A Debt Repaid (The Debt Duet 2)

His face turns dark as the silence in the room kills me.

“I want your father to know I own his precious girl.”

“He does. I’m married to you,” I say. “But that’s not enough for you, is it? You want to see his face dissolve when you kiss me. When you …”

Shit.

I figured it out.

The cameras.

The footage on his laptop.

His incessant need to log everything and his need for revenge.

I gasp. “You’re … sending the footage from those cameras to my father?”

He doesn’t answer, but his deadly stare says enough.

I grimace. “That’s disgusting.” I wrap myself with the new bathrobe. “Fuck you, I’m out of here.”

“Charlotte …” He reaches for my legs, but I push him off and jump out of the tub before he can touch me.

How dare he send that footage to my father without asking me, without informing me of his plans? Images of all the things I’ve done, all the things Easton did to my body, replay over and over in my head, and it makes my stomach tumble.

My father saw it.

God knows how much of it …

How can I ever look him in the eyes again?

Easton did this on purpose. No wonder he has cameras everywhere. It’s not only for his twisted needs but to get back at my father too.

He lied to my face when he said it was all for himself.

And here I was, thinking I could warm up to him, and maybe, just maybe, I was falling for this dude.

Fuck him.

I don’t want him, and he can tuck that huge dick right back into his pants where it belongs, just like his cocky, arrogant smile.

Chapter 17

Easton

When she left, I got out of the tub and dried off before leaving her room. I don’t know where she went, but it didn’t take her long to return and slam the door shut behind her. I’m not welcome there right now, and I’ll accept that, considering the circumstances.

She’s mad at me, which I fully understand. She wants to make me out to be the bad guy while simultaneously wanting me to fuck her into oblivion. It doesn’t work that way, and she knows this. And now she’s upset she didn’t get her way.

Of course, she’ll never admit this out loud, which is why she’s probably fuming in her bedroom right now. I’ll leave her be for a moment. After all, there’s no use having a discussion with her when she’s denying her own feelings.

Though, her knowing about my incessant need to punish her father does put a dent in my plans. I didn’t think she’d bring it up. I got caught off guard with her questions, and she saw the truth in my eyes.

The way she looked at me when she knew I sent that footage of us to her father cut me deep. She despises me, and I don’t blame her. I would hate the person who did that to me too. I should’ve thought of that before I hit send.

Now I wish I never did.

Charlotte

The longer I sit in my room, the more time slips through my fingers. I’m not doing anything, and it’s infuriating. These books I’ve collected from Easton’s personal library bore me to death. I’ve already read a lot of them, or they’re simply not my taste.

I didn’t know being left alone to do what I wanted would be so … boring.

I always imagined that I’d be excited when he left. That I’d enjoy the time I’d have on my own since I don’t get a lot of it. Easton’s always watching me like a hawk, trying to spin me around his finger, but when he’s not … it’s both refreshing and scary.

However, I won’t forgive him for sending my father footage of us.

Nothing he can say or do will make me forget who he really is.

I refuse to see him right now. I’d rather sit here and waste away than have to look at his goddamn handsome face while he’s trampling on my heart. No thanks.

Still, a hungry girl has to eat, and I am famished.

Would it be okay for me to go into the kitchen and make something for myself? Or did he forbid his staff from helping me? If I know him, he’ll try anything to get me on his side again. And if that’s the case, I’ll stop eating entirely. That’ll teach him not to mess with me.

With confidence, I march out of my room and down the stairs. There’s a delicious smell coming from the kitchen, and it lures me in without a second thought.

My mouth waters as I inhale the scent as I float toward the stove. Jill’s cooking homemade beef chili stew in a crock pot.

“That smells delicious,” I mutter.

She spins on her heels and almost hits me with a spoon. “Geez. You scared me.”