Shattered Dynasty

Last night, for example, sleeping without a heater, I could’ve frozen to death if this was winter.

Something tells me after Trent’s warning, freezing to death will be the least of my problems. Today, there is no question he will have the locks on all the windows fixed. I’ll probably have to take Heather up on her offer.

It’s only a few steps to the door of the familiar building, but I welcome the air-conditioning once I step inside. I walk toward the same elevator I got in two months ago, and then I’m riding it up back to the place where it all started. Where my fate was sealed.

When the elevator opens, I walk down the dark hallway to the office. I open the door, and no one is there. I expect a receptionist or someone to be milling about in the reception room, but it’s empty.

“Ms. Hart?” Mr. Baker calls out from the room in which we held the meeting.

I start to walk toward the room.

“Yes.”

“Show yourself in.”

I’m about to open the door when I hear another voice inside the room.

It’s the very distinct raspy tone that haunts my nightmares.

I don’t know how or why he’s here, nor do I want to know. If it were up to me, I would never see that man again, but something tells me I won’t like today’s turn of events now that I know he’s attending this meeting.

I open the door tentatively, but it doesn’t matter how slow my movements are. It still squeaks in the silence that has descended around me, taunting me. The sound reminds me of nails on a chalkboard, scratching as I enter the space.

“Look who finally decided to join us. Rough start today? Need a bit of extra coffee?” Trent winks.

He’s such an incredible ass.

A myriad of choice words grows heavy on my tongue. It takes everything inside me not to holler back at him.

Inhaling deeply, I will myself to calm.

My hands are by my sides, and I tuck them behind my back as I fist them so no one can see.

Unfortunately, the sharp curve of my nails digs into the fatty skin of my palm, making me hiss. My jaw is tight, my teeth grinding as I suck in my cheeks to stop myself.

Nothing good will come if I lash out.

I take a deep, long inhale and school my emotions.

“Oh. It’s you, Mr. Aldridge. I didn’t know you would be here. What an unexpected and pleasant surprise.” My voice is sugary sweet. Like syrup being poured on pancakes.

If the confection was laced with poison.

I’m so damn sweet that a root canal will probably be necessary.

His smile broadens, and there is a gleam in his blue eyes. He’s enjoying this.

“Always happy to surprise,” he retorts, beaming at me.

I turn my attention to Mr. Baker, who takes it as his cue to begin.

“Please sit, Ms. Hart. It seems we have some things to go over.”

“You think?” I mutter before I can stop myself, and Trent chuckles.

Bastard.

Also, if I wasn’t scared before, now I’m positively terrified. His laughter screams of a promise to hurt me. I look back at him, and just as I suspected, he’s leaning up against the wall. Legs crossed casually. Arms folded across his chest.

But that’s not the frightening part. It’s more than the laughter. It’s the look he’s giving me. He is downright ecstatic. He’s gleaming in pure triumph.

He won.

He knows it, and now I do as well.

11

Trent

* * *

I love watching her squirm.

She does this little thing when her brows furrow and her nose scrunches. A dozen thoughts flash behind her eyes. No doubt, fantasies of my murder. Replayed in a gruesome fashion. She wants me gone. Out of her life.

It’s a wish I’ll never grant.

If not for the fact that I’m dead set on ruining her, watching her get pissed is a bonus. It’s better than playing poker. Almost better than when a stock tip pays off big, too.

Almost.

She looks like she barely slept.

Dressed in old sweats and a ripped hoodie, it looks like she pulled an all-night drinking bender. Dark circles line the bottom of her eyes. The skin is puffy, like she was crying.

I don’t know her backstory. I don’t know her struggles. There had to be some for that fire inside her to build. She’s the feistiest woman I’ve ever met. So, princess may not be the most accurate term to describe her, but it’s what she was to my father.

Bonus points for driving her insane, which is fun and why I have no intention of giving it up.

That would be too easy.

I don’t do easy.

“Come in,” Mr. Baker says, scrambling to pull out a chair for her.

I stay silent and continue to stare at her, wondering what my father saw in her. Not that she’s not gorgeous. She is. With brown hair and light-blue eyes, she has a forbidden and exotic look to her.