Shattered Dynasty

There should be a rule that jerks come with a warning label on their forehead. That way, people know to stay clear of them. It should be mandatory the same way it is with food labels.

Someone with a peanut allergy knows not to eat a Snickers bar.

The outside should match the inside. However, I know that is not to be the case. My sister is the perfect example of this. It isn’t fair for the façade to hide the truth. Someone should come up with a device to remedy this. Like beer goggles but for character.

I shake my head at my ridiculous thought. There are bigger problems right now than this dumb invention.

Like which floor I should sleep on.

In the bedroom? Living room? Definitely not on the kitchen tiles or the bathroom floors.

It’s still warm out for the next few hours. With the central air off, the heat will rise to the bedroom.

Downstairs it is. Lucky me.

Tomorrow I’ll ask for help. But tonight, I’ll suck it up on the floor.

I explore the place for the coolest room, crossing into the family room.

I sit so my back leans against the wall and close my eyes. There is no way I can stay like this. I’ll never fall asleep. I have no pillow.

Nothing to sleep on.

I look down at the sweatshirt that I’m still wearing from school. It’s way too hot to be wearing it, but it gets so cold in class. And by the time I knock out, the temperature will drop, then I’ll need a triple layer.

But for now, I succumb to the fluff and decide to use it as a pillow.

Once the cotton is off my skin, I feel much better.

My skin cools.

I ball it up and prop it beneath my head, resting on my makeshift bed. I bring my knees into the fetal position.

The level of power Trent Aldridge yields is unmeasured.

He could use this power to better people. To build them up. To be safe and kind. He could use this strength to protect, not crush.

I won’t allow him to crush me, though. Nor will I shed a tear over him. I haven’t allowed myself to cry since I was little. Since my parents died. Since we lost everything.

Now is no different.

I refuse to let myself fall to pieces.

My eyes close, and I take a deep breath.

Nothing can be worse than that.

A creak wakes me up.

I’m not sure how much time has passed or how long I’ve been sleeping, but I’m groggy, and my eyes struggle to adjust to the darkroom.

There is no light, and I can’t risk the sound of searching for my phone, but a small sliver of the moon reflects into the home. Not enough to see anything. I gamble, reaching out to find my phone to use as a flashlight.

Not fast enough.

“Isn’t this cozy?” a familiar voice says.

Well, maybe something can be worse.

9

Trent

* * *

She’s curled up on the floor.

Head on what looks like a worn-out sweatshirt.

Sleeping tight after her nice, long walk.

I’m light on my feet as I move closer. A trait I picked up from the men I do business with.

Never let your enemies see you coming.

Or, in this case, hear you coming.

I’m standing a foot away from her before I speak.

Darkness bathes the room. Only a few slivers of light stream in from the window.

The very window she shimmied in through. Cyrus’s man, who loaded her furniture, was right. He predicted her point of entry through the window with a broken lock. I watched it in full definition on the large screen in my bedroom, my A/C on full-blast, and a thousand-dollar comforter sprawled over half my body.

I’m a sick bastard because my comfort only makes her discomfort sweeter. I felt like diving into hell just to take a victory lap around my father.

How’d that secret trust work out for you, Father Dearest?

“Isn’t this cozy?” I scold, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“What the—” She sits up abruptly, and that’s when I notice her big mistake.

She hasn’t realized it yet.

But I can’t wait until she does.

My lips spread wide.

But she will. Because I am currently fishing my phone out of my pocket to show her.

“What are you doing here?”

“One could ask you the same question.”

“I live here!”

“No, Payton . . . You lived here. Past tense. Now you are trespassing.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She huffs.

My phone’s light flickers on, and I shine it on her.

“You ass—” She blinks, the new brightness making her squint.

“Hole,” I finish for her with a smile. “Yes. I am. And you, my dear, need to put clothes on.”

She looks down, and a loud gasp rings through the air. Her hands jet up to cover herself, and although I’m an ass, I’m not big enough of an ass to watch, so I turn and give her a moment of privacy.