Page 11 of Twins for the Enemy

"I’ve already started the process of getting the twins into one of the best private schools in the country," I say, sliding my phone back into my pocket. "It will be more difficult to get two children in, but they've been floating the idea of a new music building with a recital and concert hall. Allegedly, there is a difference between the two. They also want fifty practice rooms—"

"The children aren't going to a private school," she says coldly.

I stare at her. "Why wouldn't you want our children to get the best education available?"

"They're not our—" she stops, her jaw clenching. "I don't want my children only exposed to wealthy, pretentious children who only care about who's wearing brand names and who knows the most celebrities. I want them exposed to people from other walks of life."

"That's ridiculous." I take a gulp of my drink. "Do you know what happens in public schools?"

"Yes," she says. "Do you?"

"Yes. I went to eight of them. You’d get a better education in a crack den."

I trace the rim of my glass. "Speaking of degenerates, what happened to my compass? The one you stole?"

"I sold it," she says. "When you're poor, fifty dollars goes a long way."

I rub the side of my face, my scruff scratching against my palm. "It was worth far more than fifty dollars."

She shrugs. "Oh, well."

I take another swig. She glances over at me, a mix of apprehension and confusion creasing her forehead. She clearly expected me to be angrier. I should be angrier. But I must have tipped the scales so far into rage that I find her nonchalance amusing.

I'm entertained by a woman I want to ruin. This must be whatinsanity is.

My house was built by an oil baron, who'd had eight children, three wives, countless mistresses, and a strong predilection for iron, granite, and marble. Once we drive past the iron-wrought gates, Farah's eyes follow up the three stories. With the two turrets framing the center of the mansion and the roof spires, it must look like a castle, but with the massive windows and the exterior grand staircase, it lacks the sense of security that a castle has.

With technology, it became less necessary. With power, it became irrelevant.

"You look like you've never seen my house before," I say.

"I didn't see the outside until I was leaving," she says. "And I was in a bit of a rush."

"Because you thought I would chase after you?"

"Let's not act like I was being melodramatic," she says. "You did track me down two months later."

"Fair."

She's quiet as I park, and we walk into the house. My head of staff, Bernard, opens the doors when we're a few feet away, a rush of warm air hitting against us. She steps closer to me, looking around at the foyer, but after we step inside, she steps away again.

Yes, an injured fawn, but one that’s determined to not appear frightened by its predicament.

She looks at the sweeping staircase, which hugs along the wall. Two railings, forged out of metal to form intricate patterns, flow up along its width. It always seemed a bit too feminine for my tastes, but Ellie was horrified at the idea of me demolishing it. She kept talking about future nieces and nephews riding laundry baskets down it, so I let it remain.

Now, seeing Farah look up at it, I can imagine little feet running down it or playing with toys on one of its spacious steps.

I can also imagine Farah, sleepily walking down with a soft smile—or a dress pulled up to her waist as I fuck her against it.

My attempts to keep my rage at the forefront of my mind aren't working.

"Let me show you your room," I say, indicating up the staircase.

I start walking up them, not waiting to see if she follows, but as the stairs turn, I can see her in the edges of my vision, remaining nearly five feet behind me. She keeps looking around her, taking in the mansion with amazement and disgust. I see her mouth a few words that almost look like profanity.

I slow my steps as we pass by the rooms, and she sneaks a glance into each one. Once we reach the end of the hall, I gesture into the room.

"This will be your room," I say. "It's secure and it has a view over the stream."

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