Page 29 of I'm sorry, Princess
This place is a bore, a cage designed to contain men like me, but seeing her was the most entertainment I’d had since I arrived. She wasn’t thrilled with my question earlier, but watching her blush was worth it. The red that crept across her cheeks was more telling than anything she said.
But then she answered, and her words hit me harder than I’d expected.
Not being her type?
Bullshit.
Her response was frustrating, sure, but it was the kind of frustration that sent blood rushing south. The way hervoice wavered, the way her lips parted slightly when she spoke, it made me hard, plain and simple.
And the arrogance of her answer? It wasn’t going to slide.
She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. Doesn’t realize what she did when she tried to provoke me.
It was funny, really. She thinks she’s in control, that her words mean something.
I’ll make her swallow them soon enough, among other things.
I could see that idiot Ian hovering over her, all protective like a fucking guard dog. Pathetic.
I bet he’s been begging for a taste of her, and she’s kept him on a tight leash. The poor bastard probably thinks being her lapdog will get him somewhere.
That’s what’s going to make it so damn satisfying when I fuck his precious little crush.
Even better? Watching Thomas’ face when he finds out I’ve had his perfect daughter in every way imaginable. That old bastard never liked my father, made that obvious every chance he got, but my father was always diplomatic, always played it cool around him.
I wonder why.
I was too young back then to notice the details, but something about the way they interacted always felt... strained. Could’ve been nothing. Or it could’ve been everything.
But I don’t leave loose ends.
I need to know what happened between them. If there’s anything buried in the past, I’ll find it. And I’ll use it.
I’m a control freak. I don’t just want the whole picture, I need it.
And that means it’s time to start building a file on Thomas Beaumont. In case I need leverage.
“Mr. Moretti, please get inside your room,” a guard says, his voice nervous, his eyes flicking away like he doesn’t want to meet mine.
They’re all the same, timid little sheep trying to corral a wolf.
I’ve been here for one week now because fucking Lucy is slower than I’d like, and boredom is eating away at me. I’ve started picking fights with the guards, mostly to keep myself entertained and to see if I’m still in shape. Spoiler: I am. These motherfuckers avoid me like I’m a ticking time bomb.
I walk into my room, which they’ve been kind enough to make more like a studio than a prison cell. Bedroom, bathroom, and even a small kitchen. They can’t lock me up like the rest of the animals here, my lawyer won’t allow it, and they know it. They have no real proof, just accusations they can’t back up.
It’s all temporary.
I lie down in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days, but I try.
That’s when my mind betrays me.
The image of her creeps in, petite, blonde, curves that make a man think about sinning, and that fucking smart mouth.
A grin spreads across my face, unbidden, and I let out a low chuckle.
“We’re going to have so much fun together, beautiful,” I murmur into the dark, laughing softly to myself as my eyes close.
Chapter Eight
