a secret. At least, that’s what I told them.

I swallowed, and it seemed to echo throughout the entire house. Why?

Because I never got to say hello to you. Those predatory eyes paralyzed me to the spot. I could almost taste my own heartbeats. You seemed so intent on blending in with that window. I didn’t want to interrupt.

I felt warmth in my cheeks. I wasn’t. I was just... There was no excuse for my rudeness. Despite the dependency of surviving the evening, I should have said something. I’m sorry.

His head cocked to one side. Why?

Guilt lowered my chin until my gaze was level with the milky white swirl of his top button. I should have said hello. It was rude of me.

I didn’t mind. It gave me a chance to get you alone.

I hated that my heart actually missed a beat. I hated that my head got foggy and my thoughts scattered. I hated that he always stood too close, and that he always seemed to know exactly what to say to tip my world into chaos.

You should go, I whispered. They’ll wonder where you are.

Come in with me.

The very idea was grounds for immediate beheading. I couldn’t imagine what possessed him to even suggest such a thing. He had clearly lost his mind.

No, I can’t. I flinched when he reached for me. Please. I snatched my hand out of the way of his extended fingers and stuffed them behind my back. Don’t.

He had absolutely no idea what he was asking. He didn’t understand what a simple act like walking into a room together could mean for me.

The questions.

The consequences.

Very well.

I watched him with my lip stapled between my teeth as he turned and left me in the corridor. I counted each erratic heartbeat until his clipped footsteps had faded to nothing.

Only when enough time had passed did I inch my way forward. The doors stood open to the sounds of the family settling down for dinner. They chattered about their day while tugging their chairs under their usual place settings. With only eight spots filled, one half of the table remained morbidly unclaimed, a daunting scenery of crystals and china to a barren wasteland of dark wood.

My spot was at the very end of the lavish display, just before the buttery cloth ended. I was placed next to Alton, who barely glanced up when I slipped into my seat.

I almost forgot you were still here, Gabrielle. Cordelia’s purr drifted over the table and smothered the conversation. Should someone check the silverware?

All eyes were on me now. I was the center of attention, a frozen deer in headlights. My flight reflexes misfired, torn between running from the room and throwing the bowl of floating tea lights at her face. But I could only sit there, careful not to react.

When did you arrive, sweetheart? Mom asked.

I’m surprised you didn’t hear her from a mile down the road, Cordelia chimed in for me. Honestly, isn’t it time for an upgrade?

My parents didn’t buy me a car for my sixteenth birthday, or ever. My parents didn’t get me a condo after high school. My parents have never given me a platinum, unlimited credit card. Everything I owned from the time I had to sell part of my soul for freedom were things I bought with money I earned. My piece of crap Honda may have been a sore sight next to the glossy sheen of the Bentley and Lamborghini, but it had never failed me.

My car is fine, I said evenly.

Is that pile of rust your car? Eric broke out in a fit of cackles that his friends quickly followed. I thought the maid forgot to park in the back again. Does it run?

It probably runs better than the six cars you’ve destroyed.

Kieran’s smooth delivery distracted the crowd. With those few words, everyone forgot about me