Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
He didn’t smile.
He stood with his hands behind his back. Dressed in billowing black trousers, black shirt, and black long coat, he looked like a nightmare—a soulless silhouette carved from the same black stone of his palace.
My heart fluttered and my head threatened to turn bad again, but I forced myself to march toward him. “If you want a maid, I’m not the one for you.”
“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow.
“I’m not...capable.” I tapped my temple as if that would explain everything. “I’m unemployed for a reason and as grateful as I am that you’re refraining from killing me, I truly can’t do whatever it is that you want me to do.”
“Come with me.” Spinning on his bare foot, he marched through the huge foyer toward the arched corridor beyond.
“Hey!” I trotted to keep up. “Were you not listening? I can’t work for you. I can’t work for anyone.” Pointing back the way I’d come, I added, “There’s three eager girls waiting on your doorstep. Let them help you.”
He didn’t reply or slow down.
Whisper prowled beside me, shooting me a toothy smile.
Fine.
I’d try again when I could look him in the eyes, and we weren’t marching through his home as if he’d set it on fire.
As we moved deeper and deeper into the palace, my mind ran away with me.
What had that girl, Miram, meant when she said Snowflake Corp was his biggest competitor and out to kill him? If that was true, shouldn’t I have heard about Brimstone Industries in every ROI meeting? We held numerous water rights and had successfully created clean, not-for-profit cold fusion. We’d become one of the top energy suppliers worldwide. I didn’t know of any company that rivalled us.
With a name like Brimstone, did his company deal with fire? Or something equally as destructive?
My pulse tapped a fast beat as we passed cavernous rooms with aristocratic furniture, ancient artwork, and overstuffed brocade couches, only to be assaulted by a different era as we cut through parlours with paper lanterns, potted bamboo growing as high as the chandeliers, and the soft wisps of incense.
Two worlds—blended and yet defiantly defined.
Despite the differences in decoration, a theme connected every room, thanks to the rows upon rows of security cameras. In every corner, above every painting, angled off every light fixture. A thousand pairs of eyes that had all been blinded and carved out, leaving the lenses shattered, cables severed, and most of them dangling as if they’d been yanked out by force.
“Did you do that?” I asked.
Lucien looked at me over his shoulder, his gaze following mine to the broken surveillance. His lips tipped into a thin smile. “I did.”
“Because they were spying on you?”
He nodded and continued walking.
“Are the drones theirs too?”
He didn’t respond for a while, leading me through another octagonal-shaped foyer that had eight paths leading off it. He took the northeast corridor, slowing slightly to say, “It pisses them off that they can’t see what I do on a daily basis. They’re nervous that I’m working on how to escape.”
“Are you?”
He grinned, savage and a little unhinged. “Of course.”
Our eyes held. A shiver ran down my spine. Once again, his beauty struck me speechless, all while a thousand questions weighed on my tongue. “If you’re the leader of your company and the last of your family, why—”
“So you do know who I am.”
“I...” I walked right into that one. Curving my shoulders, I said sheepishly, “I might’ve asked those girls outside about you.”
“How nice of them to gossip.”
“Are they right?”
He sighed heavily as if talking to me was a chore. “Probably.”
“Then why are you locked up here?”
“I’ve already told you.” Marching forward, he led me into another room.
The ceilings were just as high, the walls just as gilded with silk tapestries of phoenixes, dragons, and cherry blossom trees, but the aura was different.
The rest of the palace felt depressing and dark—a living mausoleum that was pristine and sterile, but this place...it seemed lived in.
The purple and black rug by the double glass doors leading into a private walled courtyard was sunburnt and fraying. A stack of books lay on a low table, their spines creased by careless hands. A chessboard sat mid-game, a few pieces tipped over as if the player had got frustrated halfway and swatted them aside. A water glass threw rainbows onto the polished wood where it sat on a windowsill, and a white knitted blanket was thrown haphazardly on the slouchy linen couch.
Glancing around was like peering into someone’s utmost privacy.
“You live here?” I asked quietly.
He headed toward a wingback chair by the huge stone fireplace. Sitting elegantly, his coat billowed around his legs, pooling on the floor. “Are you looking so intently at my home because you’re nosy or are you trying to find a weapon?” Slipping his hand into his coat pocket, he held up the dagger he’d stolen. “Because I hate to tell you, but this is the only weapon in this entire godforsaken graveyard, and I doubt they’ll let me keep it for long. They never do.”