Crossed Up (Grand Slam Love #2)
Prologue
PROLOGUE
LYLA
Thundering footsteps sound on the stairs leading from the garage to the kitchen and the dish I had been washing slips from my shaking hands into the soapy hot water. Shit. Why is he home so early? It’s not even five o’clock yet, so I don’t have dinner started or the house tidied up from where the kids were playing all day.
“Little bunny, I’m hooome!” Sebastian’s grating voice is full of faux cheer and rings out through the large kitchen, sending ice through my veins. I carefully slip off my pink rubber gloves, the material catching on the obnoxious diamond ring on my left hand. The stone is so large the thin silver band barely supports it, but I’m not allowed to take it off, even to do chores.
I’m so lost in my anxiety I don’t notice him slipping up behind me until it’s too late, my body stiffening when his lips hit the back of my neck with accuracy earned from pulling this same move every day for nearly two years. He must feel me tense up because he bites down on the side of my neck in some bullshit Alpha male bid for my submission. The bite is too hard, enough to break the skin, making me cry out.
His dark chuckle sends a terrified shiver down my spine, and I brace myself for the barrage of insults. Right on cue, his attention wanders to the living room, visible from our position in the kitchen.“Lyla,” he says calmly. “Why is the house such a disaster, bunny?”
I start to bite my fingernails, one of my nervous habits, and stutter in my haste to appease him. “I-I’m so sorry, Bas. Your sister’s kids were here a-all day and I-I haven’t had a chance to clean up after our activities yet.” Deep down beneath my terror, I feel anger simmering, and I worry one day soon it will boil over and I’ll explode.
How did I let it get this bad?
The glint in his eyes promises I’ll be spending some quality time with the first aid kit later, and the anger starts to boil as I feel myself subconsciously bracing for the hit. Rather than dole out the blow I’m expecting, he sighs a heavy breath through his nose before pasting on a sarcastic little smile that makes his unnaturally angled jaw stand out more than usual.
“Right,” he drawls. “I’m sure your day babysitting my sister’s three kids was…taxing. Meanwhile my twelve-hour day at my real job that pays for this house that you live in for free , was just so terribly easy.”
My body goes unnaturally still in response to Sebastian’s tone, knowing my chances of making it out without a trip to the hospital this time will be practically nonexistent if I give him the reaction I know he wants, so I do what I have to do to distract him. Swallowing back the bile threatening to ruin my fiancé's expensive suit as I once again play my part of the dutiful fiancée, I rearrange my expression into one I hope is more sex-kitten and less cornered possum.
“Bas,” I purr seductively, running my hands up his chest. “Why don’t I make your favorite dinner and then bring you a glass of that whiskey you like while you relax in the den.” I pout, playing up the doe-eyed subservient future wife everyone expects me to be.
The coiled tension seeps from his frame under my feigned soft affection and he nods, kissing my cheek. “You’re right. After all, I was home early and interrupted your routine. Call me when dinner’s done, yeah?” He turns to head out of the room but stops just inside the doorway, turning back to me with a critical gaze. “Oh, and Lyla?”
Anxiety rockets through my system, turning my stomach dangerously. “Yes, honey?”
His expression changes on a dime as a cruel smirk tilts the corners of his lips. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to clean yourself up first? You’re looking a little… worse for wear.”
The remark lands exactly where he aimed it, sending my insecurities spinning with just a few murmured words. Smoothing my long, vibrant auburn hair back into its haphazard bun, I watch as my future husband leaves the room, satisfied for now with only the verbal assault.
I whisper my agreement and keep my spine straight until I hear the TV in the den turn on. The second it does, I slide down the cabinets to the cold tile floor. The volume is nearly deafening as it always is when Bas is watching the stock markets, so I allow myself sixty seconds to break down, setting a timer for my moment.
Exactly one minute later, I wipe the tears from my eyes with a resigned sigh and go about doing what’s expected of me as the future Mrs. Sebastian Michael Pennington Junior.
Racing up the stairs, I rush through the fastest shower I possibly can before carefully applying makeup and styling my hair to perfection. Slipping into a tight but modest A-line dress and low heels, I hurry back into the kitchen to put dinner into the now-preheated oven.
Thirty minutes later Sebastian joins me in the formal dining room as soon as I place his full plate down at the head of the elaborately set twelve-person oak table. I track him in my peripheral vision while he inspects the house, ensuring any signs of earlier messes have been taken care of. He must be satisfied with what he finds because all he offers before he sits is a kiss on my sore, rapidly bruising neck, which I dutifully covered with a thick layer of concealer.
I wait until he’s seated and eating before following suit, elegantly lowering myself into the chair opposite him and keeping my eyes on my plate. I know better than to interrupt his mealtime with idle chatter. The last time I tried to make conversation earned me a black eye and a steak knife embedded in the wall inches above my shoulder.
The room is blessedly quiet since my fiancé seems to be occupied with his phone during his meal, and a small ember of hope starts to flicker in my chest that tonight might be a good night after all. Forks scraping against fine china plates become a soothing rhythm, settling some of the anxiety that’s become a constant thrum through my body and mind.
I should’ve known better than to trust the silence.
As soon as the last bit of food is cleared from his plate, Sebastian slams his palms down on the table, rattling the glassware and startling me enough that I drop my fork to the floor.
“What did you really do today, bunny?” He spits the word, making it sound less like a term of endearment and more like a taunt.
My jaw drops. “What do you mean?” I choke. “I watched Amelia’s kids and then did homework before starting on the dishes. You saw me washing them when you got home.”
I don’t understand why he’s confused that I was still cleaning when he arrived. Sebastian’s opulent, 5,000 square foot mansion was a college graduation gift from his father, along with the full maid service he had before I moved in.
Sebastian let them go after we got engaged, citing cleaning as one of my “wifely duties.” Between school and watching his sister’s three children four days a week, cleaning was taking up every spare minute I had.
I’d asked if he would allow me to hire the service back using my own money so I didn’t have to spend hours every day keeping the house up to his standards of cleanliness when I could be using that time to study, and it only took a few seconds to realize my error.
He flew off the handle and told me if I couldn’t handle caring for our home, I certainly couldn’t handle being a Pennington Wife. My second mistake was bringing up that his parents had an entire staff of people to take care of their house.
Needless to say, I never asked for help again.
His plate hits the wall without warning, shattering all over the floor as I jerk back to the present and let out a startled squeak. Shoving away from the beautiful wood table, he stalks toward me and lifts me by the neck, squeezing hard enough that I have no chance of escaping. Desperate wheezes escape my throat as Sebastian’s sweaty palm cuts off my airway.
“Amelia picked up her kids at two-thirty today! What the fuck were you doing for two hours before I walked in that goddamned door? Because it sure as hell wasn’t cleaning up your fucking mess. I didn’t sign up to live with a slob, Lyla!”
We’ve been fighting like this more than ever lately, and I’m so tired. Bas wasn’t always like this. For the first year we were together, up until we got engaged, he was so sweet. Nice dates, flowers every week for no reason at all, constant love notes, and sweet words. Sure, he could get a little too flirty with other women whenever we’d go out, but I told myself at the end of the day, it was me he was going home with, not those other girls.
But from almost the exact moment he slipped his ring on my finger, it all changed. Instead of treating me like a prize to be won, I became his possession. Our parents treated it like the second coming of Jesus when we got engaged, our fathers more excited than anyone else. That’s actually how we met.
Bas’s father, Sebastian Michael Pennington Senior, better known as Mike, is the CEO of a massive media conglomerate here in Maryland, while my dad, Colin Kingsley, is one of the most prominent actors of his generation.
Due to my father’s wide range of smart investments, he’s richer than God and still has a ridiculous amount of pull in the entertainment industry. So despite being mostly retired, he and Mike still work closely together.
My dad dragged me along to an industry party with him one night just before my sophomore year of college, and I refused on principle, not having the energy to deal with more snobby rich girls trying to use me to get to my dad. But he insisted he had someone I should meet.
When we arrived, Sebastian was already there. In a stunning navy bespoke suit, Bas stood out, even in the upper-echelon of the entertainment industry.
Despite being desensitized from growing up around actors and other celebrities, there was this magnetism about him that had me hypnotized from that very first night.
With a full head of dark blond hair, even darker blue eyes, and a sweet, round face, he was the epitome of boy-next-door good looks. That and his charm drew me in like a moth to flame. After being sheltered from dating and boys for most of my life, I didn’t hesitate to jump at the chance to be with someone my dad approved of.
I wasn’t a virgin by any stretch when I met Sebastian, a fact that irritated him to no end, but I was completely naive when it came to love and what a healthy relationship was supposed to look like.
Which is likely how I ended up in this situation.
A punch to my face knocks me out of my oxygen-deprived stupor, forcing my head to the side in a violent snap as something warm drips down my nose and cheek. Blinking to clear my blurry vision brings me back to a set of blue eyes so dark with anger they’re nearly black.
If I was getting more oxygen to my brain, I might be terrified at the dead look in the abyss of Sebastian’s glare because even standing at 5’10, my fiancé is still more than half a foot taller than my barely 5’3 frame, which he uses to his advantage often.
“When I ask you a question, I expect a fucking answer. Do you really think I’m going to let my wife act like this? What if I had brought a colleague home with me?” Sebastian screams in my face. His hand is still wrapped tightly around my throat, but he’s moved us closer to the doorway.
He grips my wrist so tight something snaps, forcing me to bite my cheek to hold in the scream. Blood fills my mouth from the fresh cut, making me want to gag, but I don’t dare make a sound when he’s like this. The smirk tugging up the side of his mouth turns cruel as he yanks me into the hallway, muttering under his breath about teaching me a lesson.
Panic makes me hyper-aware of my surroundings, which is the only reason I spot the baseball bat I left out after playing with Amelia’s ten-year-old son earlier.
A plan quickly forms in my mind, and without a sound, I drop to my knees in front of Sebastian, catching him off guard enough that he loses his grip on my neck.
I snatch the bat and tighten my hands around it so hard my fingers turn white with the pressure. “Don’t come any closer!” I hiss as harshly as I can. I would have screamed it, but I worried my voice would shake with anything louder than a whisper, and I know that I can’t let my fear show right now.
A deranged chuckle leaves his thin lips, sending a bolt of fear skittering down my spine. “Are you going to hit me, Lyla? We both know you’re too much of a meek little bunny to follow through with it.”
That awful nickname fuels the anger that’s been at a low boil in my chest, and I swing with all my might… only to miss him entirely, getting the bat stuck in the drywall. I only have a second to process my own horror until his heavily modified jaw drops in shock, and his dark eyes burn with unrestrained fury.
The fear skittering down my spine causes my hands to shake as I pull as hard as I can on the handle in a desperate bid to get it free before he retaliates.
“You. Fucking. BITCH! ” He leaps forward to attack me just as I manage to yank the bat out of the wall; only it comes out so fast I lose my footing and clip Sebastian’s head on the backswing. I watch in stunned silence as he drops like a stone to the ground.
Steeling myself against the panic wreaking havoc on my nervous system, I slowly lean down and press my shaky fingers against his mouth to see if he’s breathing.
I realize with a small amount of relief I only knocked him out and sprint up the stairs to the opulently decorated master bedroom, shoving as many clothes as I can into a large duffle bag before making my way to the en-suite bathroom.
Knowing I need to assess the damage, I hesitantly lift my gaze to the ornate circular mirror over the sink. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
Blood pours from a thick cut on the bridge of my nose, likely from Sebastian’s class ring. Bruises are already forming on my pale skin, made even more pale from the fear coursing through my veins.
There isn’t much I can do with the limited time I have left to get out of here, so I quickly open a couple of butterfly bandages to hold the cut closed. Cleaning up as much of the blood as I can, I place a larger bandage over the butterflies on the bridge of my nose to keep it protected. The pain is bad, but not the worst thing I’ve ever felt, so low-strength over-the-counter medicine will have to do.
After swallowing the pills with water from the tap and gathering the few sentimental things I refuse to leave behind, I hurriedly dump the contents of the cabinet under the bathroom sink, pulling out the small tampon box hidden under a small stack of towels.
I’ve been hiding away small amounts of money every month for this exact reason.
Sebastian made me quit my job, so I did little things like clipping coupons so I could keep the change from my grocery allowance without him knowing, doing occasional side jobs like housesitting and childcare when he was at work, even selling off designer clothing pieces I had as a teenager that didn’t fit anymore.
I squirreled the money away, not knowing if I would ever have the courage to leave my fiancé. I guess some small part of me held out hope he would turn back into that doting man he was when we first got together, but it’s clear now that’s never going to happen.
After triple-checking how much cash is crammed inside the box, I bury it deep in the duffel bag and make my way back into the bedroom, stopping to take in the grand four-poster bed and antique furnishings worth more than most new cars.
As long as I’ve lived here, I never felt like this house was a home. It’s so much like a museum that relaxing has been nearly impossible, especially since the slightest mess would set off my now ex -fiancé.
If all goes well and I find somewhere safe to land, I’ll never set foot inside this lavish prison again. The thought isn’t as scary as I expected it to be.
Pausing next to the bed, it takes several tries to slip the tight silver band off my fourth finger, but eventually, I manage. The engagement ring has felt like a shackle for so long that a sigh of relief leaves my lips when I set the diamond on Sebastian’s bedside table.
I spare a single backward glance at my ex before leaving my phone, smartwatch, and anything else that can be tracked nestled inside the lining of the underside of the couch where he hopefully won’t think to look. After one last check for anything I may have missed, I walk out the front door, terror and excitement in equal measure fueling my steps.
It’s time to start over.