Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
12
Payton
What.The. Actual. Fuck. Just. Happened.
I’m supposed to just follow Trent and move in so he can “monitor” me?
I pinch myself, double-checking this isn’t a dream. Or to be completely accurate, a nightmare.
Mr. Baker has the spine of a wilted flower. On its last legs before a snowstorm. He’s so useless it truly makes me mad.
“I’m just supposed to go along with all this?” I ask him.
No matter what Trent just said, he must be able to do something to help me. He’s a lawyer. The one who probably drafted the will. Do I even believe him about the mafia ties? That excuse sounds completely ridiculous. None of this popped up on Google; wait, would that show up on a basic search? No. It wouldn’t.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Mr. Baker mumbles before walking to the door and opening it.
He’s done with me. I’m not surprised. The man is a weasel.
When I step out of the office, I look at Trent, who has a smug look on his face. He’s been enjoying every last second of this whole exchange.
Basically, I have no choice.
He stripped away my autonomy.
There’s nothing pretty about it. I won’t take it lying down, but for now, I’ll move in, recuperate, and map out my options. One thing’s for sure—he is about to get a roommate from fucking hell, and he better believe I’m not going to do any goddamn dishes.
If you told me this would happen two months ago, I would’ve offered to buy you a coffee to sober up. Now, not only do I not have the money to buy you a cup of coffee, but it’s also my new reality.
“I’m late,” Trent informs me, checking his expensive watch.
The command is clear. Follow him.
I have a sinking feeling it’s one in a long list of orders to come, and I don’t see a way out of this.
Not without asking Erin for help.
I’m not sure which is the lesser of two evils. My sister is volatile, and her scumbag boyfriend gives me complete hives. I am a hundred and ten percent sure Brad is a criminal. The last time I was there, I witnessed him dealing to teenagers down the block from their apartment. And even without Brad, Erin is convinced Ronald and I shared a sordid relationship.
The very thought of what she implied is sickening.
It absolutely hurts.
The thing is, even if she believed me, I still wouldn’t be able to live with her. There are always strings attached to her help. I have too much on my plate to deal with that.
“That’s unfortunate for you,” I tell Trent. “Sorry, but I’m all out of fucks to give. Maybe you’ll find them in the house full of things you stole from me.”
“Cute,” he deadpans.
“Must be what good ole Ronnie found so special about me.”
It’s a low blow.
But I don’t regret it. They say revenge is throwing piss in a strong wind. If this asshole is picking bones with his late father by making my life a living hell, the least I can do is bite back. And I can bite. Fucking hard. Not in the way men usually like.
There’s a reason Ronnie left his money to me. Sure, he should have told me. But he was in jail. It wasn’t like he could hit me up without alerting everyone else the money existed. Unlike my sister and Trent, I trust Ronald and need to believe he wanted to make sure I would always be taken care of.
That’s the thought that helped me get through the pain of losing him right after his death.
Trent narrows his eyes. He eats up the space between us in three large strides. I’m pressed against the wall, shaking with something I’m shocked to realize isn’t fear. It’s excitement. His body pressed close to mine. His cologne. His eyes and how they burrow into me. This game we’re playing is dangerous. Addictive. I never craved adrenaline until Trent Aldridge, and nothing about this burgeoning addiction is healthy.
“Silly, silly girl,” Trent murmurs so low I strain to hear. “Ronald Aldridge was incapable of love, but if he wasn’t, you are the last person who would be on the receiving end of it.”
I flinch.
I cared for Ronnie deeply, but the more I hear the venom in Trent’s voice, the more skeptical I get.
Trent has spewed poison, and it’s killing off all the good feelings I have. A part of me, growing larger by the day, questions why the money was left to me. It’s obvious why it didn’t go to Erin. She’d blow through it faster than a virgin popping his cherry. But me? When he had a wife, a daughter, a son? Could it really be because Ronald thought of me as his daughter?
“He knew the truth would come out,” I tell Trent, just to throw him off balance. To even our hand. “After Ronnie died, Erin told me he was planning an appeal on his sentence.”
“Let me guess,” Trent drawls out, the sarcasm as thick as the humidity. “Ronnie thought by placing his money in your name, it’d sit in limbo until he was released.”
Well, yeah.
That was the theory I was running with.
But he made it sound like a stupid idea. As if I had a part in this grander than I was capable of. With all the things I’ve learned about Ronnie, I don’t think he ever intended for me to know about the money. He probably put it in my name solely to hide it until he got out of jail. He probably intended to transfer it to himself after he was released.
But I don’t tell Trent this.
That would mean letting him win.
The only thing that seems to dent his ego is the idea that Ronnie loved me as a daughter. The idea to use that to hurt Trent gains speed inside me. It’s a horrible thought. Alas, I’m dealing with a horrible person.
I can’t let him walk over me like this.
“No,” I tell Trent, following him out of the building at breakneck speed. His strides are so long, and he gives no fucks about my inability to keep pace. “It’s just a theory, but it makes more sense that he gave it to me because I matter to him. He considered me as his own daughter. Told me so himself.”
Trent walks straight to a car parked on the street, ignoring me. I think he’s reached his bullshit quota for the day, but I’m not done.
“He’d buy me ice cream, take me textbook shopping, and help me with my homework when I needed special insight.”
Trent nods to his driver, sliding past the door the hatted man holds out for him. I didn’t peg Trent Aldridge as the type of man who’d relinquish control behind the wheel, but then again, I don’t know anything about him. All I know is he’s the asshole I’m now living with.
A very rich one, by the looks of this Mercedes.
The driver bows a little, motioning for me to enter after Trent. So much for ladies first. Not quite the gentleman, but I guess I can’t expect much from someone hell-bent on making my life insufferable.
“Money can’t buy class,” I say as soon as my butt touches the leather seat. “Ronnie used to tell me that. Guess I see where he first observed it.”
No answer.
I reach forward for the A/C at the same time Trent does. Our fingertips touch, and it feels like I’m being electrocuted.
It’s like the anger built with each word from me dissipates, but whatever replaces it is intense. So intense, I cave first, snatching my hand back and cradling it in my lap.
What the hell was that?
The uncertainty of it is almost enough to make me retract my taunts. Almost.
He was turning the A/C toward me, which is the polite thing to do, but it doesn’t mean he is a nice guy.
That is the last description I’d use on a man actively trying to make my life a living hell.
I scurry to the furthest edge of the seat, staying as far from Trent as possible. The cabin is small. I can smell him everywhere. His presence, his scent, him.
My fingertips feel like they’ve been singed. I brush them against the seat. Soft leather touches the skin of my palm.
It feels like butter.
This car is officially the nicest car I’ve ever been in.
A Mercedes Maybach.
I guess whatever he does, he does it well. Judging by his Olympic capabilities at being an asshole, I believe it.
“Nice ride,” I mutter.
“It gets me from point A to B.” He shrugs, and it may be the most civil conversation we’ve ever had.
Living with him is gonna be hell. But I’ll make sure it’s hell for both of us.
“Any car would do that,” I volley back, unable to help myself.
“Maybe, but not every car has a back seat that reclines.” He points at the button beside me.
“That must come in handy after a long day of work. What is it you do again?” I ask, making simple and easy conversation. If I’m going to be stuck with him, I need to learn to talk to him without wanting to flee.
“Oh, I thought you would know . . . Being Daddy’s pet and all.”
The insult brushes off my shoulders at this point.
I shrug. “Can’t say that I do. Why don’t you just tell me? Or does everything have to be so complicated?”
“Just tell you? What would be the fun in that?” He smirks.
That smirk is dangerous.
It’s deadly.
What could I do to make him genuinely smile at me? I shouldn’t want him to look at me that way.
I turn my attention away from him and stare out the window instead. Anything is better than losing myself.
It sounds cliché.
No man should have any power over me, and he doesn’t. Not really. But when he smirks like that, I forget for a second. I forget that he is pure evil incarnate.
I forget he is the reason I have lost everything and that, because of him, I am a pawn in a game I never intended to play.
The car starts to move. It weaves its way through city traffic.
I’m lost in the vision; I’m lost in the sights of the city. It’s been a long time since I lived here with my sister.
For the past ten years, I’ve lived on Long Island twenty minutes outside of the city. Nestled far away from Ronald’s web of lies. In hindsight, that seems by intentional design. After all, he’d been the one to suggest Ludlow, insisting on covering tuition after I balked at the price. He even wrote me a letter of recommendation.
Despite the sounds of the honking horns and traffic, it’s eerily quiet in this car. I can hear every time Trent taps his hand on his phone, firing off text after text.
I pretend not to notice, but from the corner of my eye, I can see him.
“Like my father, I run a hedge fund.”
I was willing to let it go, but apparently, he wants to talk now. On his terms, of course.
“Sweet. A field full of gentle souls,” I say sarcastically.
“You asked.”
“And you supplied, yet again making me feel underwhelmed,” I deadpan.
“Is that how you’re going to start this tenure?”
“What do you mean?”
“The attitude. Do you think this is going to work for you? You think it will bode well? I said I would pay for college if you lived with me, but what about all those other expenses?”
“What other expenses?”
“Living.”
“What else do I need if I’m in your apartment, asshole?”
“Again, with the asshole thing. Well, you do need to eat every day, right?”
“You wouldn’t,” I seethe, making a mental note to keep a log of anything that may violate a legal definition for the standard of care.
“Yet you know nothing about me because if you did, you would know I totally would.”
I take a few deep, audible breaths, trying desperately to calm the anger bubbling up inside me. “What exactly am I going to have to do to get living expenses from you?”
If he says sleep with him or anything sordid at all, I’m out of here. I’d rather be homeless again than be his toy.
“All in good time,” he answers cryptically.
It isn’t long before we pull into a garage under a building.
We are at his place.
Where Trent Aldridge lives.
Where I am about to live.
The last time I was here, I didn’t pay much attention to where I was. I knocked on the door of the address my sister gave me and was let in. Well, I barged in there.
Now, I look at it with fresh eyes. The building looks somewhat like a loft or warehouse and stretches a whole block.
A shiver runs up my spine as we get closer to parking.
I know nothing about this man, and now I’m being forced to stay with him. Where will he make me sleep?
Shit.
A thought pops into my head. I try to shoo it away, but I can’t . . .
What if he expects something from me that I am not willing to give?
It feels like a bucket of ice is dumped over my head, and the shivers intensify at the thought.
No.
He wouldn’t expect that.
Would he?
Then there is the story he told me about his father. A father who sold his own daughter.
Shit.
What have I gotten myself into? Maybe the apple didn’t fall so far from the tree like he previously stated.
Maybe this is all a ruse to get me.
I could be in real danger.
I bite down so hard on my lip that I can feel the pinch of pain right before I taste the coppery liquid that leaks into my mouth.
“What do you want from me?” I ask quietly, and he ignores me.
The car pulls to a stop, and then it’s shut off. His driver steps out and moves to open the door for me. No point appealing to him for help . . . from his boss.
I step out.
“Come with me,” Trent says, breaking through my haze. He starts to walk toward the door that enters the building. I don’t move.
“No. First, tell me about your expectations.”
He stops, reluctantly. His back is still to me. “For you to shut up and do as I say?”
“No can do.”
“Just get upstairs, and we’ll talk.”
“I’d rather do it here.”
“I’d rather not be in this situation.” He swivels, pinning me with a look. “And before you embarrass yourself—no, I don’t expect any sexual favors from a college kid. Now, get the fuck upstairs.”
I follow him inside like a lost doe.
The last time I was here, I didn’t notice how big and open the space was.
I just barged into the first door I saw, which, by chance, happened to be exactly where he was. The room, I’ve come to realize, was his home office. Now, I’m calm enough to look around.
The space has huge high ceilings, white walls, and exposed beams.
Normally, I assume this type of building would probably hold multiple apartments, but I imagine with the endless amount of money he has, he bought them all up and knocked down all the walls.
It’s huge.
Artwork decorates the space. Dark black-and-white photos bring contrast. It’s beautiful. Void of emotions, but beautiful, nonetheless.
“This way,” he says as he leads me down a hallway. “Your room is over here.”
“My room?”
“Yes. Your room, Payton.” He says my name with pure disdain. As if he hates that I’m here as much as I hate to be here.
Then why am I?
He swings the door open, and my breath hitches.
The room is huge.
Again, all white.
White bed.
White sheets.
White walls.
It’s perfect.
No . . . it’s sterile.
As if it has never been used before.
I’m almost afraid to walk into the room.
The thought of making it dirty is giving me anxiety already.
No wonder the guy made fun of me when I was lying on the floor.
Besides the fact he’s a complete dick, he must also be a clean fanatic.
“As you will soon see, living here doesn’t have to be all bad.” I roll my eyes. It doesn’t matter how beautiful and pristine this place is. It’s still a prison. I didn’t choose any of this.
“Why am I here?All this BS and you still haven’t told me why you are doing this to me.”
“Because despite what you say, I don’t fucking believe you’re innocent in all this. Maybe you didn’t know about what happened to Ivy and the Russians, but no way you’re ignorant about everything else.”
“I didn’t—”
“Your word means nothing to me. I’ll find out the truth, and until I do, you will live in my house and do as I say.” He walks across the room, and his finger points at a door. “Your belongings have already been put in the closet.”
“You went through my stuff?” I hiss even though I’m admittedly shocked and pleasantly surprised he didn’t throw them out.
“No. I didn’t go through your stuff. A member of my staff did.” He says this like it’s normal for someone else to unpack. It’s not. Even when my sister was with Ronald, my life wasn’t like this.
“How many people do you have employed here?”
“You will meet them later, and you can count for yourself.”
“Why do you have to be such a dick all the time?”
“Because I’m my father’s son. And if you knew the real him, my sunny personality wouldn’t be such a shock.”
“Just get out.”
I storm into the room and start to slam the door. But just as it’s about to close, Trent steps into the doorframe. “I expect you downstairs in my office in thirty minutes.”
“Why?”
“To go over the rest of the rules and stipulations of my house.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously.” With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, slamming the door behind him on his own.
I guess it could be worse. At least I still have a pulse.
It’s not a convincing pick-me-up, but it’ll have to do. I don’t have the energy to pretty-up my situation.
The sound of the slam echoes around me. Which isn’t surprising, seeing as this room is barren.
If I’m to live here, I’m going to have to spruce it up.
Add a color or two.
Maybe an area rug to help make it feel warmer.
Like a home.
Home . . .
The word makes my heart lurch.
I miss my home.
I wish I lived with Heather.
If I could tell Trent to fuck off, move in with her, live on her couch, and figure out a way to pay for the tuition without his help, I would.
Maybe I can take out a loan with a bank and use the will to show the bank that I’m good for the money. That’s if Trent doesn’t blow through all my cash. Knowing him, he would buy that small country just to spite me.
Probably wouldn’t work, though.
Plus, I don’t want to put Heather out.
She doesn’t need to be mixed in with my personal drama.
Now that I’m alone in the room, I take a minute to look around. I open all the cabinets and the closet.
Just as he said, all my clothing and personal belongings are here.
After I sort where everything is, I go into the bathroom attached to my room and freshen up.
I’m thankful I have a bathroom. I can’t imagine what I would do if I had to go out into the hallway and see him every time I had to pee.
That would be a nightmare.
With only a few minutes to spare, I find my toothbrush and brush my teeth. Something I haven’t been able to do since yesterday.
Sure, I used toothpaste and my fingers at Heather’s, but that’s not enough.
I wish I had time to shower, but . . .
Actually, I might have time.
As long as I’m very fast.
I spit into the sink and turn to the shower.
My hand opens the glass, and then it’s coming to life.
Once I step in, I allow the scalding water to wash away the past few days.
It feels incredible.
Exactly what I need right now.
“I guess it could be worse,” I repeat. “At least there’s a state-of-the-art shower.”
And this time, when I say the positive affirmation, I don’t feel totally doomed.
I can do this.