God, I want a drink and I want to leave.
How many fucking emails does he have?!
Flustered and annoyed, I hatch a plan. Possibly the stupidest plan I’ve ever concocted.
I reach behind me and grab the tassel hanging down from the curtains. It’s a thick gold tassel, attached to green velvet curtains.
By pulling it out to its furthest length, I can just poke it in around the edge of the grate, directly into the embers.
My plan is to set it smoking, which will distract Callum, allowing me to sneak around the opposite side of the chair and out the door. That’s the genius scheme.
But because this isn’t a fucking Nancy Drew novel, this is what happens instead:
The flames rip up the cord like it was dipped in gasoline, singing my hand. I drop the cord, which swings back to the curtain. Then that curtain ignites like it’s paper. Liquid fire roars up to the ceiling in an instant.
This actually does achieve its purpose of distracting Callum Griffin. He shouts and jumps to his feet, knocking over his chair. However, my distraction comes at the cost of all subtlety, because I also have to abandon my hiding spot and sprint out of the room. I don’t know if Callum saw me or not, and I don’t care.
I’m thinking I should look for a fire extinguisher or water or something. I’m also thinking I should get the fuck out of here immediately.
That’s the idea that wins out—I go sprinting down the stairs at top speed.
At the bottom of the staircase, I plow into somebody else, almost knocking him over. It’s Nero, with that pretty blonde right behind him. Her hair is all messed up and he’s got lipstick on his neck.
“Jesus,” I say. “Is that a new record?” I’m pretty sure he only met her about eight seconds ago.
Nero shrugs, a hint of a grin on his handsome face.
“Probably,” he says.
Smoke drifts down over the bannister. Callum Griffin is shouting up in the library. Nero gazes up the staircase, confused.
“What’s going on—”
“Never mind,” I say, seizing his arm. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”
I start dragging him in the direction of the service kitchen, but I can’t quite take my own advice. I cast one look back over my shoulder. And I see Callum Griffin standing at the head of the stairs, glaring after us with a murderous expression on his face.
We sprint through the kitchen, knocking over a tray of canapés, then we’re out the door, back out on the lawn.
“You find Sebastian, I’ll get Dante,” Nero says. He abandons the blonde without a word, jogging off across the yard.
I run in the opposite direction, looking for the tall, lanky shape of my youngest brother.
Inside the mansion, a fire alarm starts to wail.
2
Callum Griffin
Nessa’s party starts in less than an hour, but I’m still holed up with my parents in my father’s office. His office is one of the biggest rooms in the house, larger than the master suite or the library. Which is fitting, because business is the center of our family—the core purpose of the Griffin clan. I’m fairly certain my parents only had children so they could mold us into our various roles within their empire.
They certainly meant to have more of us. There’s four years between me and Riona, six between Riona and Nessa. Those gaps contain seven failed pregnancies, each ending in miscarriage or stillbirth.
The weight of all those missing children lays on my shoulders. I’m the eldest and the only son. The work of the Griffin men can only be done by me. I’m the one to carry on our name and legacy.
Riona would be irritated to hear me say that. She’s infuriated by any intimation that there’s a difference between us because I’m older and male. She swears she’ll never get married or change her name. Or bear children, either. That part really pisses my parents off.
Nessa is much more pliable. She’s a people-pleaser, and she wouldn’t do anything to annoy dear old Mom and Dad. Unfortunately, she lives in a fucking fantasy world. She’s so sweet and tender-hearted that she doesn’t have the tiniest clue what it takes to keep this family in power. So she’s pretty much useless.