Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Second helpings.
Thirds.
Not once did he tell me to slow down or warn me of getting “too thick” – something Dad would occasionally do as a terrible tactic to get me to consume less so that we would have more later.
No.
Elias simply watched.
Intensely.
He’d occasionally lean over, use his thumb to swipe away sauce, lick it off his own finger, and proceed to drink me in at the same time he drank his wine.
Our conversation consisted of me and school and, to my surprise, he contributed to it every time he could.
Like he was listening.
Really listening.
Like he gave a fuck the way Mom did before the sickness got to her.
By the flickering candlelight, his face was all dark shadows. I felt oddly protected and provided for rather than scared and scrutinized.
Even when he tucked me into bed and kissed me goodnight – on the forehead – which I still think it’s unusual that he hasn’t kissed me on the mouth yet – I didn’t feel trapped.
I felt treasured.
But the truth is I am trapped.
Last night, my very own father knowingly led me into a lion’s den. He just left me here to be his sacrificial lamb, and while I’m pissed at him, I’m more pissed off at myself for falling for his bullshit again. He’s done things like this to me for as long as I can remember, and I guess it’s the “want to see the good in people” side of me that sets me up to always fall for it.
Guess that makes me a giant, hopeless idiot.
A giant, hopeless idiot who enjoyed one night of passion and pampering but has to get the hell back to reality now.
I have a life to live.
My real life.
Not this pretty, pretty princess nonsense where I sleep in a gilded bed, in a gilded cage, and prance around the highest castle tower in a gilded dress.
On a slightly conflicted sigh, I slide out of bed to change into my own clothes. It shouldn’t be a surprise to me that from the first glance around the room they’re nowhere to be found. And it should be even less of a shock that clothes in the drawers and the walk-in closet are absolutely stunning. Refusing to wear this piece of lingerie while making demands regarding my freedom has me desperately thumbing through the choices of clothing looking for not only the unsexiest thing I can find, but also the least yellow.
His doll wears yellow.
Zel, the woman who is out there making something of herself for her mom and being the stability her older brother desperately needs does not. She wears…well, whatever is cheapest and in fairly good condition at the 2nd hand shops.
Dammit, I hadn’t thought of Tomas again until just now.
I shake my head at the same time I wiggle into the skin-tight pink and purple workout pants.
He’s gotta be back behind bars again.
That’s the only way Dad could ever slip something like this past him.
Thoughts of Tomas needing bail money, my mother’s medical bills, and pending school debt all pile in the front of my mind, slowing down the speed at which I pull on the white workout crop top.
I know staying here…keeping up my end of the contract would help out everyone – myself included – but I can’t be a billionaire’s literal plaything.
I’m a person.
Not a doll.
Even if it means spending the next sixty years of my life on top of a mountain of debt I’ll never climb down off of, I’m getting out of this contract.
Out of this penthouse.
And, most importantly, out of Elias Whittington’s life.
After washing my face, brushing my teeth and my hair, I cautiously wander out into the hall, a bit shocked that the door isn’t locked from the outside as I was anticipating.
I relish the small slice of victory for only a brief moment before calling out, “Elias…” The lack of response pushes me further into the penthouse and prompts me to summon him a second time. “Elias…?” Still receiving nothing, I meander down the hall, glancing into luxury rooms, deciding to check the entire floor, secretly praying he’s up here rather than already waiting to have breakfast with me downstairs. “El-”
“Miss Pierson,” Dietrich snips behind me, damn near scaring me shitless. “Could you please refrain from continuing to touch every doorknob the other staff have just finished polishing as you aimlessly cry like a tiny kitten trapped in a cave?”
“I-”
“How is it I can be of service to you this morning? Is it the gym you seek? Perhaps breakfast?”
“Where are my things I came in with last night?”
“Your phone is being charged in the living room. Your clutch is beside it.”
“And my dress?”
“The garbage, Miss Pierson.”
“Why!?”
“Per Mr. Whittington’s orders.”
Folding my arms firmly across my chest, I hold onto the fight I know I’m going to need. “And where exactly is Elias? I want to see him. Now.”