Page 64 of Reckless Seduction
He has served my father’s household since he was seventeen, but in the end, he is nothing more than a cog in the machine. Just like me.
“Your father is requesting you, miss,” he informs me, his crisp voice tainted somewhat painfully. Out of everyone in the household, he is the one who always takes care of me. My father never bothered with nannies for me like he did with Dalia. Instead, he gave me away to the household staff. I was raised by Mary, the cook, Celia, the maid, and Carson, the butler. It is where I get my drive to work hard for what I want.
Not that anyone would hand it to me anyway.
I give him a tight nod and smile as I step past him. The man lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, stalling my feet. I look up at him, the lump of unease growing thick in my throat.
“That boy doesn’t deserve you.”
A choked chuckle leaves me at his words. He doesn’t say anything more. Simply removes his hand and leads me toward the one person I fear most.
My own father.
“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?” I barely step through the door before the barrage of questions begins. “Do you not understand the repercussions of disappearing? Are you honestly that stupid?”
“Hello to you, too, father.” I sink into the seat across from his desk. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking. No, I’m not going to tell you where I’ve been.”
My father growls, his lips twisting into a sneer. Looking at him now, I wonder how much of my mother I resemble, rather than him. Other than the color of our hair, we barely look anything alike. I’ve never seen a picture of my mother. I barely remember what she looks like, but I don’t recall her having dark hair or blue eyes. My father’s are brown. His skin has a darker coloring to it. A stark difference to my pale complexion.
Even our personalities differ.
I wonder if this is why he treats me so differently from Dalia. Not just the fact that I am the product of an affair, his greatest shame, but because he sees nothing of himself in me. All he sees is my mother, the woman he holds responsible for nearly ruining his career.
“Don’t talk back to me, Bailey,” he snarls, his fists clenched tightly on his desk. “You need to apologize to Drew about your behavior immediately.”
I give an unladylike snort.
“That’s not happening,” I tell him firmly. “How about he apologizes to me for screwing Brittany behind my back for the last three years? But even then, you still won’t get an apology out of me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“If you satisfy him like a woman is supposed to,” my father leans forward, his dark eyes holding mine, “he wouldn’t have to fuck other women.” There is a coldness there that I have never seen before. A dark, dangerous glint. My mind flashes back to the images of him mounting underage girls in a dirty cell. His face holds the same malevolent look while the girl beneath him cried. I want to tell myself that those photos are fake. Manipulated. Now, however, as I look at the man who raised me, I am having a hard time living in denial.
Maybe it isn’t just a river in Egypt after all.
“I’m not marrying him,” I reiterate. “End of story.” Rising from my seat, I go to leave the office, wanting to clean off the disgusting film this conversation has left on my skin.
White-hot pain pulls at my scalp. I cry out as I am wrenched backward. My feet stumble, but the hand in my hair keeps me standing. Another hand wraps around my throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off precious air.
“You listen to me, you little slut,” he hisses, spittle flying. His face is red hot with anger, his eyes bulging as he glares down at me. “You will apologize to him, and you will be marrying him. Otherwise, I will sell you off to the highest bidder. There are men out there who would take great pleasure in breaking you. So you are going to be a good little whore, just like your mother, and do as I say. Understood?”
Air. I need air.
I nod my head the best I can, tears streaming down my cheeks as I fight the blackness surrounding me. My father tightens his grip on my throat before letting me go completely. Coughing, my knees buckle beneath me, and I sink to the floor, holding my throat and crying.
“I have given you everything, Bailey,” my father reminds me as he looks down at my crumpled form. “None of that is given for free. You will obey me in this, or there will be consequences. Your mother faced hers, and I’ll make sure you face yours.”
My brow furrows. What does he mean by that?
“How did my mother die?” I rasp. “Did you kill her?”
He hesitates. It is barely there. Less than a microsecond, but I catch it.
“You know how she died, Bailey,” he utters in disgust. “She overdosed.”
“Sarah said her throat was slit.”
There. The slight widening of his eyes before he shakes his head.
“Sarah is no doubt drunk and rambling. You have caused her a great deal of stress over the past few days.” He walks back behind his desk and takes his seat. The overlord on his throne. “Now, get out of here before I decide to call Fernando in to give you a real punishment.”
