Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
11
Trent
I love watching her squirm.
She does this little thing when her brows furrow and her nose scrunches. A dozen thoughts flash behind her eyes. No doubt, fantasies of my murder. Replayed in a gruesome fashion. She wants me gone. Out of her life.
It’s a wish I’ll never grant.
If not for the fact that I’m dead set on ruining her, watching her get pissed is a bonus. It’s better than playing poker. Almost better than when a stock tip pays off big, too.
Almost.
She looks like she barely slept.
Dressed in old sweats and a ripped hoodie, it looks like she pulled an all-night drinking bender. Dark circles line the bottom of her eyes. The skin is puffy, like she was crying.
I don’t know her backstory. I don’t know her struggles. There had to be some for that fire inside her to build. She’s the feistiest woman I’ve ever met. So, princess may not be the most accurate term to describe her, but it’s what she was to my father.
Bonus points for driving her insane, which is fun and why I have no intention of giving it up.
That would be too easy.
I don’t do easy.
“Come in,” Mr. Baker says, scrambling to pull out a chair for her.
I stay silent and continue to stare at her, wondering what my father saw in her. Not that she’s not gorgeous. She is. With brown hair and light-blue eyes, she has a forbidden and exotic look to her.
Was my dad banging her, too?
It’s the only scenario that makes a lick of sense.
My father wouldn’t have left everything to her over a fatherly relationship, considering he didn’t have a paternal bone in his body.
Payton looked shell-shocked when her sister accused her of fucking him at the will reading, but she could be a good actress.
What else could it be?
I’ll find out the truth.
I’ll get to the bottom of it.
I don't care what it takes. This is my new goddamn mission.
Payton stays by the door, even as Mr. Baker returns to his seat, nodding to the empty chair he pulled out.
My gaze scans over her, followed by the scumbag lawyer.
Maybe she’s working with him?
They could have concocted the plan together.
Finally, she steps into the room. There’s a question in her eyes. Something like rage and fear twisting in one hailstorm within them.
If anyone knew the shit I’m thinking of doing to her, they would say I’m crazy.
It’s not about the money. Sure, it sucks to lose something that’s rightfully my family’s, but that’s not why I’m doing this. We have more money than we can spend in ten lifetimes.
It’s the principle.
Payton might not have technically fucked with my family’s life, but she’s the reason for our pain. She is the only one I can hurt. And I will.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
And I am about to serve hers up with extra fucking ice.
“What do we have to talk about?” she asks, making me want to roll my eyes at her, but I’m not some prepubescent teen, so instead, I glare.
“So much,” I deadpan. “Now, Payton, please make yourself comfortable. I know this isn’t my office, but I also know we will be here for a long time.”
“I don’t understand why,” she mutters under her breath before finally taking a seat and turning her attention back to the weasel shit lawyer.
If I was unsure of his involvement, it’s looking clear to me now. He definitely has a hand in this, so that’s why my plan is in place.
“Don't look at him,” I order. “He has nothing to add. He is merely the moderator.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” she asks him, ignoring what I just said to her.
I can feel my skin heating.
She is infuriating.
“Ms. Hart, other than advise you, there is nothing I can really do regarding the late Mr. Aldridge’s will. As I said before, the trust doesn’t revert to you until your twenty-second birthday, which isn’t that far off. Maybe—”
“There is no maybe!” She jumps to her feet.
“Sit down,” I fire, and I watch as she stumbles as if she’s not sure what to do.
Her confusion on how to approach this lingers in the air.
“Sit down, now.”
She does what I ask and sits back in the chair. She’s obviously nervous. My voice probably scared her, but I’m sick of this shit.
Her knee bounces while her nails sink into the skin of her palms.
After a beat, there is a tightness to her jaw that wasn’t present before.
She’s angry.
It’s not just the look that she fires off, nor is it the lines that furrow around her eyes that give her away. No. Her hatred seeps out of her like an intoxicating perfume.
I want to sniff it up and wear it.
Fuck.
As much as I hate her, and I do, she’s irresistible when she’s angry. I love the challenge her strength brings. She’s a raging inferno, and I’m tempted to touch the flame.
A small part of me wants to forget this feud and kiss her, which is the craziest fucking thought I’ve had since I met her. I put it in park and tell myself to cut this shit out.
There is no time for that now. No time for it ever.
Not with her.
Not after what I’m about to say.
“I own you,” I tell her as if I’m discussing a recent acquisition in the stock market. My eyes lower to my nails. I bring my hand to my face, pretending to examine it. I’m well aware she is fuming across the table, and it takes everything in me not to smile.
Her palms slam down. “The hell you do—”
I like her fire. It’s refreshing. It’s also useless.
There’s no way she’s winning an argument against me.
I blow on my nails and polish them against my dress shirt, sparing her a cursory glance. “Actually, until you turn twenty-two, I own you.”
“You have to pay for my—”
“Stop right there . . .” I lift a finger, treating her as I would an untrained dog. “I only have to pay for necessities, and I don’t think a house to yourself and a fancy car on top of that expensive private university is a necessity.”
“It’s not your place.”
“But that’s where you’re wrong, princess.” My lips part and spread. “It is. My father, your benefactor, for whatever reason, decided to leave you this money for services rendered.”
My smile drops, replaced with a look of disgust.
She pauses, taking her time to digest my words. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means?” I lift my right brow.
Payton’s mouth drops open. “It wasn’t like that. He was like a father to me—”
“Okay. If you say so,” I say in a tone that obviously implies otherwise. “Doesn’t matter what he was. What matters is he put you in this position. You think I want to deal with you, princess? Spoiler alert—I don’t. I don’t want to see or speak to you. But my father was a dick. He didn’t care what I wanted. If he cared at all about me, or you for that matter, he would have put your sister in charge of your finances, now, wouldn’t he?”
Wide eyes.
They consume her face, staring back at me in silence, beginning to realize just how fucked she is.
Welcome to reality, baby. Check your expectations at the door.
“My father didn’t care about anyone,” I continue. “Never did. The man you thought he was . . . that was all a lie. You probably think I’m wrong, that I’m being too hard on him. I’m not. He was a grade-A asshole. I should know. I’m his son . . . and the apple didn’t fall far from that tree.”
Everything I learned about hatred, I learned straight from the source.
Her teeth bite over her lower lip, and she starts to nibble as if she’s trying to stop herself from saying something that she won’t be able to take back.
Knowing that I have control over her keeps her in check.
I like it.
But as much as I want to celebrate this win, I can’t think about that now. I need to tell her why she’s here first, and when I’m alone, I can savor the moment.
“What do you want from me?”
“Patience, princess. I’m about to tell you.” I lean back in my chair, getting comfortable. I’m already pretty comfortable, but I like to make her wait. “I’ll pay for your college. Well, my father technically will, but I’ll free up the funds—”
“You really do think you’re God, don’t you?”
I watch as her shoulders drop in relief. Her reaction to my next news will make the following part even more fun.
“No. God has nothing to do with it. This is a deal with the devil you’ll be making.”
“Delusions of grandeur are not an attractive personality trait.”
“Can you shut up for a minute and listen? There are stipulations.”
“What kind of stipulations?”
“Stipulations for the money to be freed up for you to go to your fancy university. A university, I might add, that had my father not paid for, you would never be able to afford, but that’s neither here nor there. My point is, I will allow you to attend your school, but you will need to follow a few rules.”
“Rules? Seriously. Do I look five?” Her voice is strong, but the way her hands shake by her side, I peg that as fear.
“You need to prove that you deserve such an education. And before you ask how you’ll do that, I’m just going to tell you.” I wait for a beat to build the suspense. “One, you will move into my loft. I know what you’re going to say, that it’s too far from your college. But before you can ask, I’m going to save you the time . . . not my problem.” My demands are ridiculous, but I need her under my roof to find out just how much she had to do with what happened to my family.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am.”
“You can’t make me live with you.” She turns to the lawyer as if he can save her. “Can he?” she asks him.
“Legally . . . no. But—”
“No buts, he can’t force me to live with him,” she fires back.
“I can, and I will. Also, don’t get too excited about your new living arrangement.” I wink. “There’s more.”
“More? How can there be more?” She shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter because living with you is not going to happen, so I don’t know what more you could want to say.”
“Again, for some reason, you think this is up for debate. There are not going to be any negotiations here. Do you want to finish college? Fine. You wanna graduate? Fine again. Hell, you want some fucking spending money? That’s cool, too. But . . . and there is a huge but. In order for any of this to happen, you will live with me. You can try to fight this”—I shrug—“but just so you know, it will take you years, and it will still leave you in exactly the same position. You’ll have nowhere to live because your money will be tied up in probate. You can go to court, but again, your money will be tied up until it’s gone. Do you understand me?”
“No.” She huffs, her face red with anger. “That is not going to happen.”
“Really? You’re going to go against me.” I smirk. “Do you know who I am?”
“A pretty rich boy who had everything handed to him on a silver—Nope, make that a gold platter.”
I stand from my chair and step forward until I’m standing beside her, looking down.
“No, princess. That’s not who I am. I’m a man you should fear.”
“What are you going to do? Have you ever gotten your hands dirty? Have you ever been desperate, wanted for anything . . . ?” She levels me with her stare. One that says she won’t back down, not without a fight.
If I didn’t hate her, I would probably respect the fuck out of her. Then want to literally fuck her. But this is the hand we were dealt. One where she will be on the permanent end of pain, just like she’d done to my family.
Dad’s hack of a lawyer clears his throat.
“May I have a minute with Payton?” he asks.
“No,” I respond, making his mouth drop.
“But—”
“I don’t have time for this shit. Whatever you have to say, say in here.”
He nods at me before gesturing for her to move over to the other side of the room. They think that will give them privacy, but whatever he has to say, I’ll hear anyway.
They migrate to the corner of the small office, and I watch with a smile on my face as a very angry Payton places her hands on her waist.
“What?” She scoffs.
“You need to be careful,” he tries to whisper. Not well, I might add.
“I don’t need to do anything. I’m not scared of a rich trust-fund kid.”
“Ms. Hart, please keep it down.”
“Why bother? We all know he can hear, so spit it out already. Tell me what’s so damn important about this man that I have to listen to this shit.”
“It’s not about him . . .”
“Stop with the damn riddles.”
“His clients, Payton. Do you know who his clients are? If he wanted to, he could have Lorenzo Amanté take you out. Or Cyrus Reed. Do those names ring a bell? Cyrus basically runs the underworld. Should I keep going? Mafia, drugs, arms dealers . . . you do not want to get on this man’s bad side. If he wants to just take the money and set you up for murder, he could. The money would be the least of your problems.”
That makes Payton shut up.
From where I’m standing, I can clearly see how wide her eyes are. Couple that with her mouth hanging open, and I think she has finally grasped her precarious situation.
I move forward. “Are you done? Because I’m ready to tell her the other stipulations when we get home.”
“I—”
“Stop.”
With that, I make my way toward the door.
“Wait. Wait. Just . . . I need to speak to Mr. Baker for a minute. Alone,” Payton asserts as if I would try to stop her. She can talk all she wants. It won’t change anything.
I shrug. I’m done with this anyway. “Go ahead, but know that he can’t do anything to change what’s about to happen.”