The man helps me to bed, pulling the covers up under my arms and smiling. He’s in his twenties, I guess, with pale skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. I narrow my eyes, instantly wary. “I’m Wyatt. I’m a psych nurse assigned to look after you.”
That so gives me a warm and cozy feeling. Not.
“I guess you’re the one I have to thank for my drugged-up state.” I glare at him, putting the full extent of my hatred behind it. He may not have given the order—I’m guessing that honor goes to Daddy Dearest—but he sure as shit acted on it.
His smile fades. “It was in your best interests, Miss Manning.”
“Spare me the bullshit,” I hiss.
“I need a few minutes alone with my daughter,” my father says, and bile travels up my throat as I spot him clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. I turn panicked eyes on Wyatt, beseeching him not to leave even if I don’t like or trust him either. I don’t want to be left in here with my father on my own. I don’t trust him not to hurt me.
“Sir.” Wyatt nods reverently, ignoring my obvious terrified expression, before quietly slipping out of the room.
Pushing my fear aside, I pull myself upright, lifting my chin and planting a look of false bravado on my face as my father stalks toward me, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Why do you have to be so difficult? Why can’t you be more like your brother?”
Thoughts of Drew do little to reassure me.
Atticus Anderson outed him to my father, confirming he’d played a part in breaking into his safe and stealing his confidential paperwork, including the real will which states that shares in Manning Motors will transfer to me and my twin after we both turn eighteen. Unless I’m married, and then my shares go to my husband. It’s why my father has been so keen on marrying me off to one of the elite. “Where is Drew?” I ask.
“Drew is at home, where he rightfully belongs. Unlike you, he knows the meaning of loyalty.”
I hide my surprise, wondering what Drew has said to extract himself from the hole he was in.
“Why am I here? Where am I? And what is this place?”
“You are here because I cannot trust you to do the right thing.” He grips my chin hard again. “Atticus Anderson will not get his hands on you. He thinks he has it all worked out, but that pathetic drunk always underestimates his enemy.”
A malicious grin slips over his mouth, and I want to ram my fist into his face until he bleeds. He digs his nails into my skin, and I grind my teeth hard. “As do you, stupid girl.” He sneers, and panic bubbles up my throat. “Kaiden Anderson will not lay a finger on you again, and you will pay for your disloyalty.”
He lets me go, standing, but I hold on to my breath, waiting for the pièce de résistance. “You will remain here, focusing on your studies, ensuring you graduate early, by the time of your eighteenth birthday. Then, and only then, will I permit you to return home, on the day of your wedding. You will marry Charles Barron the Third and he will sign over your shares to me. You will be a dutiful wife and do nothing to disrespect him or any of the elite. At a time of my choosing, you will give him an heir.”
He’s fucking delusional.
I would rather die than live that life.
And it hasn’t escaped my notice that he hasn’t mentioned my baby in his plans. Has Charlie agreed to raise my child as his own, or how does my pregnancy fit into his plans? Acute fear holds a vise grip on my heart as I consider all the horrible things he could do to my unborn child. “I won’t do it.” I fold my arms across my chest. “You can’t force me.”
His evil laughter wafts around the room, sending chills tiptoeing up my spine. “I think you’ll find that I can, and I will.” He removes an envelope from his inside jacket pocket, tapping it on the back of one hand as he smirks at me. “Your naivety has left you vulnerable, Abigail, which only adds to my disappointment. I taught you better than that, but you’re just like every other useless female. Weak and ruled by her emotions.”
A look of disgust crawls over his face. “You will do what you’re told, because I have the power to take everything from you. Starting with this.” He places the envelope on the bed beside me. “This is just the beginning. Think of all those you love. Your rebelliousness puts every single one of them at risk. You can test me if you like, but I wouldn’t advise it, although I’d enjoy ticking every name off that list.”
“You sicken me.”
“The feeling is mutual.” He leans down into my face, and his sour breath turns my stomach. “If I didn’t need you, I’d have squeezed the life out of you the second you were born.”
A messy ball of emotion clogs my throat, and I work hard to maintain a neutral expression. I’ve always known he’s hated me, and if he was capable of anything even close to love, I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. But to hear his disdain spelled out so bluntly hurts.
But it also motivates me and helps keep me focused, so I should probably thank him for his indifference, because it ensures I never lose my determination.
I don’t want to let my emotions get the better of me, because then I’m just proving his point. So, I do what I always do to deflect my feelings. Concentrate on something unemotional. “Why do you need me?” I pierce him with hateful eyes. “My marriage to Charlie doesn’t help with your auto-drive program, so why is it so important?”
He narrows his gaze at me, and I notice the fine lines at the corners of his eyes are no longer there. My father is forty-six, but he doesn’t have a wrinkle on his tight face, because he’s long been an advocate of cosmetic surgery and a regular visitor to Doctor Gunning’s Rydeville clinic. His vanity and arrogance know no bounds, and he spends an inordinate amount of time—for a man—on his appearance. Dying his hair as soon as any gray appears at his temples. Working out for two hours a day without fail. Eating a carefully calorie-controlled diet. Getting weekly manicures and facials.
I guess those women he fucks in his sex den expect their men a certain way, and he doesn’t like to disappoint them.
Or he’s just that vain.
Bile floods my mouth again, and looking at him makes me ill.
“The reasons are none of your business. Your job is simple, Abigail. Look pretty. Smile. Speak only when spoken to. Open your legs whenever your husband demands it, and run an orderly house.” He smooths a hand down the front of his custom-made navy suit. “Surely, even you can manage that.”
I want to tell him to fuck off, but I don’t want another slap, so I settle for glaring at him instead.
“Read the letter.” His cold, inhumane eyes penetrate mine. “And remember you forced me to do this, Abigail. This is on you, and your behavior will decide whether it warrants further action. Cooperate and I’ll consider the matter closed. Disobey me, and your loved ones will continue to pay the price.”
He stalks out of the room without a backward glance, leaving me clutching the envelope in my trembling hands.
I know what’s in this letter has the power to destroy me, and I’m tempted to ball it up and throw it in the trash. But knowledge is power, and wallowing in a pit of denial won’t help.
I’ve already decided my father is dead to me.