Chapter 2
Chapter Two
LILY
Growing up with a father who was a drill sergeant and later the head of the FBI, one would think I would be more disciplined. I am with certain things. Biting my tongue, however, isn’t one of them.
These have been some of the hardest days of my life doing so. I can tell it’s getting to Tristan, which is what really counts. He’s becoming more and more ridiculous with his rules around here. There’s no way in hell I’m going to keep quiet about it. I don’t understand it.
He stares at me from the other side of the kitchen island. Tristan’s dark hair always looks slightly messy, as if he just rolled out of bed, despite how put-together he always is.
The sharp line of his jaw is striking, and I can’t help but notice how his tailored suit stretches across his broad shoulders. His intense eyes seem to see right through me, and I feel hyperaware of every detail, a fact that both frustrates and fascinates me.
I pretend not to be affected by him, but the truth is, he has affected me from day one. Even when he was only a name my father said, although it was one he said often.
At first, I was jealous of Tristan. I hadn’t met him yet, but I knew my dad was proud of him.
My dad always told me he was proud of me too, but I can’t help but wonder if he would have preferred a son.
He’d never say that, but that’s jealousy for you.
It doesn’t allow you to think rationally.
The more Tristan was in my life, the more I realized this.
I was so used to it only being my dad and me for so long.
He had been a single parent from day one.
I was dropped off practically on his doorstep.
At least that’s what I was told. Back then, my father was still in the military.
My life had been filled with military men.
He’d take me to work with him and everywhere else.
That said, while I was rough and tumble when I was little, I was never one of the guys.
Not that I didn’t enjoy most of the men my father trained.
He always had a tight-knit unit. I was sad when he left to work for the FBI, knowing I’d miss everyone, but this career shift meant he could have a steadier schedule.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from asking Tristan what the fuck he’s staring at.
I wish I could pull out my phone and play on it, but I’m not trying to draw attention to it.
I’m pretty sure he’s monitoring it, as he does everything in my life.
I’m not sure how we got here, but here we are, and I’m over it at this point.
That jealousy I once had for Tristan quickly turned into a crush. One that never left me, even when I wanted to punch him in the throat. That’s why I’ve let it go on for this long, but it’s coming to the end.
“I need to get going.”
“That’s great for you,” I say dryly and like I could give a shit less. Except I do, and I hate that for me.
He always has to get going. Where the hell is he going all the time?
I’m stuck here. I mean, there are worse places to be stuck.
I know that. There is a lot of shit I could do around this house, but everything lately is dull.
I’m stuck in this loop, and I have to get out of here before I lose my mind.
If I could get away, this crush and fascination I have for him might start to fade.
Tristan studies me, and I have to pretend I don’t notice.
“Do you really want to go on vacation?” The question is almost hesitant.
“Yes.” I want to go on vacation to see my best friend, Teddy. I don’t say that out loud because it’s none of his controlling-ass business.
I already have the plans set. I’m only waiting for my opening. That’s what my father taught me. Always be prepared before you jump.
I need to check Tristan’s calendar again. He normally travels often, but he’s been doing it less and less lately. I need him to go on a business trip. How I used to hate when he’d go on those and I was left here.
“Where?”
“Not with you.” I fight a smile when I see the tic in his jaw.
I don’t feel bad about giving him a hard time.
Not with how things have been over the last several months.
If you ask me, we’re here because of his doing, not mine.
He’s the one that got all crazy and paranoid for no reason at all.
I went from living a pretty independent life with my dad’s busy work schedule to being locked up in this penthouse.
“Then you’re not going.” He grabs his suit jacket off the back of his chair.
“You know I’m an adult, right?”
“Maybe in age.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Are you finished?” he asks coldly.
“With you, yeah, I am.” Okay, that came out meaner than I meant, but it’s hard to be nice any longer. Maybe I am a brat because my subconscious wants to push him away. It’s safer that way.
“Lily.” Tristan places his hand flat on the kitchen island between us. In a way that only happens with Tristan, the air around us changes. “You need to be very careful,” he warns.
“Or what?”
“You don’t want to know.”
I roll my eyes, trying to break the seriousness, but it doesn’t work. I know Tristan has something lingering underneath all that control coldness.
“Will you kick me out?”
He pauses for a long moment, and I know he’s weighing what to say next. “You’re not going anywhere, Lily. You need to come to terms with that.” He steps back, and I know he’s leaving now. He says it with such a finality that I partly believe him.
“Wait, like ever?” I shouldn’t engage in this. It doesn’t matter. I am getting out. He believes I’m stuck and that everything is under his control.
It doesn’t matter that I’m an adult. It never did. He was in full control after my father died. There was nowhere else for me to go. All of the money and assets were placed into a trust—not that we were ever crazy rich, but my dad did well for himself.
“We can discuss this later.”
“You always say that!” I shout. He pushes everything off.
“You’re the one who hasn’t been speaking.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, pushing my plate away.
I jump down from the high-top chair. I did my part today. Whenever Tristan is home, he wants to have breakfast together and often dinner too if he’s not working late or has an event.
“Lily,” he says my name gently.
“Don’t.” I don’t want to hear any more. It doesn’t matter. We’ve done this dance for a while now. “I have a busy day of doing nothing.”
“That’s not true, and if there is something you would really like to do, let me or—”
“Sasha,” I gasp as I say her name while holding a hand over my heart dramatically.
I can’t stand Sasha. She’s his personal assistant.
Thinks she knows him better than anyone.
Maybe she does, but the way she flaunts it gets under my skin.
I really shouldn’t give a crap, but I do.
I have this stupid urge to stomp my feet like a child and tell her he’s mine.
It’s ridiculous, but it still lingers in my mind, nonetheless.
Tristan actually has two assistants. One handles things outside of the business, which is Sasha, a girl he grew up with. She wouldn’t have to work if she didn’t want to, but she was more than happy to jump on it with Tristan. She wants him. I know it, and I don’t know if Tristan does.
I don’t believe they have ever crossed that line, but who knows these days. With how cold and stiff Tristan appears, there have been times I wondered if he was asexual.
I don’t know if he allows her around me because he knows I won’t say anything about this kidnapping or because he knows she’d help him.
Everyone should have a ride or die, but it can’t be a person you’re fucking or who wants to fuck you!
Joey is his right hand. He works with him on business crap.
He’s nice and has never bothered me, but I know he too will do what Tristan asks over me.
“Why do you say it that way?” Does he really not know? The man went to MIT. He’s supposed to be super smart.
“Never mind.” I turn and walk away. Sucker, I’m the one leaving first. He calls after me, but I keep walking.
I kick my bedroom door shut behind me hard enough to rattle the chandelier in the hallway.
My bedroom looks like a tornado ripped through a designer showroom.
The white Frette sheets are tangled and half dragged.
Above the headboard, I’ve strung fairy lights that blink erratically, one strand already burned out.
Stacks of books form towers in random places that I’ve stolen from Tristan’s library, paperbacks with cracked spines, all of them open and abandoned mid-chapter because I can’t focus on anything anymore.
Dad’s photo sits in a silver frame on my desk, the only thing in this room that actually matters to me.
It’s from some FBI ceremony, and he’s in full dress uniform, looking stern and proud, alive.
I’ve positioned it deliberately, angled so he can see the chaos I’ve made of Tristan’s perfect space. He’d get a chuckle out of it.
I fall backward onto my bed. After a good twenty minutes of pouting, I make myself get up and change into workout clothes.
That’s the only way to burn off energy when you’re locked away.
I roll my eyes—not that it does anything, but it feels nice.
Sure, he’d let me go somewhere with armed guards.
It wouldn’t be him coming with me. If anything, Tristan grows more and more distant from me.
I don’t know how to fix it, and honestly, I’m not sure it’s worth it anymore.
At one time I could tell myself he was so protective because he cared for me. Now I wonder if his protectiveness is actually a way to exert control. It’s not in a hot sexy way either. I think it’s a mix of that and him wanting to do right by my dad.
My father tasked Tristan with my care, and now he’s going to make sure not one hair is harmed on my head. It’s not really about me, and I’m facing that realization now.
Even my dad wasn’t this over the top with his protection. People didn’t know who I was. If anything, living with Tristan might put me on people’s radar.
If he truly cared for me, he’d want to be around me more. Instead, I swear he actively avoids me, but I’m sure a lot of it is in my head. That’s what happens when you spend too much time alone. Your mind wanders, and it’s never anywhere good.
There is a light in the darkness, though.
My escape plan has given me a flicker of hope that I won’t be stuck here for all eternity pining for a man who doesn’t want me.
I wish I could be here when Tristan comes home that day.
I should see if I can get access to the cameras.
Then again, his reaction might cut deeper than I want to know.