Chapter 4
PRINCESS
The door clicked shut behind her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was quiet. Not city quiet. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that was filled with distant sirens, muffled traffic, and people pretending they weren’t watching you. This was different.
Princess stood in the middle of the room with her hand still wrapped around the handle of her suitcase, listening like something might jump out of the silence and bite her.
But all she heard was the faint hum of the house settling.
The low creak of wood. The distant sound of a cabinet closing somewhere, and Butcher moving around in his own space like she wasn’t currently invading it.
Her grip on the suitcase loosened slowly. “Get it together,” she muttered under her breath. She’d stayed in worse places—far worse.
This wasn’t a rundown motel with questionable stains and thinner walls.
This wasn’t some borrowed room under her father’s watchful eye, where every move she made was reported back to him like she couldn’t breathe without permission.
This was just a house. Butcher’s house, and that was a problem because this wasn’t neutral ground.
Her eyes swept the room. It was simple and clean.
There was no unnecessary clutter. The bed was made with military precision, the corners sharp enough to cut steel.
A dresser and a chair sat in the corner.
There was nothing personal about the space.
There were no pictures and no signs of a life shared with anyone else, and something about that made her chest tighten.
Princess set her suitcase down slowly, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she moved deeper into the room. She unzipped the bag and pulled out a change of clothes, her fingers hesitating for half a second over the fabric.
Normal—she needed to act normal, and not like a woman running. She needed to act like a woman who hadn’t burned bridges behind her. She was just passing through. “Right,” she whispered to herself.
The bathroom door opened with a soft push, and for the first time in three days, she saw something that didn’t make her want to curse the universe—a clean shower. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Okay, maybe this won’t be a total nightmare.”
Princess turned on the water and quickly stripped, deciding to take a quick shower.
The hot water hit her skin, and Princess nearly groaned.
It felt like heaven. Getting used to luxuries like hot water and a clean bathroom was a dangerous game because they made her relax.
And relaxing got people like her killed.
Her head tipped back under the spray anyway, her eyes closing as the heat soaked into muscles she hadn’t realized were tight.
The tension didn’t disappear—but it loosened just enough to remind her what it felt like not to be constantly braced for impact.
Her father would’ve hated this. That thought came out of nowhere—and hit harder than it should’ve. Her jaw clenched. She wasn’t his perfect little princess anymore. She wasn’t his bargaining chip or the daughter he paraded around like a possession.
Her hands curled into fists under the water.
“You don’t own me,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the spray.
“Not anymore.” She’d never let him or any man control her ever again.
She allowed the anger to steady her. It grounded her and reminded her exactly why she was here in the first place.
She wasn’t lost; she was leaving her old life, and that was the difference.
By the time she stepped out of the shower, the steam had fogged the mirror and softened the hard edges of the room.
Princess wrapped a towel around herself, her gaze catching on her reflection anyway.
The woman staring back at her was blurry and unclear, which was exactly how she felt.
She wiped a hand across the glass, but the woman staring back at her still didn’t look like the one who had left Chicago.
She looked less polished and more tired, but she was standing.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Good enough.” She dressed quickly, trading heels for bare feet for now, not ready to deal with the added height or the noise.
Her clothes were simple and comfortable in a way she wasn’t used to, but wasn’t entirely opposed to either.
Her outfit was just another thing her father would hate, and that thought almost made her smile.
The hallway felt different when she stepped out of her room—like less of a threat.
It felt more like unknown territory, which, honestly, might’ve been worse.
She followed the faint glow of light toward the kitchen, her steps quiet and measured, and that’s where she found Butcher.
He stood at the counter with his back to her, one hand braced against the surface while the other held a glass.
The overhead light cast shadows across his shoulders, emphasizing the width of them, the solid line of muscle beneath his shirt.
He looked like he belonged here—like the house had been built around him, and not the other way around.
Something about that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
“You always creep around like that?” he asked without turning to face her.
Princess stilled and then rolled her eyes at him. “I wasn’t creeping.” He glanced over his shoulder, letting his eyes drag over her for half a second before flicking back to his glass. Something low in her stomach tightened.
“Sure you weren’t,” he said. She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway like she hadn’t just been caught off guard.
“You always assume things about people you don’t know?”
He huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh. “Only when they walk around my house like they’re casing the place.”
“I’m not casing anything,” she snapped.
“Then what are you doing?” he asked.
Her mouth opened, and then closed, because she didn’t have a clean answer, and he knew it. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth again, slower this time. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s what I thought.”
Her spine straightened. “I’m figuring out my surroundings,” she shot back.
“Something you’d understand if you’d ever been in a situation where you couldn’t trust anyone.
” The second the words left her mouth, the air shifted, and Butcher went still.
When he turned to look at her fully this time, there was something different in his eyes—something darker.
Something that said he understood that sentence a little too well.
“Careful, Princess,” he said, voice low. “You’re starting to sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
Her pulse jumped, but she didn’t back down. “I do.” They were just two people with different pasts, and neither one was willing to lay their cards on the table, but both recognized something in the other anyway.
Butcher broke the moment first, turning back to the counter like nothing had happened between them. “There’s food in the fridge,” he said. “Help yourself.” And just like that, his walls were back up, and their conversation was over.
Princess stared at his back for a second longer, something unsettled twisting in her chest, and then she pushed off the doorway and moved into the kitchen. Why should she be the one to walk away? Besides, that wasn’t her style—not anymore, and that might be her biggest mistake yet.