The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

We both began moving toward our rooms at the other end of the long hallway.

“Must have been some fight.”

“What?” I asked.

He looked at me skeptically. “I assumed that what’s happened since Royce lost his shit.”

Nervousness quicken my breath. “What do you mean?”

“Oh. Uh . . . I guess I’ll show you.”

Down we went, past my room and his, to the closed door of Royce’s. Vance didn’t knock. He gripped the handle, turned, and pushed the door open. I made a horrible, choked sound of surprise, and my hand came up to cover my mouth.

The room was a disaster.

Furniture lay on its side, lamps were broken. The black coffee table looked like it had been flipped over and gouged a chunk out of the wall when it had fallen. The mirror that had once hung above the dresser was shattered, and a hundred tiny reflections of my stunned face stared back at me, more pieces scattered across the carpet.

“He was upset.” Vance’s statement was simplistic, but his voice had gravity that carried the seriousness. “He didn’t exactly know how to deal with it.”

My heart slowed, petrifying painfully. “Where is he?”

“He called for a car a little while ago. I asked Tate to check on him, and he texted back that he was already with Royce.”

My eyes stung as they filled with tears, but I blinked them back. “Is he okay?”

Vance couldn’t have looked more surprised if he’d tried. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’ll probably need a day or two to get over himself, but then I’m sure he’ll apologize.”

I didn’t understand. “Apologize?”

“For whatever he did that made you guys fight.” He crossed his thick arms and leaned against the wall beside the door, setting his full attention on me. “Look, I’m sure he wasn’t your first choice, and at times my brother can be a real asshole, but I’m pretty sure he cares about you. Like, a lot.” His boyishly handsome face was uncharacteristically serious and genuine. “I don’t know if that’s ever happened before.”

I’d thought it was impossible to feel any worse, but I’d been wrong. I couldn’t bear to look at him as he pleaded his big brother’s case. I traced the scrolling pattern in the hallway carpet and tried to hold myself together.

“I don’t know the details,” he said, “but I’m hoping you don’t give up on him just because he screwed up.”

“He didn’t screw up.” Shame made my voice small. “I did.”

When my gaze returned to him, he gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me. “Well, this conversation never happened, and I definitely didn’t show you what his little temper tantrum did to his room, okay? Because if the roles were reversed, I’d be pissed.”

I understood what he meant, and I appreciated him showing me. I faked confusion. “What conversation?”

He gave a tight smile, straightened from the wall, and closed Royce’s door before moving across the hall toward his own. “I’ll see you later.”

“Hey, Vance?” He was halfway into his room and turned to look at me. “Your shirt’s on inside out.”

He paused and his focus dropped down to the navy t-shirt he wore, the serged seams facing outward. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

When he disappeared into his room, I did the same. I shut the door, rested my forehead against it, and closed my eyes. I’d become a cold furnace, the pilot light blown out and no way to restart on my own.

I could blame Macalister all I wanted to, but in my heart, I knew the truth. I’d caused the destruction in the room next door. Royce was trapped by his father just as much as I was, if not more, because at least I could walk away if I wanted to give up. I could scurry back to my family. We’d be broke and desperate, but we’d still have each other.

There was no running from Macalister when your last name was Hale.

And now I’d betrayed and hurt Royce worse than he’d done to me.

It wasn’t the angry red scrapes across my bicep that made me fall to my knees in the center of my room. The sight of blood didn’t faze me right now. No, it was the open black box I’d placed on my dresser earlier and the custom piece of jewelry he’d likely had commissioned just for me.

I didn’t need to wear the mask to become Medusa. I already felt like a monster.

It wasn’t clear if Royce had come home last night. Maybe he’d stayed with Tate, or else he’d slept in one of the guest bedrooms, but at seven the next morning, I heard staff inside his room, working to clean up the mess.

I’d left my door unlocked and stayed awake most of the night, foolishly hoping he’d come to me. I didn’t care if it was to yell at me or ask for his engagement ring back. It didn’t matter. I just wanted to see him again.