Stolen Soulmate (Crowne Point 2)

“Tell me what?” The blood in me was hot. Boiling.

Silence built as jagged spikes between us.

“It’s back, isn’t it?” I whispered.

“It’s only stage one. A snip here, a snip there, I’ll be fine.”

“But what if you’re not? Is that why you’ve been ignoring me?” The second thing that came to my mind almost as soon as I’d spoken: “How are you paying for it?”

He nearly went bankrupt the first time. I suspected he was still paying off the bills, but he wouldn’t tell me. He wanted me to put all my money toward getting out of this place, toward my dream. Not toward “an already old and dying man”—his words. The Crownes provide decent health care, but at the end of the day, we’re still servants living in a country with pay-to-play health care.

“Hey.” He tapped my shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Storybook.”

“But…”

“I’m tired,” he said, cutting me off. “We can talk more about this later.”

My uncle gently ushered me out of his room, shutting the door, until the very last inch of light was snuffed and I was standing in the dark in the hallway.

Deep down, I knew I had only one choice here.

One devil to sell my soul to.

I took a deep breath—and one last look at my home. I was pretty sure when this was over, there was no coming back.

Twenty-Eight

GRAY

* * *

Dawn was rising and the Crowne family jet was on the tarmac, ready for our annual summer holiday, when there was a soft knock on the door. I bit back the smile curving my lips.

Fucking called it.

“Come in.”

The door unlatched, followed by quiet. I focused on the book in my hand, refusing to look up. I wouldn’t let her see she affected me, that for the past couple of hours, I’d been staring at the same page, wondering if she really would come back.

Wondering what the fuck I was going to do if she didn’t.

“I’ll do it,” she said after a moment, voice quiet and husky—addicting.

Still without looking up, I reached for the coffee table, grabbing a stack of papers. I threw them in her direction.

“What’s this?” Not a moment later she said, “Another contract? You already had this made? You were so certain I was going to come back?”

“Ten million is hard to turn down.” Even for someone like Snitch, who I’d started to think was different. It was a cruel temptation to want her back, and also never want to see her again, so that my hope was right—she wasn’t like everyone else.

She didn’t just want the Grayson Crowne.

“I don’t want your money,” she spat.

I looked up before I could stop myself. She wrinkled the contract in one hand. Somehow when she glared, it made her eyes fucking bigger.

“My uncle gets it all,” she continued, “and he never finds out.”

My brow furrowed. What game was she playing? Did she think if she tried to act like some innocent altruist I would give her more money?