A Debt Owed (The Debt Duet 1)

But that was a filthy dream of mine. Nothing more.

I should’ve known my fantasies would interfere with my ability to reason. I couldn’t keep my cool and made her face the rage inside me. Of course, she’s upset.

I close my eyes and let out a sigh. I don’t want to be this mean. I want to make her happy.

But I want her to suffer too, and those wishes clash like hell. I want her to know what it did to me when she chose to deny me and chose her goddamn father over me. That fucking arrogant son of a bitch who didn’t even love her … who ruined her for me.

Who worked my father to death … literally.

Taking in a deep breath, I lean away from the door and stare at it for a few seconds. Then I turn around and walk away. But there will come a time when I won’t be able to keep that door locked. When I won’t stop myself from touching her … from kissing her. And that day will be here sooner than she thinks.

When morning comes, I instruct Nick to unlock her door and tell her to dress so we can eat breakfast. It takes her a while to come down—two hours, to be precise—and I don’t know why she needed that much time. The hunger must’ve gotten a bit too much for her to cope with, which I assumed would be the case. It doesn’t take long for a person to break when it comes to food. Just like water and sleep, it’s essential for a person to survive … and also the perfect tool for getting someone to do your bidding.

And what I want right now is for her to eat with me at this big table that is otherwise pretty empty without her. I’ve looked forward to this moment for ages.

When she enters the room in her floaty white gown that I had custom tailored to her size, it feels as though the entire room suddenly lights on fire. Her beautiful eyes blaze as she glares at me.

I know she hasn’t forgiven me yet, but that’s okay because I don’t expect her to. I do expect her to behave in an orderly fashion, though. As long as she obeys my rules, everyone will be happy and remain alive. Simple.

“Sit,” I say, pointing at the chair next to me. There’s plenty of space for her to sit, but I’ve asked them to set the table to ensure we can look each other in the eyes.

She observes the table, standing frozen in place before walking toward the other end of it and sitting as far away from me as possible. The deadly stare she gives me sets my body ablaze. Does she not realize it only makes the urge to grab her and fuck her right here on this table stronger?

All I want is her, and all she wants is to get away from me. How fitting.

A tepid smile forms on my lips as I clear my throat, and say to Nick, “Please bring Miss Davis her plate and cutlery. We wouldn’t want her to eat with her hands, now would we?”

She gives me a faux smile accompanied by eyes reduced to mere slits. I honestly imagine she’s shooting venom at me at this point, but I don’t mind. I know she’s upset, and she has every right to be, but that won’t change the fact she’s mine. I still won’t let her go, no matter how hard she tries to pretend she’s going to fight me on this.

Soon she’ll give in … and then I’ll ravish her bit by bit.

When Nick’s done setting the table, the food comes in, and her eyes immediately hone in on the cream-filled bagel I bought early this morning from an American baker in Amsterdam just for her. I know she likes these things, like cranberry juice, coffee without sugar or milk, and a fried egg on toast, sunny side up. All of which are stacked onto a plate and brought to her side of the table right now.

She sure loves pure tastes with no dilution and nothing from a can or a box. Everything has to be fresh with Miss Princess. Her eyes widen at the sight of all that delicious food. Her mouth must be salivating by now. I don’t even have to guess … I know because I took extensive notes on all her favorites courtesy of her father’s staff … and my own personal research, of course.

I clear my throat, and say, “If you eat your breakfast without protesting, I’ll overlook the fact you refused to sit next to me.”

She snorts and looks away, shaking her head, but she doesn’t respond. Typical for her, but I know she’s thinking a myriad of things. She’s just afraid to say them out loud.