Page 16 of Broken Queen
“You’re absolutely right,” my father said. “I agree.”
Relief fizzled through me. He agreed?
“Do I get your seat when you’re gone? Is that what this is about?” I shuffled a hand across the top of my head, checking to make sure my updo was still in place. “If that’s the case,” I chuckled, pretending like I was joking, “I can wait. You don’t have to die yet.”
“Zira,” my father said quietly. He put an arm around my shoulders, and I stiffened. Hairs rose on the back of my neck; I hated it when he touched me. He leaned forward, putting his weight on me. “This is having a seat on the board. With Logan in a position of leadership, you can operate his strings, my little puppet master. You can make him do everything for you.”
That wasn’t good enough for me. It was a fucking excuse.
“I am your blood,” I said flatly.
“And you’re a woman,” he said. “I can’t break a tradition that’s gone on for centuries. I won’t be that director. When Logan takes my place, you can inquire with him. He may not be the revolutionary type, but he’d do anything for you. Or,” he paused, clicking his tongue, “perhaps you can finally give him a son.”
The idea that I was literally a walking womb for these people made my blood boil. I bared my teeth, forcing a smile, but it came out sour. There was no chance that I would get pregnant; I had made sure of that. My father mouthed something to me, but ringing crashed in my ears. I nodded, pretended like I was listening, but I couldn’t hear a thing.
I needed to dig my way out of this mess.
After one of the late board members had planned to overthrow my father, it was obvious why he wanted a more compliant board surrounding him. Logan was a bit of a pushover. A man like him wasn’t a threat.
Like my father said, it was up to me to be a puppet master.
But I needed that confirmation straight from Logan’s mouth.
I spun around, but I couldn’t find his head of blond hair. Where was he?
There were two separate corridors to the sides of the ballroom. During the Masquerades, one side was used for socializing and private business conversations, while the other was used as a space to torture the sacrifices—the dungeon, if you will. But now, both corridors had rooms that were furnished as if they were simply extra spaces in a ballroom. Tufted sofas. Bookshelves. Espresso bars. Vanities for makeup and dressing. Fully stocked liquor cabinets.
If Logan wasn’t socializing in the main ballroom with the other members, then he was having a private conversation, and I intended to be a part of it. I checked the first room; nothing. The next and the next proved empty as well. It was like I was going mad, wandering deeper into a funhouse of mazes without any clear escape.
But then a moan echoed down the corridor. A woman’s moan.
I completely stilled, waiting for that primal noise to continue. Even when it wasn’t an official Masquerade, members liked to run off with their mistresses here, but I had been the only woman in attendance at the dinner; I wasn’t quite sure what I was walking into.
She whimpered this time and my pulse raced. I stopped, taking off my stilettos to minimize the noise, then walked barefoot, my dress dragging on the floor.
“God, you’re so good,” she said.
And there she was. Her brown hair running down her back like she belonged deep in the forest. Logan’s eyes flickered from her full breasts to me in the doorway, but he immediately went back to her. Like he didn’t care that I saw.
She was everything I wasn’t. Sweet and stable. Dark-haired and carefree. Perhaps she was exactly what Logan needed. A match made in heaven.
And I was the devil ruining their love.
My hands shook, my teeth grinding, my throat dry as each rushed breath came out of my mouth.
“Oh, babe!” Logan said, still thrusting inside of her. “This is Caroline.”
My fingers twitched at my side. She had a name. Caroline. That was good. At least he knew that much.
“Caroline,” I said sharply. “Nice to meet you.”
“I figured you knew,” Logan groaned with each pump of his hips. “We have an understanding, right, babe?”
My vision tunneled until it was just the two of them. I imagined Logan’s neck in a noose, his spine snapped in half as he swayed in the wind. Or would a bullet be better? A hole blasting into his skull like an asteroid drilling into the earth. I fixated on those brutal images, but no matter how long I focused on them, imagining those violent deaths, he kept fucking her. Humiliating me. Proving that he didn’t care what I thought. He simply expected me to do the same.
And yet, I had rejected a hot staff member—Hazard—to be loyal to my husband. My cheating, unfaithful, son of a bitch husband.
I should have fucked Hazard when I had the chance.
