Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
When I look up from inhaling my food, I find Daphne observing me, her brow slightly scrunched. I swipe at my mouth with a napkin.
“What?” Shit, she’s probably used to more manners. Adam fucking Archer probably eats sandwiches with a silver-plated knife and fork.
“Nothing, I just wonder about you sometimes. Where do you come from? What’s your life like when you aren’t at the lab? You’re kind of a mystery, Logan Wulfe.”
I choke a little on my sip of soda. The thought of innocent Daphne knowing about my activities outside of the lab is enough to almost have me doing a spit-take.
I haven’t been with a woman for a few months…not since I saw Daphne at the ball now that I think about it, but still. Just because I haven’t had time for it doesn’t mean my proclivities aren’t a very real part of who I am.
I just shrug but she’s not about to let it go. “For real, Logan. I want to know more about you. Like, where did you grow up? You never talk about your family.”
I shrug again. “It’s cause I don’t have any. Dad was a deadbeat. Walked out on my mom when I was too young to remember. We were poor as f— We were poor. My mom tried for as long as she could but…”
I look up into Daphne’s compassionate amber eyes. “She wasn’t like you. She never had your kind of strength. The world was too much for her. She could barely take care of herself, much less me. So I mostly raised myself till she decided to check out.”
I can tell by the confusion in her eyes she’s not translating my euphemism. “She committed suicide.”
Daphne’s hand shoots across the table and grabs mine. “How old were you?” she whispers.
I shrug but don’t pull my hand away from hers. I don’t know why. I’d pull away from anybody else. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe it’s because Daphne didn’t have much of a childhood either. Her parents were just selfish in different ways, her dad at least, and her mom too sick to take care of her. As far as I can see, she raised herself as much as I did—she just did a fucking better job of it than me.
“I was twelve.”
“Logan.”
“Look, it’s no big deal.” I try to pull my hand away now but she just clenches tighter.
“Somebody wise once told me it’s okay to be sad.”
“Oh yeah? Sounds like a real wise ass.”
“He has his moments.” She smiles at me and it’s so genuine and from her heart it hits me straight in my gut.
Where have you been my whole life? What I say out loud is, though, “Wanna go grab dessert from that little pastry place on 4th street?”
She beams at me. “I’d love to.”
When we stand up, she’s still holding my hand.
Eight
Present Day
Logan
The cameras pick up the approach of Daphne’s taxi two hundred feet from the gates of the castle. I press the button to open them and sit with my fingers loosely threaded together as the car creeps up the long drive. My heart jolts when I catch a glimpse of Daphne’s dark head. I hate myself for missing her, but I did. This girl has always been under my skin, in my blood.
I spin in my chair away from the cameras, rising and stretching with eyes closed. Calm. Control.
This time it’ll be different. I have her stay planned down to the hour. Her tasks and trials, the way she’ll serve me. My own version of the twelve labors of Hercules, tailored to train her to my whims.
I just can’t let myself feel. The softness of her skin, her honeyed scent, the golden glint in her green eyes—nothing will move me. I am the Master. She is mine. Even when others in her life tried to steal her, she returns to me.
I turn back to the cameras. The cab is gone, leaving Daphne and her sole suitcase. Her hair blows in the wind. She makes her way to the door, her hips swaying with unconscious grace.
My heart, the stupid, weak organ, stutters. She’s returned to me.
Maybe it can be different, I think as she stands on the stoop, reaching for the iron knocker with trepidation in her eyes. Maybe we can start over.
Then she pulls out her phone, stepping away from the stone wall to get service. The fucking engagement ring glitters on her finger as she raises the cell to her ear.
What the fuck? She’s still wearing Adam’s mark. Is she calling him?
Déjà vu. A scarlet curtain falls. The mindless rage rising.
I find myself at the front door, a hand on the latch.
No! Calm. Control.
This time it will be different. I’ll stay in control. And I won’t let myself feel.
I’ll be the soulless monster she believes me to be.