Chapter Twenty-FIve
Ella
Two Weeks Later
I open the fridge, grab the pitcher of margaritas, and pour Slade another one. My monitoring bracelet clanks against my ankle as I walk, a constant, heavy reminder of what’s happened .
Livia happened. That’s what. When I came home that morning, she knew . She saw me at the ball and she watched me disappear with the Prince and never come back, and she was furious .
She screamed that she owned me, that I was common dirt and not fit for royalty, that all I was good for was cooking and cleaning. She told me I’d never amount to anything, I’d never get out of her house, and my debt would never be repaid .
Then, to add insult to injury, she put this anklet on me. It’s for house arrest, but she’s either paid off or fucked half the police department, so two officers stood there and watched while she put it on me .
There was no escape. There’s never been any escape .
Slade doesn’t even look at me when I deliver her the margarita, just keeps her eyes closed as she bakes in the sun. I can practically smell her roasting .
I’m no sooner back in the kitchen than the doorbell rings, and I blink in surprise. We hardly ever have visitors — it’s not like these three are capable of close friendships — so I hesitate a moment before moving toward the front door to answer it .
Seconds later, Livia pushes past me, turning as she walks .
“Ella,” she commands. “Basement. Now .”
I hesitate, thinking that maybe she’ll bustle off without waiting for me to hide, and I can stay near. Maybe it’s Flynn, wondering where I’ve been for two weeks. It could even be cops that Livia hasn’t paid off, looking for me .
But she stands there, glaring, and I head to the basement door, walk down a few of the creaky wooden stairs, and shut it behind me, sitting down so I can listen at the door .
There are two people, it sounds like, and I think they’re both men but it’s hard to tell.
The front door is pretty far from the basement door, so sound is muffled at best and obliterated at worst. It takes them a while, but eventually they seem to leave.
I don’t hear their car drive away — too far, I guess — but after a long time, the door opens .
For some reason, I get my hopes up, that maybe they arrested Livia and now it’s the police or maybe even Grayson himself coming to rescue me .
But it’s not. It’s her, glaring icy daggers at me, like I’ve done something to upset her just by sitting here in the dark .
“Come out,” she snaps, and I walk up the few stairs again, not even bothering to look at her .
“The chandelier needs to be cleaned before you go to bed tonight,” she says, her voice hard- edged .
I just close my eyes and don’t respond. The chandelier takes me hours to clean, it’s already the late afternoon, and I have to make dinner .
“Okay,” I say, my voice listless .
Whatever her problem is, she’s won. I had one night of fun, and now apparently, I’ll be paying for it forever .
But it’s okay. It was worth it .