Chapter 9 Princess - Saturday | 700pm
Princess
I couldn’t stop pacing. My bare feet sank into the plush rug over the polished hardwood floor, but every step felt like thunder in my chest. I hated how soft it was and how expensive everything looked. The room was beautiful and didn’t feel like a cell.
I crossed the room again, jaw clenched. Control was the name of the game, and it seems I couldn’t escape it.
I exhaled and pushed both hands through my hair, my neat and elegant bun long gone.
My adrenaline had faded hours ago. All I had left was this damn thudding pulse behind my eyes and a sick, steady pressure in my chest.
Think, Princess. Think.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, that stupid wedding dress bunching around my legs. My palms pressed into my temples. I knew I’d have to pick my battles wisely, but I never liked that advice.
I’d never been the daughter my father wanted.
I played the part when I had to at dinners, in front of cameras, and in the front pew every Sunday.
Deep down, though, I’d never belonged to him.
Not really. And now I was sitting in the middle of his mess.
His bullshit. Collateral in a power play between the kind of men who only saw women as leverage. What the fuck was coming next?
???
Sunday | 8:23am
I couldn’t recall falling asleep, but eventually morning came.
I blinked rapidly as the sun crept through the windows.
I was still in the wedding dress, no less.
I rolled my eyes at the ceiling and exhaled deeply, then I heard a slow creak of leather.
My body went stiff. Every nerve lit up as I turned my head.
Leaning back on the couch like he owned the world was Nyce dressed differently than yesterday. This morning, his attire was laid-back: a hunter green tee with matching sweats, socks, and slides. He had one arm resting casually on the side while the other draped low near his lap.
His legs were stretched out, and his eyes were pinned to me. They were cold like he’d done terrible things and felt nothing about any of them. Those same eyes were locked on me like I was some kind of exhibit he wasn’t done studying.
He looked terrifying and fucking beautiful at the same time.
Dark skin, smooth and rich like chocolate.
Tattoos covered his neck, arms, hands, and probably everywhere else too.
Long braids hung past his shoulders, and every part of them was neat and fresh, like he had someone on payroll just to keep them that way.
He wore a thick Cuban-link chain that sat heavy over his hoodie, paired with a matching bracelet, a few icy rings, and an expensive watch. I also noted the nose ring in his right nostril. It was subtle but somehow bold, like everything else about him.
A low beard framed Nyce’s jaw and connected to a sharp goatee.
Both trimmed like he cared how he looked, even if he didn’t have to because he was just that damn handsome.
His lips were full and soft-looking, but nothing about him invited softness, especially not the gun that sat on the end table beside him.
He looked like a man who didn’t run from consequences because he usually was the consequence. Just plain ol’... beautifully scary. And he was staring at me like he was trying to decide what to do with me next.
I sat up with my heart banging around in my chest, but I didn’t show it. He was watching me too calmly, like he’d been doing it for a while. “You enjoy watching women sleep,” I said, my voice dry. “Or am I just special?”
His smirk came slowly. “You’re definitely special.” My eyes flicked down to the floor near his feet at the designer shopping bags, and his eyes followed. Then, he looked at me again. “Either you really like that dress, or you just didn’t feel comfortable wearing a robe all night.”
I sat up straighter, forcing the weight of the dress off my chest. “The latter.”
“Figures.”
“So, you kidnap me and make sure I have options for clothing,” I scoffed. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”
He shrugged. “I’m not all bad.”
I shifted my legs off the bed, the skirt of the wedding dress dragging across the rug. “So what, you sat there all night? Just… watching me like a creep?”
“Nah.” He yawned and stretched, his shirt pulling over his arms and showing off abs that made my throat tighten. “After you refused to eat the lobster scampi Chef whipped up, I left you alone. Checked in here and there. Didn’t think you’d wake up swinging.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And what if I had?”
He grinned. “Then we’d be having a more interesting morning, Princess.”
My jaw clenched, but I didn’t flinch or even blink. I refused to give him anything. “How long am I supposed to be your… prisoner?”
He stood up slowly, the room shrinking a little with every step he took. Nyce was a big man, perhaps pushing six-two and well over two-fifty. “That depends on your daddy.”
I laughed bitterly. “Then I might as well get comfortable.”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in amusement. “Smart girl.”
The way he said it made my skin crawl. It was as if he thought this was a game, and I was finally learning the rules. I hated how calm he was and how entertained he looked, as if this didn’t even register as wrong to him.
“You can shower and get dressed,” he said, nodding toward the marble-covered bathroom. “Since you didn’t touch the food last night, I’m assuming you want something to eat.” Right on cue, my stomach growled. His smirk deepened. “Starving, huh?”
I lifted my chin. “What, you’re gonna feed me yourself?”
He stepped closer, just enough to make my breath catch again. “Only if you ask real nice.”
Heat crawled up my neck. I clenched my jaw and yanked the shopping bags closer. “I think I can manage.”
“Good,” he said, already turning toward the door. I rolled my eyes and stood, marching toward the bathroom. But his voice stopped me at the door. “Oh, and Princess…”
I turned, hand on the frame.
His face had changed. It was still unreadable, but no longer playful. “Don’t get any ideas,” he said, low and cold. “I got men watching every inch of this muthafucka. You can’t escape and if you try, you won’t like what happens after that.”
A chill ran down my spine, but I forced myself to appear unbothered. “Then I guess I’d better behave.” He held my gaze for a moment or two, then he nodded once, like I passed some invisible test, and walked out. The lock clicked after that.
I stood there for a long second, fingers tight around the bag handles, heart pounding so hard I could barely think. I shut the bathroom door behind me and locked it, even though I knew it wouldn’t do shit if he wanted to come in.
The bathroom was just as lavish with black marble floors, gold sink fixtures, and a tub I could swim in.
All of it polished, perfect, and untouched. A single white towel sat folded on the counter, and brand-new toiletries were on the sink, including perfume. I stepped up to the mirror and froze. I looked like shit.
My wedding dress was wrinkled. My lipstick was gone. My hair was wild, falling out of pins and sticking to my neck. The smudged eyeliner under my eyes made me look like I’d been crying even though I hadn’t shed a tear.
I reached behind me, unzipped the dress with unsteady fingers, and let it fall. Then I stepped into the shower and turned the water on hot, letting it wash away the last several hours of disaster. When I came out, wrapped in a towel, steam clinging to my skin, I looked at the bags again.
I pulled out a pair of black biker shorts, a matching top, and black, furry slides.
After moisturizing, I slipped everything on, ignoring the way the clothes hugged my curves perfectly.
I didn’t care if he’d guessed right or if some woman on his payroll had done the choosing. Either way, I hated how good it felt.
I sat on the edge of the bed again, damp hair pulled up into a loose bun as I stared at the door.
I didn’t know what Nyce’s plan was, but I knew mine.
I wasn’t about to sit here and play victim.
One way or another, I was getting out of here.
And when I did, Nyce was going to regret ever laying eyes on me.